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  • #3130

    The e-zapper’s signal was dropping until it was gone, while there were eerie hoots and echoes in the tunnels.
    Sadie’s report to Linda Paul would wait till a few hours. The broadcast wouldn’t start until the afternoon anyway, so they had time to relax. The carriage wasn’t so comfortable, but the blue lights provided a smooth reassurance, and the zebras were now trotting at a regular pace.

    Sadie looked with fondness at the boys in drags. A fondness which even surprised her. They were starting to reveal more of their true self as they were lulled to sleep in the carriage. How funny she thought, how a few drags and accessories can both hide and reveal parts of your personality.
    Cedric, was a white guy from uptown actually quite challenged to grow a real beard, and he was playing that sassy bearded lady queen Consuela.
    Amar the second-generation North African guy was raised in the suburbs before he chose to become the shiny Terry Bubble, while Reginald from the same neighbourhood was playing Maurana the big burly black queen,…

    The more Sadie spent time with them, the more which labels they chose to be called with started to become inconsequential.
    She was actually more and more confident they would do a great job at blending by simply hiding in broad daylight. Their eccentricities would be a rousing success at the royal fête, they just had to hone their alibis a bit, and align on their story. As soon as they would be in Versailles, with the Russians from the competing cable network in toe, they had to be at the top of their games.

    #3089
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Trove wondered if she threw away all her stuff and went severely minimalist, the endless packing stuff to move dreams would stop. There was an unusual twist to this dream though: they had been living in Kove’s rambling house, presumably on the south coast of England (Kove was Dude’s ex) and when Kove came back home it became clear that it would be a good idea to move out (although there was nothing about the ex part of the actual story in the dream). Trove didn’t know whether to move back to Spain, or back to the Midlands. She wanted to see her grandfather again in the Midlands (even planned on going back there at least for a day or two to see him ~ despite that he had died years ago), but the thought of living there again was like an enormous black cloud. We have to go back down south again, we have to, she thought, and then realized painfully that she was too grown up now or too old to have anyone to move back home to, they would be “on their own” which was not without difficulty for some reason. Then, the packing started. The endless sorting out of mostly rubbish. One of the bedroom cupboards had an oven in it, a filthy blackened hole of grease and debris.

      #3078
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        In light of the new story thread, I suggest a new one: “Get your Drag Team queer” :D

        #3060
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Stop fucking barking!”, she said, and not by any means for the first time. “I’m trying to read!”
          And then she read:
          “Animals not only enjoy the sounds that they make, they are to some extent enchanted by them. The animals’ interior world is silent. The sound of an animal’s hoof upon the ground fills it with a sense of power and affirmation. The cat’s meow is as enchanting to the cat as to its owner—meaningful sounds that communicate feeling. These are enjoyed by all such species.”
          “Oh dear” she said to herself, momentarily nonplussed. “I seem to have turned an enchantment inside out. I could have been enjoying it all along.”

          “And who is “she”, the cat’s mother? The cats whiskers?” he asked. “The cat who got the cream?”

          “We’re going to play cat and mouse for now” she replied, licking her lips. “The fact is, she doesn’t know ~ yet. Time will tell, or a teller will time it. Do you know what I found in the sewing box the other day? A 1914 coin from Guernsey, and then would you believe it, the #1914 transcript arrived in my mailbox. So I read it. I’d like to say the timing was perfect, but in this instance it seemed to be a few weeks late. There was something in it about whales, and visualizing a special place, and do you know what I thought of? That warm lagoon, do you remember? It was in the beginning of the story.”

          #3048
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The previous evening, Dory had been contemplating the willy nilly mob rule aspects of collective weather situations. Summer, to all intents and purposes, had already arrived, and yet the day was blustery and rather cool, and Dory wondered why she hadn’t been consulted by the neighbours and asked to vote on the days weather. A shadowy thought crossed her mind that perhaps she had forgotten to turn up at the neighbourhood consensus weather station to cast her vote. Then she forgot about the whole topic of the weather, and when she strolled outside later, much to her delight, the sky was a marvellously creative watercolour of white plumes and bubbles on a baby blue background. Back inside shortly afterwards, she received a message about the weather conditions in Sussex, something about the Gulf Streaming crashing and having to be rebooted. Well, she thought to herself, if the people in Sussex don’t turn up to vote at their local weather consensus station, they have only themselves to blame! This is a true story, Dory said, to nobody in particular, and to whoever was listening.

            #3010
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Cornella wondered if the Shangpoon pig incident was a red herring, and if the real story was another successful surge team diversion of pig flooh into a surge of snilk, just in time for the opening of the new cooperative time travel party yurt factory inauguration in Adelaide.

              #2958
              Jib
              Participant

                In the meantime in Long Poon, Cornella was irritated by her last Naza Fecebook update. It appeared THEY had noticed something about the sun that the Surge Team was not aware of yet. How could that be so ? She thought momentarily about the invitation she received last week about a costumed party in Tartessos (did she get the name right ?) and maybe too many of the operatives chose to take their vacations then. She would not be surprised if she checked on Maya, the vacation software of the company.

                But the fact that was bothering her was that the sun wind was hotter that it should be. Wasn’t it a surge, for Roaster’s sake ? Her damn cell phone wasn’t working in the lab with all the security mesures and she wondered how she could have received the update from fecebook, but shit always finds its way, doesn’t it?

                On her way to the lab, she was ranting about all that. And she had to go through the mist again. It was primarily intended for disinfection. An idea Ed got when he came back from a trip to France where it was customary to get sprayed on your face by the stewardesses before landing. And maybe he watched too much spy TV series, but that was another story Mari Fe told her once. How did she knew that ?

                Blinded by the mist, she eventually found the door. She was holding her breath not to get too intoxicated and it was always a pain to type the code to get out. She’ll have to mention that to Ed soon. But she always forgot.

                Taking a deep breath in, she didn’t notice Aqua Luna struggling with the keyboard of Cornella’s computer.

                #2951

                “I knew there was a subordination point here somewhere” said Janet. “Arona, bring that cat over here.”

                EEEEK” shouted Pearl.

                “It’s a clue!” Sanso said, “A location beginning with E with 5 letters!”

                “Is it a mouse?” asked Ed.

                “The dog just chased something behind the fridge” replied Pearl, “But it wasn’t a mouse. It looked more like a miniaturized story character.”

                #2947

                In reply to: Synchronicity

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Eric July 2010

                  A blubbits alert Rabbits disrupt project to map the universe A million pound project that hopes to map the history of the universe is being disrupted by rabbits which are chewing though vital cables.

                  #2924
                  Jib
                  Participant

                    Janet took a heavy stickman and smashed it on the worker’s head.

                    “Damn it! Janet! What have you done ?” Pearl was beginning to wonder about that hit and smash epidemy. Would she be the next to succumb ? She resisted a strong impulse to smash Janet’s head with what appeared to be a wooden hyppopotamus and took a deep breath.

                    “I don’t know”, Janet said with a little girl’s voice.
                    “Oh! Be serious for a moment and stop breathing your helium balloon for Roaster’s sake!”
                    Janet continued with the same voice, “At least we can throw them all through the portal now, can’t we ? Sorry, I won’t do that again…”

                    “Roaster! That man with the vermillion robes is so heavy”, complained Pearl.
                    “Maybe we can throw the portal at them and see what happens”, said Janet.

                    Pearl considered the idea for a few seconds, it was very tempting, but also so contrary to what they have been taught about portals, that it gave her chills. It could swallow the entire village, and the two Chicks in the same gulp.

                    “The story has just begun said Pearl, we can’t do that.”

                    #2916

                    In reply to: Synchronicity

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      surge team photos here

                      #2901
                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        “Excuse me, are you listening to me?” Lady Em Dash had been telling her old friend, Sir Hyphen, about her latest adventurous escapade at the Mondaytorium, and was rather perturbed to see the Sir Hyphen was not listening with the attention she would have expected.

                        “Oh, I do apologise, Em—I am a little distracted. I received an interesting communication the other day—an email— and . . . well, I really can’t make any sense of it at all. It is rather on my mind, I’m afraid.”

                        “Really? Would you like to tell me about it?”

                        “I am starting to wonder if it is some sort of code.”

                        “Sounds fascinating!”

                        Sir Hyphen grinned apologetically. “I know it sounds strange, and I am really not sure it is the mystery I am making it out to be. It is just that . . . well it is from my old friend Lord Lemon . . . I have not heard from him for years, and, out of the blue, I received this rather strange email. He is usually so wise, so erudite, so profound even, that it disturbed me rather.”

                        Lady Dash nodded. “Emails are so old fashioned, aren’t they. What did it say to perplex you so, my friend?”

                        Sir Hyphen, not being one to speak in haste, considered the question for a long moment while Lady Dash, who did most things in rather a rush, tried her best to be patient.

                        “That’s the problem really—it is more just that it felt a bit . . . and it makes reference to Sir Ed in several places, which is, of course, disturbing in itself. You do remember Sir Ed don’t you . . . Sir Ed Steam?

                        Lady Dash blushed and rolled her eyes.

                        “Yes, I thought you would. Anyway, the rest of it is . . . most of it really . . . is just . . . gobblydeegook, for want of a better word. Which is why I began to wonder if it might be some sort of code. Here, let me read you some of it:

                        Deep within the Furcano, the Mother of the Blubbits was growling. Her belly actually. She’d spent days and days, like every good blubbit alien mother, spawning a furry and ungrateful progeny like every good blubbit alien mother, spawning a furry and ungrateful progeny, a reproduction of the future, much less messy and incommodious to just write new characters into a story than giving birth . . . “

                        #2895
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          “Glo, ‘tis me or the story site is very very slow to load a new page today?”
                          “Bugger if I know Sha! I s’pose it ain’t nothing to do with the rodents chewing cables in the cellar, init’?”

                          :fleuron:

                          In Langley’s most underground basements, the Department of Future Boons Investigations had diverted a significant amount of processing power towards a little known website that they had found held distinctive quantum resonance towards the actualization of future events.
                          In short, they believed its random nonsense held key to future events. However the level of encryption had baffled even the most expert specialists.
                          “Major! We had a breakthrough!” Johnny Ingrish passed his head into the smokey office.
                          The Major didn’t like to be disturbed during his morning nap, but this was important. Indeed, a word too strange to be random had appeared a few times:
                          Tartessos – Event probability: 103%
                          103% ! Even the computers couldn’t think straight about it… It had to mean something.

                          #2860

                          In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            creating story added wondered waiting
                            thought energy view hear blubbits shift
                            hill sun sound slightly doily nhum
                            indeed lost weather screen

                            #1843

                            In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              “No wonder my shoulder’s aching, trying to tow the continuity line, Godfrey, I’m not going to even try anymore. I’m going to have a soak in Musadek Bath Salts, and from now on (notwithstanding you can’t see future sequence unless you’re misinformed, unless I was misinformed about that) I’ll write whatever I want, and I have the Invisible Story Characters behind me!” And with a dramatic flourish, she swept out of the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

                              #1842

                              In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                The Godfrey2012 campaign started when story characters from all over the world got together to tell other story characters about the fate of the ones left on the shelf in unfinished books. Some wanted to pin the blame all on Godfrey, to make it easier to steal all his peanuts, but the story characters weren’t so daft, they knew that everyone is writing their own story, and what was so great about peanuts anyway.

                                #2746

                                In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  “There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
                                  Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
                                  Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
                                  Then once by man and angels to be seen,
                                  In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die…..”

                                  After Petronella’s resounding success with the remote view and the head spinning afterwards as she pondered the possibilities, she spent a couple of hours randomly roaming around the internet, noticing how many synchronicities kept popping up.

                                  “Come be part of the adventure, and help mold the destiny of the Multiverse in the greatest story that is being lived and not told. Come participate in Chapter One, the Revealing and discover the secrets that have been only guessed at till now.

                                  The Isle has a plan for all…
                                  Wounds Heal, Scars Fade and Paradigms Shift,
                                  but GLORY is FOREVER!”

                                  Even the Rosehaven team were starting a new chapter.

                                  “The Unbound, Cadamus the Artificer, entered Rosehaven. “

                                  Cadamus? The name sounded familiar. Could it be Toobidoo, in disguise?

                                  #2178

                                  In reply to: Closing up

                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    :yahoo_big_grin: “unexpected longer story growing waiting escape” :bulb:

                                    #2837

                                    In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      It should be noted that the new continents were not all, at the time this story commences, physically inserted ~ some were for the most part realized, some were in varying stages of manifestation, and some were still potential probabilities. The Iberian peninsula was in the process of cracking apart from mainland Europe (and in the process, revealing an extraordinary underground network containing the remains of an ancient civilization, now visible for the first time in millions of years), and Iceland had started to drift south, creating much speculation about a possible merger occuring somewhere in the region of the Bermuda Triangle.

                                      #2825

                                      In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                                      TracyTracy
                                      Participant

                                        Racy Mc Tartshall had been absent for so long that it was hardly any wonder that nobody remembered her, despite the importance of her mission which had long since been forgotten. Mc Tart, as she was affectionately known (or would have been if anyone had remembered her) was a tartist of the highest calibre, consistently producing hugh class tart (which was of course three grades higher than high, and 2 grades higher than hagh, and so forth). Mc Tart had been investigating Nosebook, sniffing out potential distortions, claritortions, connectortions and myriad other contortions, for the distortium, claritortium, connectortium and contortium, respectively ~ focusing mainly on the connectortium, naturally enough.

                                        While researching something or other that was no doubt relevant at the time but had long been forgotten, Mc Tart met Alfred in the Library. ““Aha! Alfred in the Library with a Book, was it!” she exclamined. “I knew I’d find a clue here”. “It wasn’t me!” he retorted, aghast. “It was Albert in the Chapless Pants club with a Rolling Pin!” Mc Tart, feigning an all knowing expression, replied “Ahhhh” and made a mental note to investigate.

                                        Mental notes, known as m’otes for short, floated like wisps in the air currents and occasionally sparkled in the sunbeams, although more often than not, they clumped together under the bed in bunny shapes, slowly dying of boredom. Thankfully the sheer pointlessness of mental notes ~ m’otes ~ made not a whit of difference in the grand scheme of the connectortium investigation because of the abundant nature of Fluce’s ~ (fucking lucky chance encounters), notwithstanding the heated debates continuing in the Distortium about the precise nature of Fluce’s and their relationship to M’Otes ~ or not, depending on the point one wished to make at any particular time.

                                        And so it was by Fluce that Mc Tart met Blithe, Heck and Walty in “le Tunnel” one dreary grey Noremember afternoon. There was nothing to suggest, on first inspection, any thing of interest for the Connectortium mission, but Mc Tart was not discouraged. “Many a moth maketh maths marbles” she reminded herself as she perused the nenu (which, the reader will deduce, is a hugher class of menu).

                                        [link: high class]

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