Search Results for 'story'

“Frindle, is Geoffroy alright?” asked Trumble. “He seems to be muttering that peculiar gibberish again, is he having another one of his turns?”
“It’s his control issues again, Trumble, he’ll get over it. I think he’s already seeing the green light. He’s having trouble seeing each moment as discrete, with it’s own back story, each story entry as a picnic basket, complete with it’s own history and associations. Each picnic basket is a piece of the puzzle, but they may not fit immediately together, and I think that’s what troubles him.”
“As usual, you’ve hit the nail on the head, Frindle. Funny how it all seems like deja vu, doesn’t it?”
“Trusting that the invisible connecting links are seamlessly interwoven even if they are not apparent is not for the faint hearted” added Jingle, “It would behoove us to remember that we all struggle at times to fit the pieces together. Which is why this is all such a beneficial exercise.”
“True enough, Jingle” replied Trumble. “Many’s the time I’ve had a mad scramble to find a connecting link and make it fit.”
“And many’s the time you’ve fucked up but by not paying attention, Trumble” Frindle pointed out.
“Ah, but that’s because I’ve been paying attention to another aspect instead, you rude tart” retorted Trumble.

“Tu es betes comme tes pieds,” muttered Adeline under her breath. (She muttered the small insult in french, to add some couleur locale to the story). Inwardly though, her heart clutched with fear. Both the ferrets were missing! A tumble of panicked thoughts rushed through her head. Should she return the ferret and say she took it for mending? No, they would not believe she had just the one and would beat her without mercy for the other. She had seen it happen to others for much lesser crimes.

Oh dear Mother of God, I wish I had never touched the stupid toy. If only I could go back in time and do things over.

All of a sudden a feeling of great peace came over her. A feeling of clarity. She must pray! She must throw herself on the mercy of Mother Mary and the Saints. May they forgive her for her sins. First opportunity she got she would sneak in the secret way to the chapelle and pray to Mother Mary for help.

Mirabelle’s harsh voice interrupted her. “Are you listening, Adeline! I said those floors won’t wash themselves.”

“I heard that” replied Pseu telepathically. “And you’re right, of course I’m connected to the Russians. So are you, for that matter, didn’t you know? Igor Popinkin’s little sister Faina ring any bells? The connection to the Russians is not what you think!”
Sadie frowned in puzzlement. The fact was that the name Faina did ring a few bells, but it was vague, almost as if she had dreamed about her.
“The thing is” continued Psue, “Not to take sides. There are connecting links everywhere. The Russians may be “on the other side” in one particular scenario, but behind the scenes, it’s another story.”

Pseu’s project was to provide connecting links between focuses of “Big Daddy” Benedict’s attention at any point in the shift chapter book, a sort of Oversoul 8 in some ways, but operating in a more physical manner, like a time traveller from the future, but she was neither and both of those things and more. Pseu Dan was pioneering a new type of Scope of Attention Pool (SOAP for short), and was appearing fully physical (as well as fully non physical in others) in a number of times and places simultaneously. Her area of particular interest was, however, developing more efficient links with the capability of transporting physical matter as well as energetic information, as desired. As well, Pseu was developing an energy field of un noteworthyness, so that she could participate physically without difficulty, but with a sort of cape of invisibility energy rendering her physical presence (or physical disappearance at times) to be completely unremarkable and unregistered objectively. To Cedric and Jacques, she was visible and familiar, but to the others she appeared merely as a sort of stage prop or scene populator. Sadie, though, ah well, that was a different story.

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

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

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.”

“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 . . . “