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  • #2388

    He was lying on her massage table, his nudity covered with a blue satin towel. Josephine had really soft hands and was a really good masseuse. Almondus Blondor had been waiting for so long for this massage that he wouldn’t let one bit escape his awareness; though, he was feeling as if he was inexorably slipping into the drum world, his heart was pounding, more and more present. His attention was merging with his old drum self, when he could remember clearly how it was before he came here through the portal himself.

    :fleuron:

    Josephine was using the very potion she was preparing when she heard the tinkling sound… and she was unaware that her hand had taken a wrong ingredient, one of the most important ones. Even if she had known, she would have been unable to tell the consequences of the switch. Almondus could just disappear, melt, transform into a big giant dragonfly… at the moment, she was into a trance, far even from the idea that she could do such a mistake. She never did mistakes!

    :fleuron:

    Bentworth Sadnick was all but confident in his new appointment by his peaster. He had never been alone at the portal before, and he feared most of all that someone would come ask a question. In his mind, it was unthinkable that someone would even dare ask to open the portal…

    He was lost in his hamster wheel, too exhausted by the race to do the usual chores —sure his peaster would notice when he comes back. But what if some official came by? It would certainly be a disaster, Bentworth would be caught stammering and that would only add to his confusion. Wasn’t it hot here? So hot, maybe if he could just put his head aside for a few moments… no, it was forbidden, his peaster had repeated it thousands of times to him, and had him repeat it ten times more… though it could help, sure, release the pressure in his head. His hands reached the hook of his head-fastener and a sudden release of pressure popped into the silence, ending in a harmonious whistling sound.

    Holding his head in his hands, face turned to his chest, he was unable to see the strangers coming from the distance. He sat on the first step of the stairs climbing to the portal, his head resting on his lap, looking at his belly button (his clothes were too short for him, and he was looking like a child grown too fast). Though he was the only one present and when he suddenly heard a raucous voice asking if he could make his bird sing, he feared that it was some kind of sexual offer and were his head on, it would have blushed, but it was still releasing pressure and the sudden squirck sounded like a yes.

    That’s when he lost his head, he stood up briskly and his head rolled on the ground, hitting a stone in the process. His head was knocked out, and he couldn’t use it for the moment. What had his peaster told him so often: “Always do as if you know what to do! Don’t let people see you don’t know, even if you don’t… pretend that you have all the answers. You’re here the most trusted Peaslander and everybody will trust what you say.”

    “Sh-show mme yu-your bi-bird!”

    The Aunt and Dolores looked at each other… the others being headless it would have been pointless.
    “Are you the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz.”

    As he was about to say yes, another release of pressure from his unconscious head made a squirmish sound. As they were waiting, he said the word that would seal his destiny.
    “Yeyes!”

    :fleuron:

    That’s when Almondus, falling asleep, farted. Was it the mixture of Josephine? Was it that he hadn’t done a detox cure for centuries? Nonetheless, that had the disastrous effect of inducing Josephine in a lethargic state. She stopped massaging him and stood there still. Her spearit gone, far worse than if her head had popped out on its own.

    #2324

    Ann slapped her forehead when she realized her mistake, notwithstanding that there were no ‘mistakes’ as such.

    The story is for the writer that writes it, not the reader.

    What the repercussions of that were for the future of publishing, Ann wasn’t quite sure.

    “Oh, I can answer that for you, dear” Lavender responded. “On my recent trip to the future I went to the Pick Your Own Pages book store. There’s a wonderful Pick ‘N’ Mix section, and a Lucky Dip. You can pick various quantities, such as chapters, pages, paragraphs or sentences, and you arrange them yourself.”

    “What a wonderful idea!” Ann replied.

    “Oh, the idea was an old one, very old!” Lavvie explained. “People were doing it all along, though they didn’t realize it. The idea of being spoon fed an entire story went out with the Ark. It was the advent of random quote generators that started the ball rolling.”

    Ann beatled off to check the random quote for the day….

    “Arona! Sanso! Oh, how wonderful to see you guys again! Come and meet Lavender and Walter, we’re discussing continuity….”

    #2583

    In reply to: Strings of Nines

    TracyTracy
    Participant

      ~ “We are broadcasting today from planet Xavier.”~ wrote Rich Kendall, who was also online having a go at the radio exercise. ~ “The Happiness index on the Xavier stock exchange has gone up 75 points. It seems that a fellow named Morris Fishbaum has decided to stop berating himself for his supposed failures in the past, and has embraced a new self image. This change in Mr. Birnbaum has had a ripple effect automatically lifting up many others who also had been dwelling on past “mistakes.” Mr. Fishbaum’s metamorphosis leads analysts to forecast a new all time high for the Happiness Index within the next month. That’s the story from the Xavier financial markets and have a nice day.” ~

      He continued: ~ “Morris Fishbaum is alive and well and living off the coast of Gibraltar
      And rumor has it Morris has become very good friends with a local celebrity in Gibraltar that shall not be named except for the initials TM” ~

      “Otherwise known as Teleport Moll”, Yoland pointed out.

      ~ “Roy Gilroy was also mentioned in an article as to spending lots of time with Morris Fishbaum but that’s a whole other story.” ~

      #2552

      In reply to: Strings of Nines

      TracyTracy
      Participant

        “Godfrey, she’s doing it on purpose now, what am I going to do with her?”

        Godfrey turned and frowned at Ann, pausing in the doorway. “Who’s doing what, Ann?” he sighed.

        “Oh never mind Godfrey, bugger off if you can’t be bothered” Ann said crossly, and then added “You know exactly what I’m talking about, it’s Franlise, she’s making spelling mistakes on purpose and I’ll get the blame!”

        “Ann,” said Godfrey with exaggerated patience, “You of all people should be the last person to worry about a spelling mistake.”

        “My OWN spelling mistakes are acceptable, Godfrey, they contain clues…”

        Pig Littleton raised an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t Franlise’s contain clues too? Have you forgotten that you’re the one creating Franlise in the first place?”

        “Oh” said Ann, momentatily non-plussed.

        #2220

        And look at the funny messages her business cards have on them! Lavender pulled a selection of cards from her purse. I mean how weird is this:

        Lester’s ex-wife keeps the milk cold. Batman316 is a nugget

        and listen to this one:

        We have a lot of fun doing it and you can too.

        So I just knew it had to be some sort of clue. So you know me … I just had to make an appointment to see her!

        Oh of course, agreed Decimus, scratching his ear. You don’t have a business card for Dr Limur in there by any chance do you?

        oh no, sorry. Anyway, before I meet Annabel, I intend to go shopping for some new parasites. Aspidistra asked me to bring some back for her … and it is the least I can do really.

        Yes, parasites sound great, sighed Decimus. You know the name of Annabel Ingram does ring a bell. Is she the one who takes guided tours of the Doorway of the Goddess Amarylis Moo Rue?

        #2175

        In reply to: Closing up

        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          A little precision about the “word cloud” and the “random quote”.

          The word cloud takes everything (all discussions, even those extraneous to the stories) into account, up to 300 something comments from the now moment. So the story thread shift didn’t affect it.

          The random quote was initially taken from the Circle of Eights’ thread only. I slightly changed the program recently so that it’ll pick up randomly from either this thread or the new one.

          #1245
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            “Elizabeth!” Godfrey strode into the room, and slapped the Reality Times down on her desk. “How dreadfully embarrassing! Your economy is considered to be a basket case, it’s in the news for heavens sake!”

            “I never economize, Godfrey, what on Ooh are you talking aboot?” replied Elizabeth tartly.

            THE economy, Liz, not your housekeeping affairs!”

            “What housekeeping affairs, dear? Do calm down, Finnley takes care of all that”

            Godfrey flung himself into an overstuffed armchair, running the back of his hand across his brow. “Perhaps it’s because your currency is the Illusion, Liz. People are afraid to buy things with illusions you know.”

            “Well, there’s not alot of point in hoarding illusions is there? I had no idea the general poopulace was hoarding illusions, honestly, you just can’t get the poopulace these days, not like the oold days when everyone was spend spend spend….well, what do you suggest?”

            #1225
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Becky was relieved that Al hadn’t taken the introduction of the new characters too badly. He and Sam seemed to dash off again rather quickly though. Becky was starting to feel a bit lonely, what with Tina away for so long as well as Al and Sam being so wrapped up with the kitchen tiling that they hardly had time to stop for a chat anymore. Gawd only knows how many tiles it takes to tile a kitchen, Becky thought, even a kitchen in the city.

              #1107
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                “Watermelon produces an effect similar to that of Viagra, researchers say. A slice of juicy watermelon contains citrulline that can trigger the production of a substance that relaxes the body’s blood vessels. A similar effect is produced when a man takes a Viagra pill.”

                “Well, that might explain a few things” thought Becky.

                “However, the vegetable is not so organ-specific as Viagra…..”

                “Hmm, I wonder if that would explain the butler’s preposterous breasts ?”

                #94
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  Best known in Oorth (Dimension of Ooh) for his best selloor Words of Comfort for the Descending, a groot philosoopher and wool of wisdoom, Erwin P Lemone has made a few delightful and abysmally profoond aphorisms that needed a proper anthology.

                  Be it the place for such an endeavoor.

                  A few quotes

                  “Sometimes it takes a single sniggly thorny path to go through to reach Elysian avenues much more efficiently” — ID850

                  “rainy wedding, merry marriage” — ID1183

                  “Better speak nonsense than be dead or sorry” — ID1644

                  “It’s not the writer’s job to piece the stuff life is made of together, it’s the job of the reader.” — ID1661

                  “A new-born book is like a little baby, except it smells only of ink, and doesn’t make spurious sounds” (said at an interview with journalist Finckle Frettle on Oo-TV)

                  #2149

                  In reply to: The Story So Far

                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Tikfijikoo Island (continued)

                    (synopsis)

                    It starts with the Dr doing some evil tests on that remote island; he’s with the nurse Bellamy, whose forte is coconut tree frog-leaping, and Veranessesseesessesses with her impossible name (V’ass)
                    We then learn the Dr is mad, and his researches are financed by an occult organization, who V’ass is working for, to check on their assets; he’s mad but brilliant.

                    He’s a bit of a transvestite too (fullname Chris Bronklehampton)
                    The organization has given him a machine in which there is a crystal skull, unknown to him. This crystal skull seems linked to spiders somehow and his researches on spiders genome (blue bonnet), but we only know it’s coveted by many people. It’s all happening in our dimension, roughly at our time.

                    (Where Leo and Bea are renting Jose’s house and they are Dory’s and Dan timeframe ie: now)

                    The first experiences give dreadful results; there is Sasha (mummified by the doctor) who’s dead, and now speaks with the Dr; and there is Claude, who gained super strength and madness, and escaped the island facility.
                    Claude is one of those working with the Mad Baron ; he’s on a undercover mission to get the skull
                    (The false Viscountess —lady in salmon— at the auction was also working for the baron)

                    So Claude escapes but there is another mysterious person looking for the skull; it’s Madame Chesterhope, and she’s sent the magpies to steal it. The magpies are from another dimension, they are famous stealers.
                    Claude encounters the magpies on their mission. He’s captured in an energy labyrinth they have set on the island temporarily, to cover their tracks.

                    Meanwhile, Sha and Glo have arrived. Dory wanted to go but she couldn’t find the airline (bag lady)…
                    And Mavis later explains in a comment (555) how they all got involved in that adventure. She takes some time to convince her husband, and get to go to Tikfijikoo too. During the flight correspondence, she gets to know Paquita and Joselito.

                    On the island, the Dr is losing it seriously. He talks to the dead mummy, and had blond wig and stuff.
                    V’ass is reacquainting herself with the Italian of her secret organization, to report on the Dr. (insert steamy sex scene :)) ) )

                    Dory is back at Gib, with Dan and young Becky and later, her friends Yurick and Yann came to visit; go see Salitre :)
                    She has knowledge of Leo and Bea (Fletcher) – at whose place there are skulls too.

                    On the island, everything starts to get crazy; since Sha and Glo arrived
                    The magpies are ready to strike as a cyclone is coming.
                    Claude has recovered his memory and is no longer mad; but he’s still trapped and tries to find an escape in a strange tree. He goes into another dimension, the giant spiders’ one.
                    In this dimension there are a few human survivors. There is young Anita, and her mummified parents, but still alive from a plane crash; and a stranded soldier from WWII, named “Akita”, who’s got a spirit dog with him he’d found on the spider island.
                    They somehow managed to survive in the giant spider’s jungle (the island is on top of a sort of Bermuda triangle).

                    Anita is in communication with our four essences, who can manifest easily in this spider dimension and our essences are aware of an dimensional gate opening (the cyclone).
                    All this people get together and succeed in escaping through the wortex.

                    So now, that explains the people around the campfire on Tikfijikoo. It was all relatively brief, during the storm, where the others were sheltered on the facility (thanks to V’ass who cared for the careless Sha and Glo)

                    Sha and Glo find out the magpies trying to pry the computer open where the skull is hidden; they crush the magpies with coconuts bra slings (exit the magpies in purple blood ;)) )
                    They find the strange crystal skull they mistakenly think is some apparatus like an UV lamp. They take it to the UV room and plug it; it starts to project all sorts of lights
                    They want to dance, because it’s like a disco.

                    Meanwhile, one giant spider has managed to sneak through the portal, and goes close to them, but she gets sidetracked by the lightened skull and gets shrunk to a small size… and gets crushed by Sha and Glo (they’re the heroines of the day, but they don’t know squat ;)) )

                    There is also a honeycomb subplot with a man named Jarvis on the island, with beehives.

                    Now: Sha and Glo are dancing, Mavis is going out attracted by the campfire, finding out the survivors (The campfire was there because it’s night, and Claude is wary of the island’s owners, because he was abducted and mummified). The Dr is mad as ever.
                    The skull is in the UV room, but they don’t know what it is — only Madame Chesterhope and Claude are knowing (possibly Jarvis and V’ass); but Mme Chesterhope is flung into the ocean crashing into Mahiliki’s plane recently :))

                    #994

                    Hopefully, Al was not one to judge a work by the time it takes to produce.
                    Actually, he was remembering a tale he’s been telling Sam no so long ago, about a Chinese painter who took years of training to be able to execute a painting in a single most perfect stroke. Only thing was that the Prince who had ordered him to paint this was offended when he saw him arrive empty-handed and drawing on the spot in what seemed the most easy, flowing movement that single painting, while he had been provided time and resources to the painter for so long. He had him executed, only for his servants to discover later that the painter’s house was full of tons of sketches.
                    It is all a work of art, dear Tina…

                    Now, I get that you have found your favourite entries.
                    Yes, entry number 2 .
                    Okay
                    Then, the one where Fiona changes her name to Finn, that has to be a significant one; that is 151
                    Fine
                    And 223 , when Arona gets given Yikesy

                    Al pondered for a moment…

                    #807
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Elioctyl looked down on her body being wrapped in mummification bandages and sniggered. Dear funny silly alive ones, with their darling little rituals. How sweet they were to think their physical processes would make a ha’porth of difference after their last sweet breath of terrestrial air.

                      Look at Hoofut, taking it all so seriously! He thinks that if he takes every possible care with those strips of cloth and smelly unguents, that he…yes he alone!…has the power to direct my next adventures. Silly man! But he means well, bless his leather sandals. And Tarfel too, see how he cries when he’s sure Hoofut isn’t watching. I see the tears roll down his leathery cheeks, I see him brush them away with the back of his hand, and sniff and snort, and then spit on the floor. He pretends it’s the malodourous vapours of the embalming mixtures that’s making his nose run, but I can see.

                      Shalabat cries too when no-one is watching. He rests on a cushion beside the pool, waiting for the completion of the process on my lifeless body, waiting for the ceremonial rites to take place, waiting, wondering, worrying about the future….he has every faith in Hoofut’s skills, and Tarfel’s too. But he wonders what will happen to his people now without Elioctyl.

                      Ah, and I wonder too, but I don’t worry. I make a pact now, in love for these dear ones, to leave a piece of me in energy in the mummy they create out of my bones and skin. The mummy is for the terrestrial ones, a poignant reminder, a mystery, a relic, a treasure, a clue! and for them, I give it life, energy, meaning….I will return from time to time, in ethereal body form, to those who ponder this mummy, for generations to come….

                      #739

                      Vessie Darl, Sha and I are just popping down to the beach for some more of them special beauty sea waters you told us about.

                      Great idea, Gloria, responded Veranassessee vaguely. She watched absent-mindedly as Gloria’s generous body, clad only in a skimpy red bikini, disappeared down the corridor. There was something about that shade of red tugging at her memory. Vermillion red …

                      Red! PLAN B! Oh my God! how could she have forgotten!

                      It was two days since she had called him, that meant he would be here soon, that did not leave her much time to prepare.

                      :fleuron:

                      Everything has to be perfect. She wears a silk vermillion red camisole, the one he gave her, scarcely covered by lush black velvet and topped with bright red lipstick. She casts her eyes critically around the room. It is nearly three years since she has seen him, she doesn’t want to spoil this moment. The glasses of soft red merlot are ready, a plate of miniature liqueur chocolates on a plate by the bed.

                      She shakes out her long dark hair and looks in the mirror. Her chocolate skin glows, her eyes are bright. She will do. She touches the red silk camisole … it is still beyond her comprehension how she can have forgotten.

                      When he arrives he is beautiful. Too beautiful. she thinks. It is so easy for him, effortless. He appraises the room and laughs casually, he knows how hard she has tried. Agent V he says, a pleasure to see you again. He kisses her. She remembers everything.

                      He takes a sip of the wine. She watches him, unsure of herself. He has a black bag with him.

                      He looks at her, sees her looking at the bag, and smiles slowly, I have something to show you, Agent V, he says, and she can sense his pride, the barely suppressed excitement in his voice.

                      He opens the bag carefully, pulls out a small white box, handles it lovingly. Two years experimentation in the Russian lab, he says softly, delicate threads of spun blue bonnet spider silk and yet strong enough to hang a bridge on.

                      He looks at her. Come here. he says

                      She hesitates for just a moment thinking of Mahiliki, and then inwardly shrugs, bugger it, I never really wanted to live on Fukitupi island and have loads of babies anyway. She moves over to him. He takes the transparent silk and slowly starts to wind the delicate thread around her wrists. Try and break it, he whispers in her ear, kisses her neck.

                      Then stops.

                      My God, what the fuck is that?

                      Veranassessee sighs.

                      :fleuron:

                      No I swear Sha, I am telling you, I saw him go into Vessie’s room.

                      Oh my God Glor, he might be a murderer, or a bloody rapist even!

                      I tell you though, he were right bloody gorgeous.

                      Well never mind that! The door is locked Sha. I think we’d better shout out. Make sure she’s okay.

                      Right, good idea. And then if she doesn’t answer we can bash the door in and we can both pounce on him.

                      Right, on the count of three Glor, we’‘ll shout out, one… two… THREE!”

                      #2121

                      In reply to: Snooteries

                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        To all our readers:

                        El Sanso will be standing in for our dear Snoot, while he takes a much needed reality break.

                        If you have any questions, dear readers, El Sanso will be happy to respond.

                        :yahoo_chatterbox: :yahoo_thinking:

                        #1898
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          tjmarshall57: hahahaha as if it’s not bad enough with the weeding, now poor girl has blotches all over her face!
                          tjmarshall57: wedding not weeding
                          tjmarshall57: do russian wear velis?
                          tjmarshall57: veils
                          tjmarshall57: hhhm, blessing by a shaman, plaiting together of the couples hair….(is Becky still blad?)
                          tjmarshall57: The biggest concern at the wedding is to have enough liquor. A Russian Wedding is an event where everybody must be drunk. No one will be surprised if people drink themselves to unconscious on the wedding – and many do.
                          tjmarshall57: well, that will appeal to Sean
                          tjmarshall57: You are probably surprised to find out that a Russian wedding lasts for 2 days!! (Well, at least. Some weddings last as long as a week, and this is something to be proud of and remember for years: it means the couple had enough liquor to go on and on, and enough devoted friends to stay.)
                          tjmarshall57: The Russian church ceremony is colorful and solemn but the complete traditional ceremony is very long, and as guests and the couple have to stand during the ceremony (there are no benches in Russian churches at all; people must stand during all church services), faints are not rare.
                          tjmarshall57: right, so a fair amount of fainting and drunkeness then
                          tjmarshall57: Then the witnesses continue running the wedding, reading jokes and poems, and sometimes asking the new couple questions to make fun of them.
                          tjmarshall57: Franci will you be my witness, you’d be perfect
                          tjmarshall57: “Za molodykh!” (“For the newlywed!”)
                          tjmarshall57: Traditionally money is considered as the best gift, and is given in an envelope. Some time after the beginning of the reception when people start to become drunk the witnesses will ask everybody to give their gifts and one of the witnesses will collect envelopes from the rest of the guests with a tray.
                          tjmarshall57: Then people have time to dance. First dance is opened by the new couple. After the music starts, there is no exact script anymore, and witnesses can relax a little. They still occasionally announce a toast but do not entertain the guests with jokes and poems; guests by this time are already having lots of fun and are able to entertain themselves.

                          Movements become quite hectic; some people go out “to refresh”, and at some moment in this movement the bride gets… “stolen”! She disappears, and when the groom starts looking for her, he is faced with a request for a ransom. Usually it’s his buddies who “steal” the bride. A more or less short wrangle about the amount, and he can have his new wife back. But he must watch out – the bride sometimes may be stolen a few times!

                          tjmarshall57: right, so we have drunkeness, fainting, jokes, poems and insults, and theft and abduction
                          tjmarshall57: Then there are the bride’s friends – they steal the bride’s shoe. The groom must pay ransom for the shoe too – the guests enjoy watching wrangles.
                          tjmarshall57: Often guests leave the wedding in such a condition that they cannot remember what happened. If this was the case with the majority of guests, then the wedding was a huge success
                          tjmarshall57: AHA! This is the key! I will write about it after the wedding, when nobody can remeber anything about it
                          tjmarshall57: Day two of the wedding:After the meal the bride must “clean” the floor in the room. The fun part is that guests are allowed to mess as much as they want while she is cleaning
                          tjmarshall57:
                          tjmarshall57: another part for you!
                          tjmarshall57: guests on a Russian wedding enjoy it much more than the newlywed couple who are all the time made fools of.
                          tjmarshall57: The most popular period for wedding ceremonies in Russia was between the Christmas and Shrovetide (a week before the spring fast). This period was called the wedding period.
                          tjmarshall57: well, the timing is right
                          tjmarshall57: One of the many superstitions still prevailing among the peasant population of Russia is that, on the occasion of a marriage, the happiness of the newly-married couple is not assured unless the parents of the contracting parties are soaked with water from head to foot. When a marriage takes place in summer this is easily accomplished by ducking the fathers and mothers in the nearest river, but in winter they are laid on the ground and rolled in the snow.
                          tjmarshall57: who are the parents?
                          tjmarshall57: Among the Koraks of Siberia a young man seeks for a maiden with considerable dowry in the form of rein-deer
                          tjmarshall57: oh, well we can have psychoactive reindeer pies, anyway
                          tjmarshall57: Kovalevsky has well shown that many of the marriage customs of this country are survivals from a primitive and prehistoric age when the woman ruled the household and had more than one husband.
                          tjmarshall57: hhmmmm
                          tjmarshall57: it all points to a distant age when the matriarchal system prevailed, and the brother was his sister’s guardian. In Little Russia the brother’s sword is decked with the red berries of the rowan tree, red being the emblem of maidenhood.
                          tjmarshall57: red fruit sync!
                          tjmarshall57: no wonder I threw the cherries away!
                          tjmarshall57: ahahahahha!
                          franci_free: oh hrllo
                          franci_free: goodness
                          franci_free: will need to read back
                          tjmarshall57: hahahah oh there you are
                          franci_free: well what a complicated theme
                          tjmarshall57: haahah well
                          franci_free: you will have to write about the wedding
                          tjmarshall57: the key to the whole thing is that everyone was so drunk that nobody can remeber any of it aftrwards
                          franci_free: hahahah
                          franci_free: great!
                          tjmarshall57: thats my angle, I think
                          franci_free:
                          tjmarshall57: and s few things fit perfectly
                          tjmarshall57: the red fruit
                          tjmarshall57: the time of year
                          tjmarshall57: the drunkeness, Sean will love that
                          franci_free: the splotches?
                          tjmarshall57: well, nobody will remeber that
                          tjmarshall57: afterwards

                          #646

                          Before leaving the castle, the fake Viscountess needed to check something on the skull…
                          Was it a genuine one? She had almost trusted the so-called experts of the auction room, while she knew perfectly well that they only could see what they knew. And they didn’t know as much as her.

                          To her knowledge, there was only a handful of genuine old crystal skulls. But counterfeits were legions and a plague for such a skillful cat burglar as she was. Well, cat-burglar,… perhaps not as acrobatically as she used to… As a matter of fact, her life-long search for these skulls had suffered the competition of a little embonpoint… — the good thing being that those few sticky superfluous pounds had been perfect to impersonate the Viscountess.
                          In the past, she had come across a few of these fake skulls and most of them bore very similar indications leaving her to think stakes were high that they were coming from the same con-artist.

                          She methodically drew a little dagger from a scabbard at her belt. Going to one of the window, she drew one of the curtains a few inches to reveal the pale sun of Shropshire which was already fading.
                          Then, she turned the jeweled hilt in such a special manner that a soft clicking sound was heard, and a beam of light started to converge from the sun rays into the dagger. She directed the ray coming from the tip of the dagger’s blade into the bottom of the skull, and hold her breath in expectation.

                          Soon the skull started to glow a bluish light, and light poured out of the skull onto the walls in dancing symbols, while a soft buzzing sound was being heard around, started to drown her in a slightly dissociated state.
                          She cut the dagger’s beam very quickly, her heart pounding at the validation. It was a genuine skull. One of the six.

                          She had to hurry, she needed to proceed on her investigations to find the missing ones.

                          The trunk was there. She took another key that she had around her neck, leaving the first one on the cupboard’s lock for the Viscountess to be freed as soon as she would be out.
                          With the key, she proceeded to open the high-tech lock of the armored trunk which opened with a blow of air.

                          Her jumpsuit was here, along with the two turbo-reactor powered condor-wings that she strapped on her jumpsuit in very professional movements.

                          A few moments later, with her big dark sunglasses that gave her the appearance of an obese fly, Carla was flying high over the countryside of England, enjoying the soft gliding on the slightly damp air.

                          #641

                          AN EXCHANGE WHICH TAKES PLACE ON THE STREETS OF LONDON DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA:

                          ‘Ere!, I saw you take that.

                          Let go of me, I didn’t do nothing.

                          I aint blind and I aint stupid, lad. I saw you put your thieving hand in this ladies handbag. Now what you got?

                          Nothing. Just this coin. It’s for me mam, she’s at home poorly, dying, and we aint got no food. ‘Ere, take it. it won’t happen again.

                          You’re right it won’t happen again because you’ll be going to the gallows I’ll be bound. I know your face. You’re one of them Magpies. I’ve ‘ad my eye on you for some time. You’re clever at covering tracks I’ll grant you that, but not clever enough it seems.

                          Look Mr Constable, I don’t know nothing about no magpies, they thieving birds aint they? It was for me poor old mam, I swear to God, if I be lying may ‘e strike me down dead.

                          No more blasphemy from you. I expect the good Lord’s got better things to do than spend his time striking down lying thieves. Thing is you’ve been been caught thieving from this lady and it’s not looking too good for you right now.

                          And I will thank you Ma’am for your courageous co-operation. said Constable Marshall O’Riley, turning galantly to the finely dressed woman, clutching her handbag tightly to her person. You have been victim of a heinous crime, and I would wish to trouble your gentle self no more with this matter. But I will thank you for your details and be assured I shall call upon you should we need you to give further evidence.

                          No sooner had the lady gone than Constable O’Riley turned to the young thief.

                          Now you listen to me carefully, young lad. I have an idea that, if you play your hand right, might save you from hanging.

                          I’m listening.

                          You and me is not two figures to be seen together, except for somewhere private. I want you to talk to the one what leads your little gang. I have an idea that could be of mutual benefit. I will let you go now, and you be here tomorrow same time, and I will tell you where the meeting will be held. I’ve ‘ad my eyes on your gang for quite some time, all I needed to convict you was to catch you red ‘anded, and I got that now. So If you ain’t here, I know where to find you lot, and I swear I’ll drag you in front of the magistrate. Do as I say though and we could all be laughing.

                          #1316

                          In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            January 4 th, 2008

                            A communication about legends, to complement what Yurick had connected to during his sleep, with ties with the dimension of Alienor, and possibly counterparts within his dimension

                            Starry sky, eternal and boundless waft of dreams and legends…

                            Many if not all of the physical dimensions possess legends. Legends of their beginnings, and legends of their ends.
                            The language which legends speak is a language of symbols, and though many of the receivers of legends are prone to erect them as absolute and faithful accounts of historical soundness, they are much more mutable and protean than what may be commonly thought of them.
                            They are connections, bridges from a locus (point in time/space) drawn as a frontier between what is known of the now, in which civilizations of these worlds are thriving, and a locus which is forgotten, or beyond the commonly perceived world.
                            As such, they essentially represent boundaries.

                            And of course, boundaries are only boundaries because they serve a purpose. Much like boundaries drawn on maps are not necessarily representing actual obstacles which cannot be physically crossed. These are mere perceptive frontiers, which tie in the various developments of history and societal relationships.
                            When the civilizations, or species, as you understand them, come close to one of these perceptive boundaries, there is an interaction with the very nature of the boundary, which is receptive to the inception of volition to cross the perceptive limitation.
                            And a process of reshaping and expending the borders takes place, by means of insertion of new legends.

                            Legends, in that way of seeing things, are not necessarily old dusty accounts sung by blind bards with jovian white beards. Not quite. They are much alive. They are created and recreated in the instant where boundaries of perceptions are being tempered with. Which makes it important to notice that they are translations of much wider movements in consciousness, spanning more than the physical dimension in which they manifest.
                            Many of the legends that humanity is aware of are very similar accounts, throughout your globe. And they are also projected in other dimensional areas vibrationally close to your manifestations.

                            You are currently fiddling with the legends of your ends of times, and that is the reason why at the same time, you are starting to create new legends. Legends of new beginnings.
                            In actuality, this is done oftentimes; each time a perceptual limit is crossed and seen beyond. The only difference here would be the unprecedented span of the process which is occurring now. The point where you are standing, prodding into the interactive frontier you have come across is not a single mere frontier, but a converging point of many of tinier, shorter ones. This also creates a singularity which makes the frontier respond with a sort of inertia. In fact, it is like a wide net of fine threads, which possess altogether a high absorbing potential for small energy bumps. Nonetheless, it will give way to a vastly expanded perception, as soon as the collective energy is focused upon, and steadily moving into the direction of pushing that protective envelop.

                            That process never ends, and during that process, new legends are being remembered. For the lands beyond the frontiers exists when you are aware of it, which in retrospect also means, it is created, or inserted as you are prodding the frontier.
                            In fact, you are, as you stand before that specific nexus point, being creating new legends, in that you are evaluating the potentials that you see fluctuating as a shadow world through the layer of a soap bubble, and have them blend with legends that you know of.
                            Your very lives become the legends of these potential worlds, and thus is the importance of your being at that locus of transition. You indeed come at that point, as much for making it possible but more so, to experience the transition and alteration of the legendary landscape. You are the bridges between a future which you are creating as you remember it, and a past which contains the clues that will be seeds for your new discoveries.
                            And that is a most rewarding travel, as you will come to see…

                            #624

                            Instantly Elizabeth regretted her spikey, voodish behaviour and scrambled to retrieve the telepooh. Her mother was Vood by nature, a particularly dysfunctional personality type, and Elizabeth had struggled all her life to avoid similar behavioural patterns. Her friends, and certainly her ex-husbands, would say perhaps with only partial success.

                            Apologies Bronkel, I was engrossed in my writing. How can I help you?

                            Bronkel appeared to be covered in bandages from what she could see of his upper torso, giving him the appearance of a rather odd mummy like creature. He was constantly searching for new beauty treatments to extend his youthful goodlooks, however at 167 years more and more desperate measures were being called for.

                            Elizabeth! Thank God, Where in Flork’s name have you been? he shouted at her. His pudgy, prouty little face was scrunched in peevish vexation. I can’t talk for long, I am on the Island for a month and the connection is flork. Where in the name of Fock is the story you promised me?

                            She could not find the words to reply to Bronkel. I wonder if I am mindblown? she mused. She had read of this horrible phenomenon, and seen the sad pictures of those thus afflicted. Poor wandering creatures, strange erratic behaviour, always travelling, always seeking. But for what? Hell on Dearth indeed. She shuddered.

                            It is getting urgent you know, spluttered Bronkel. Every day I am reading of new treatment centers opening for those undergoing crisis due to the prolonged absence of the Fickle Four in their lives.

                            She sighed, Pull yourself together Elizabeth, her bloodshot and tired eyes were drawn to the planetary horrorscope on the monthly calendar. Todays “Words of Comfort for the Descending” quotation was from the famous philosopher Lemone. She particularly loved Lemone’s ideas. Many considered him a nutter, a few thought he was a genius ahead of his time. For herself, she did not really know, only that his profoundly beautiful words offered a kind of solace or balm to her tortured soul at times such as this :

                            Sometimes it takes a single sniggly thorny path to go through to reach Elysian avenues much more efficiently ~ Lemone

                            Absolutely fantastic Bronkel, I think this is going to be the best novel yet! My God what an effort it took to say that, but for some reason Bronkel appeared to believe her and began to calm. Thank you Lemone, I could kiss you! she breathed an inward sigh of relief.

                            Poke its eyes out! screeched Robert X exuberantly.

                            A sniggly thorny path indeed, she thought, hanging up on Bronkel. She had fun using him and his island getaway for inspiration in her last novel. Fun, what happened to the fun? Is this what descended beings do, sit around in a dank, dusty office writing trashy novels?

                            She began nervously smoothing out pieces of paper and tried to decipher the scribbled notes; …big soup party …..pointy teeth like cannibals…..tribal wedding ….

                            Elizabeth put her head in her hands and groaned in abject despair. Twelve of the twenty mongoats fainted at the fearful sound.

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