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  • #4069

    “Where the devil is everyone?”

    Miss Bossy Pants looked around the empty office with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. She had been anticipating the surprised looks on her colleagues’ faces at her unannounced return —she had no illusions about her popularity and knew better than to expect a joyous reunion—but the room was disconcertingly empty.

    Hearing the door behind her, she spun around in relief. It was the new guy, Prout, carrying a brown paper bag and a take out coffee.

    “Hello!” he said, hoping he did not sound as awkward as he felt and wondering if he could back out the door again. He had only met Bossy a couple of times and found her bluntness disconcerting. Terrifying, even. There was no reply, so, taking a sip of his steaming coffee, he bravely persevered.

    “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

    “Are you the only one here? Where is everyone?” snapped Bossy Pants.

    Ricardo took a deep breath and focused on a wilted pot plant on the window ledge.

    God, I hope I don’t start rambling.

    Connie and the temp, Sophie, went to Iceland … something about following a lead from Santa Claus and I’ve not heard from them since. And Hilda … I don’t know where Hilda went to be honest. She emailed me a few days ago wanting to know what to feed Orangutans.”

    Bossy had paled. She seemed to shudder slightly and put out a hand to steady herself on a nearby desk.

    “They eat mostly fruit,” he continued, “but other stuff too of course. Insects and flowers and stuff like that. Honey I think, if they can find it I guess, and bark. And leaves. Mostly fruit though.”

    That’s probably enough about the Orangutans. She is clearly not into it.

    “I got a bit held up actually; there is a young boy outside drawing maps. Quite young … youngish. I am not sure how old really but he was little.They are bloody good too—there is quite a crowd out there watching him draw.”

    “Iceland,” whispered Bossy, her face a deathly white colour.

    “Yeah, Iceland. Keflavik … Miss Bossy, are you sure you are well enough to be back? You don’t look so good. I mean, you look good … attractive of course … I don’t mean you look bad or anything but you do look sort of pale. Are you okay?”

    “Santa Claus.” Bossy sat down slowly.

    “Yeah … I know, a bit crazy, right? They seemed to think it was a really hot lead.”

    “Stupid idiots; the lead wasn’t from Santa Claus— I will bet my life that it was from that depraved scoundrel, Dr Bronkelhampton! I heard through the grapevine he had gone to Iceland with a new identity after the Island fiasco destroyed his reputation—we covered the story at the time and it was huge—and now he is clearly after revenge. Dear God, what have they got themselves into?”

    #4054
    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      “I recommend the reindeer stew,” said the waiter with a slight nod towards the menu in his hand, yet not taking his eyes off Connie’s face.

      Connie started with excitement. Reindeer stew? Reindeer was the code word!

      “Ah, yes, thank you but I couldn’t possibly eat … Rudolph,” she replied.

      Sophie snorted from across the table. “Prancer! you idiot,” she hissed. “You couldn’t possibly eat Prancer.”

      “Prancer! I mean Prancer!” Connie giggled nervously however the waiter’s expression remained inscrutable.

      “Very well,” he said, surreptitiously slipping a folded note into the menu and placing it on the table. “Let us see if we have something more to your taste.”

      “Rudolph!“cackled Sophie as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “Lucky I was here you bonehead. You could have messed up the whole mission.”

      Connie wondered why people tended to preface Sophie’s name with “sweet”.

      Rude, cantankerous, nasty old biddy, she thought and felt a familiar twitching in her clenched fist.

      Taking a deep breath, Connie managed a forced smile. Better to stay on good terms, at least for now.

      “Thanks for that, Sophie. What would I do without you? Let’s see what this note says, shall we?”

      Carefully looking around to make sure they were not being watched, Connie unfolded the note.

      “If you want to learn about elves, you need to go to Elf School”, she read.

      “My word,” said Sophie. “How delightfully delphian.”

      #4038

      Connie looked at the Bossy Pants instructions, her face inscrutable.

      Hilda was not up yet, probably passed out on her couch after a night of debauchery and snorting pepsain. As usual, she’d left a heap of links on her blog for Connie to choose from. Well, and of course, to sexy-bait them up. There were times she was glad she didn’t have to face all the people herself and interview them. Today was not one of them.

      She gestured at the awkward new intern. He passed a head through the door. She didn’t give him the time to open his mouth. “Another chamomile tea,… thaaank you.” He disappeared hurriedly.

      “At least this one gets me.”

      For today, chamomile was the least of evils. Anything stronger would have her go full contact on any one daring to even look at her. If people knew the efforts she made daily.
      Her self-defence instructor knew something about it. She almost sent him to the hospital last week.

      Glancing upon the list of notes, she noticed that Hilda had made a highlight to double check on the gouda cat-like man. That was strange. Hilda wasn’t one to come back on stuff once shared and published. Definitively not the past-dwelling profile. There must have been something more.

      “Well, know what, old tart: early bird gets the worm.”

      She rose from the swivel chair, taking her purse swiftly and aiming for the exit door with the path of least eye-contact when the odd guy appeared again with the damn tea. She’d forgotten about that. Again, her brains firing at full speed, she didn’t leave him time to tell or ask anything.

      “You don’t know where Joel is? Of course not…” The photographer was probably on another assignment. Had not been seen for weeks it seemed. Not that she cared, he would have been more like an alibi for her to go an a follow-up mission.

      Sometimes her brains would also make her do the darnedest thing. She couldn’t stop herself from telling to the hapless intern.

      “You look too happy Ric. Take your coat and come with me.”

      #3970
      Jib
      Participant

        That’s funny, Roberto thought, a bunch of nonsense.
        “What’s that ?” asked Liz, her curiosity picked by the alluredness of a strand of words.
        “It just fall off your hat”, said the gardener. He looked at the woman, thinking about what Godfrey had told him. The sunlight certainly made her look radiant. He noticed that the red of her lips was the same as the red rose bush he was just taking care of.
        Liz took the paper.
        “Be careful, It’s sticky”, said Roberto.
        “Say something I don’t know, dear.” She tried to get rid of the paper, tearing it in several pieces in the process.
        “I wonder…” she began, “Finnley”, she called waiting for her help. She would certainly know. She had a habit of sticking her nose everywhere.

        #3893
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “You can’t leave without a permit, you know,” Prune said, startling Quentin who was sneaking out of his room.

          “I’m just going for a walk,” he replied, irritated. “And what are you doing skulking around at this hour, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

          “What are you doing with an orange suitcase in the corridor at three o’clock in the morning?” the young brat retorted. “Where are you going?”

          “Owl watching, that’s what I’m doing. And I don’t have a picnic basket, so I’m taking my suitcase.” Quentin had an idea. “Would you like to come?” The girls local knowledge might come in handy, up to a point, and then he could dispose of her somehow, and continue on his way.

          Prune narrowed her eyes with suspicion. She didn’t believe the owl story, but curiosity compelled her to accept the invitation. She couldn’t sleep anyway, not with all the yowling mating cats on the roof. Aunt Idle had forbidden her to leave the premises on her own after dark, but she wasn’t on her own if she was with a story refugee, was she?

          #3866

          Vincentius took one last look at the children, wondering if he should give them all a hug and bid them farewell. But they were happily engrossed in smearing Fanella’s collection of Venetian glass with marmite and peanutbutter paint effects, so he slipped out without a word and left them to it.

          Shivering in the damp chill air, he looked nervously at Arona. “Where are you taking me? I’m not supposed to leave without permission, I might get sent back to the detention camp on the island.” He shuddered at the thought.

          “Don’t be silly,” snapped Arona, “Do pull yourself together, you are but a shadow of your former self. Yes, yes, I know it must have been awful,” she said impatiently at Vincentius’ self pitying look, “You can tell me all about Tikfijikoo Spider Camp later. But now we must hurry. Come on!”

          #3864

          “The key comes from a certain Dory”, said Becky with a puzzled look. “Does anyone know a Dory ? I don’t.”
          “Have you been taking sleep pills again?” asked Tina in the brink of an eyeroll.
          “Not at all”, said Becky briskly, bringing the letter and the key close to her chest. “I just don’t remember. It seems so far away.”
          “It looks like a locker key, or maybe a safe key.” said Sam. “Look, there is a little monkey carved on it, and a number.” he said pointing at it.
          Becky and Tina looked more closely.
          “1495”, said Becky.
          “Year 1495 (MCDXCV) was a common year starting on Thursday”, said Al. He was trying to solve a puzzle based on chaotic randomness theory and the evolution of the electromagnetic flux of sunspots in real time.
          “There’s a little card with it.” Tina was holding a small square rigid paper with a name on it. “It’s written Tikfijikoo Island.”
          “I remember the name”, said Sam, “I think it’s that place where they are building the Spider Amusement Park, or SAP.”

          #3823
          Jib
          Participant

            The Cacklversity campus was surrounded by a custard lake, the smell of which was often ewwing at the students during a stinky hot day. The dean often said it was good for your cackle. Hubert Howlick did not share that opinion. He had always thought the custard lake was a nuisance.

            “Lift Uranus”, said he, lifting his hands to the heaven as if he was actually lifting a planet. The students mimicked his movements and he could see some of them taking the ancient rhymes to the heart of the matter.

            #3818

            Evangeline Spiggot admired her long crimson polished nails before pressing the button for the Noise Control Officer, Ed Steam. He answered the call with a muffled “hwellflow?”

            Ed, are you eating peanuts again? Vangie here, just had a call from Muffin Mews, another complaint about the cackler, over in Cakltown this time.”

            “Cakltown! I say, she’s frightfully efficient, she must have finished Bunbury already, I must see the boss about giving her a bonus.”

            “Oh, I don’t think Bunbury’s finished yet, Ed, you know these freelancer chancers, they don’t usually stick to the plan. Hedging her bets, I expect, covering her trail. Most of Tartlett Terrace has been insantizied, but I haven’t had a single call from Croisssant Crescent in Bunbury yet, nor Pieman Park.”

            “This mission is taking a good deal longer that I imagined,” replied Ed. “Might have to see if we can insantitize en masse at the bake sale next week at Lemoine Meringue Hall.”

            #3809
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              ~ ~ ~ ~ She forgot the trout! ~ ~ ~
              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A read herring, was as good as red. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ But for a clue-fish, who would diss a trout ? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
              :fish: :fish: :fish: :fish: :fish:

              :fleuron:

              Liz’! Liz’!”

              ELIZABETH !” (sometimes caps were better to catch her attention)
              “I’ve come back from Mars to take you home.”

              She couldn’t make out whether the medications were wearing off or kicking in, or was that really Godfrey, back for her?

              Liz’, I’ve got to tell you the most astonishing things.”
              Godfrey… I think you should wait a bit…” she slurred words died out in a pool of drool
              Liz’, wait till I explain you all about the blue benders. Aliens, new frontiers! >-) There’s hope yet for a new best stellar! I’m taking you out of this dreadful nursing home!”

              #3782

              In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Finnley!” Mother Shirley called. “Another brainwave is coming! Put me on speakers.”

                Taking on a dramatic voice, Mother Shirley started to prattle on the microphone.

                My dear parishioners, good day to you! Dramatic news before we engage our Bollothrope Meditation:
                “There is a fundamental change of vibrations. We have to face a destabilization of energies as we know them now. There are shifts to enter into entirely new consciousnesses. All agreements are rewritten. We will have new experiences of consciousnesses we never had before. The world will be joined by new consciousnesses never experienced before. The matrix as we know it will not exist anymore. A totally new bending archetype will arise, a new archetypical bending extraterrestrial energy. The energy of contact.”

                When she got out of trance, she reached for a glass of water, amazed at what she’d seen in her mind’s eye. There was hope for all. She still couldn’t believe in how many shades of blues such salvation came.

                She was still reeling from the high energies when she heard the sirens followed by the mars-shattering waves deep within the ground.

                #3777

                In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  Finnley 21 had received new orders to amp up the headpiece device for thoughts projection. It was by now far exceeding the constructor’s safe range of usage, but the robot had scanned the vitals of Mother Shirley, and had not found them aberrantly different from when she’d just been shipped to MARS.

                  Proceed with mass extinction prophet syndrome simulation 10-B-Alpha

                  At the commands of the dome, Eb noticed Central Finnley was taking initiatives to prepare the Mars populace to a doomsday scenario through religious belief manipulations. At least, the artificial intelligence apple didn’t fall far from its creator’s tree he would say.

                  But he was running late for his interview with the only candidate they’d found. He’d better be good, or at least have a convincing costume. Eb hated those interviews where he had to pretend to listen and care, why all he wanted was a nice bottle of brandy.

                  #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.”

                  #3668
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    “Will someone get rid of that old woman with the horrible accent?” hissed Finnley, ungraciously.

                    “What on earth for? She is doing a splendid job. I must say though, Finnley, just as a side note, it is good to hear you sounding more like your normal ungracious self.”

                    “I found dust,” muttered Finnley, glaring accusingly at Haki.

                    Elizabeth look unaccustomedly thoughtful. “Do you think you need a break, Finnley dearest? You really must be exhausted after all the splendid proof reading you have been doing for me this year. Why don’t you go home for a while, on full pay of course.”

                    Finnley burst into tears. “Where is my home though?” she snuffled. ”I am not good with descriptive details. I just found myself in this stupid story doing your stupid cleaning. And now I have a Bulgarian sister, to boot. And,” she looked witheringly at Elizabeth, “ proofreading is one word”

                    “Crikey, matey,” said Norbert patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Christmas is a killer, in’t? Family coming out of the woodwork like blimmin worms. Keep ya chin up though, eh. Ya can’t be letting things get to ya like this. Ya wouldn’t be able to carry on like this if ya were in bloody China ya know. Like bloody robots they are there. I don’t think they know the meaning of the word feelings over there.” He shook his head in wonder at their philistinism.

                    “And ya right about that one,” he added quietly, with a conspiratorial raised eyebrow and a slight nod of his head towards Haki.

                    Elizabeth leapt up and rushed to the bookshelf. “I know what you need! some Lemon Juice! I will pick one at random; they are all absolutely superb.” She opened the very small book and closing her eyes stabbed the page dramatically with her finger.

                    ”Let’s not be overachieving fucks.”

                    “Wow,” she mouthed, awestruck. After taking a moment to recover herself, she looked sympathetically at Finnley.

                    “The oracle has done it again. Do you hear that Finnley? You are an overachieving fuck.”

                    Finnley rolled her eyes.

                    #3550
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Corrie:

                      Funny how things pop up. While Clove was taking supper to the guy in room 8, I signed into Spacenook and the first thing on my perusefeed was an article about maps.

                      “Cartographies can be altered endlessly to reflect different priorities, hierarchies, experiences, points of view, and destinations.”

                      How syncy is that. There was another sync like that yesterday, after the kitten fell off the barn roof. I was just posting a photo of the kitten on Spacenook and glanced at the sidebar and there was an ad for a catnip garden memories of dead cats group thing there. I wonder if that dream I had of our old dog Lilly the other day was because the kitten was a remanifestation of her? Lilly’s name was supposed to be Delilah, that’s what it said on her papers, Delilah, but nobody ever called her that. We always called her Lilly.

                      Anyway, they come and they go, we’ve had hundreds of cats wander through this town, but they always come back. I saw a rat the other day and it reminded me of Boozer, the old sheepdog we had when we were little.

                      Funny thing was, yesterday morning I’d posted this poem by Mary Oliver:

                      “…. Tell me, what else should I have done?
                      Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
                      Tell me, what is it you plan to do
                      With your one wild and precious life?”

                      Made me feel a bit better when I read it again later, because I did wonder if I’d got there quicker when I heard it crying, when it must have been halfway done falling and stuck on a branch, it might not have ended up the way it did. It must have been meant to be that way I suppose. Well, she’ll be back. They always come back sooner or later.

                      Sighing, I refocused on the article.

                      “Maps produce new realities much as they seek to document current ones. Maps are always a going-beyond the space-time of the present.”

                      No mention of a room full of map covered mannequins in the Brundy place though.

                      #3435

                      “You know, you look like a nice guy”, said Lazuli Galore, “Not that I’m of that sort, you know what I mean, I’m not into men and anything.”
                      “Of course”, said Sanso taking another sip of his beer. He wasn’t sure about what the man was referring to, it didn’t really matter. He had had at least seven beers and the world around him just began to take that characteristic blur, which was kind of nice. The words of the man were like colorful flies buzzing around in an bubbly way.
                      “You know”, continued his new friend, “they have rooms upstairs, maybe we can visit them. I’ve heard each room were decorated according to different love songs… not that I’m a sissy or anything of the sort, of course.”
                      “Of course”, said Sanso automatically. “Are we shagging now or when you are finished to talk ?”
                      Lazuli gaped and stood up. They went upstairs and from the courtyard one could hear “Don’t look me in the eyes” or “I’m not a sissy!” “No you’re not, little slut”.

                      #3426

                      The Chamberlain was out of options. He couldn’t hide the truth any longer to the P’hope, and had requested an appointment with His P’holiness.

                      “My dear Downson, what brings you?” the P’hope’s voice was unusually cheery. They both never seen eye to eye, and had an honest and enduring dislike of each other, however they always had put on a façade of politeness and silky manners.
                      “My dear P’hope, I have a confession to make.”

                      Suddenly, the P’hope’s hawk eye tensed and looked straight and deep into the Chamberlain’s eyes.
                      “Is something troubling you Downson? Spit it out, it will leave you more time to repent.”
                      “The King’s missing.”
                      “What? Are you sure you didn’t just lose him in the tavern or some other place of holy debauchery?”
                      “I wouldn’t have troubled you without being absolutely certain.”
                      “This is indeed a grave matter. You know how the King is an important figure for the stability of this City. How long has he been missing?”
                      “Three days already. I fear he may have gone out of the City. Before leaving he’d mentioned going to the beanstalk.”
                      “Folly! How could you let that happen!” The P’hope raised from his chair and started to pace around restlessly.

                      “With that and the beanstalk crumbling down, I cannot help but see some cause and effect, my dear Downson. Of course, it would be heretic to leave the good people in such turmoil without taking swift and firm action. It seems the Divine calls for a change of leadership, my dear Downson.”

                      #3398
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        ““It’s going to rain” is an anagram!” Lucius announced, although nobody was listening. The others were all in various stages of taking their clothes off, although Lucius wasn’t sure why.
                        “It’s an anagram for Start Bog Snorkeling” he revealed proudly, looking around for approval. Nobody noticed.

                        #3394

                        King Artie had decided he would be George. That would be his adventurer’s identity, his nom de plume (if he ever gets out of his adventure alive and manages to write novels out of it, that is).

                        He’d packed in a hurry, taking advantage of the guards’ shift at midday to disappear from the castle unnoticed.
                        The bag full of his stone collection was getting heavy under the sun, and the exertion took his toll and dulled his usually quick reflexes so that he was taken by surprise when the girl grabbed him. A strong woman… Now he was smitten.

                        He’d noticed her leaving under the most peculiar of cloaks, taking her at first for a male adventurer —he had assumed being followed by a stray cat meant it was a fish-smelly adventurer too. Her gait sure wasn’t very feminine, but her face was pretty; even prettier when she looked angry was something he would have loved to tell her if she’d given him the chance.

                        He chose to ignore her last remark and continue to discreetly follow her. She knew her way around, and seemed headed out of town. At least she was a better bet than being under the thumb of the P’hope’s minions.

                        #3365
                        Jib
                        Participant

                          The room numbers were framed in a golden disc carved with what looked like zodiac animals and a circle of eights.

                          Linda observed the man walking in front of her. As soon as the effects of the lust gas had dissipated, she had been able to focus on something else than his butt. He’d been watching over his shoulder, and it was not to see if she was keeping with his pace. He had been frowning ever since she’d met him, and you could say his whole attitude exuded wariness. Despite her Happiness Training and the meditation practice at night with Sadie, she was beginning to feel some bowel tension. Not good for her digestion.

                          He stopped in front of room 57. He knocked, didn’t wait for an answer, instead used his magnetic key to open it, and entered. She followed. He looked one last time on both sides of the corridor, then locked the door.

                          They were in a big yellow lounge. Linda addressed a silent prayer to the Good Taste Goddess, sympathizing with the pain She must have endured each time an interior designer had expressed such lack of sobriety. It wasn’t just the color. The furniture seemed to come from Hart to Hart, except the sofa was in a dark yellow leather, and the cushions in a bright magenta.

                          “Wait here ‘till I call you”, he said. He left through a door on the right, taking his frown with him.
                          Linda heard him talk to someone in the other room, certainly a bedroom. A feminine voice answered him. They argued for some time. The woman was the last to speak. Then the silence.

                          Linda hesitated to seat on a jumping armchair with yellow and brown stripes. It was as if every cell of her body, and even the molecules of her clothes were repelled by the choices of the interior designer. She would have sworn her platform shoes were trying to levitate from the carpet.

                          The man’s head appeared at the door.
                          “Come in, she’s ready to see you.”

                          Linda could see emotions struggle on his face.

                          “But I warn you”, he said, his fists clenched, “she’s been sick since we have arrived. If my wife is tired, I’ll ask you to leave.”

                          “Oh!” Linda said.

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