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  • #7951

    Disgruntled and bored with the fruitless wait for the other characters to reveal more of themselves, Amy started staying in her room all day reading books, glad that she’d had an urge to grab a bag full of used paperbacks from a chance encounter with a street vendor in Bogota.

    A strange book about peculiar children lingered in her mind, and mingled  somehow with the vestiges of the mental images of the writhing Uriah in the book Amy had read prior to this one.

    Aunt Amy?  a childs voice came unbidden to Amys ear.  Well, why not? Amy thought, Some peculiar children is what the story needs. Nephews and neices though, no actual children, god forbid. 

    “Aunt Amy!”  A gentle knocking sounded on the bedroom door.  “Are you in there, Aunt Amy?”

    “Is that at neice or nephew at my actual door? Already?” Amy cried in amazement.

    “Can I come in, please?” the little voice sounded close to tears.  Amy bounded off the bed to unloock leaving that right there the door to let the little instant ramen rellie in.

    The little human creature appeared to be ten years old or so, as near as Amy could tell, with a rather androgenous look: a grown out short haircut in a nondescript dark colour, thin gangling limbs robed in neutral shapelessness, and a pale pinched face.

    “I’ve never done this before, can you help me?” the child said.

    “Never been a story character before, eh?” Amy said kindly. “Do you know your name? Not to worry if you don’t!” she added quickly, seeing the child’s look of alarm. “No?  Well then you can choose what ever you like!”

    The child promptly burst into tears, and Amy wanted to kick herself for being such a tactless blundering fool.  God knows it wasn’t that easy to choose, even when you knew the choice was yours.

    Amy wanted to ask the child if it was a boy or a girl, but hesitated, and decided against it. I’ll have to give it a name though, I can’t keep calling it the child.

    “Would you mind very much if I called you Kit, for now?” asked Amy.

    “Thanks, Aunt Amy,” Kit said with a tear streaked smile. “Kit’s fine.”

    #7949

    One too many cups of coffee and I should know better by now, Amy realised after tossing and turning in her crumpled bed through the strange dark hours of the night, wondering if someone had spiked her wine with cocaine or if she was having a heart attack or a nervous breakdown.  They all say to just breathe, she thought, But that is the last thing you should focus on when you’re hyperventilating.  You should forget your breathing entirely when you can’t control it.  After several hours of imagining herself in the death throes of some dire terminal physical malfunction, she fell asleep, only to be woken up by a strong need to piss like a racehorse.  Don’t open your eyes more than you need to, don’t wake up too much, she told herself as she lurched blindly to the privy.

    Latte! Fucking Latte! what a stupid word for coffee with milk.  Amy hated the word latte, it was so pretentious and stupid. Revolting anyway, putting milk in coffee, made inexpressibly worse by calling the bloody thing JUST MILK in another language. Why not call it Milch or Leche or молоко or γάλα or 牛奶 or sữa or दूध….

    Amy flushed the toilet, wide awake and irritated, but never the less grateful for the realisation that her discomfort was nothing more than an ooverdoose of cafoone.

    #7947

    Chico drank the cup of freshly ground coffee beans. He winked with distaste and jotted a few words on his notebook before trying a second batch of ground coffee beans.

    He wasn’t aware of much from his past life, or if he even had a life before the others summoned him. They were a mystery to him, and he didn’t understand the reasons or the purpose of his existence. He didn’t even like coffee; he only pretended to, because the job and his own physical appearance kind of fit with the stereotype. He chuckled thinking it could be a stereotypo.

    He thought the taste of coffee was the reason why he chewed betel leaves. Their taste, slightly spicy and pungent with hints of clove and cinnamon helped mask the bitterness of the coffee he had to drink. He suddenly became aware of some other information about himself. He could swear he had forgotten them, they simply weren’t there before. His father had lost his teeth. The reason wasn’t clear yet, but looming behind the jungle trees. What about his mother? Was she slim or fat? Both possibilities flickered in his head and disappeared. Apparently it hadn’t been chosen yet. He pondered about that last remark before forgetting it.

    Too many weird questions were passing through his fat head. The heat and sweat were no good for his mental health… because of all the flies. He wondered if that was the reason why the old lady had started breeding them under her rooftop. She claimed it was an infestation but he had seen her secretly releasing swarms of flies in the evening, exciting the cauldron of bats. She had seen him looking at her, but they had tacitly convened they would not betray each other’s secret. Only, Chico wasn’t yet aware of what his own secret was.

    He winced as he tasted the third batch of coffee from the plantation.

    #7940
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      The Cofficionados Theme Song “Dont Trust a Goat with a Plan

       


       

      [Verse]
      Goat in a bow tie whispers
      “Trust me
      My dear”
      A plan in its hooves but intentions unclear
      Guard the coffee belt like a treasure map’s end
      Four bandits are plotting to twist and upend

      [Chorus]
      Don’t trust a goat with a plan
      My friend
      They’ll sip your dreams while you defend
      Lucid nights sabotaged mid-spin
      By cofficionados sneaking in

      [Verse 2]
      Carob in shadows
      No cocoa in sight
      Thiram with whispers that steal your midnight
      Amy’s sweet smile hides beans of deceit
      Chico grinds chaos
      The bitter elite

      [Bridge]
      Sleep-parachute breaches
      Reverse dreams collide
      They’ve hijacked your pillow for the wildest ride
      Beware the saboteurs that seep in deep
      Between dripping espresso and REM sleep

      [Chorus]
      Don’t trust a goat with a plan
      My friend
      They’ll sip your dreams while you defend
      Lucid nights sabotaged mid-spin
      By cofficionados sneaking in

      [Verse 3]
      Pour your resistance in a steaming haze
      Shield the roast aroma from their forking ways
      The bandits want dominion over your grind
      But you’ll wake alert with their schemes left behind

      #7935

      “I don’t know, Amy. I thought it was Chico who was mysterious — subversively spitting at every opportunity.”

      “Well, Carob, maybe we could just agree they’re equally mysterious?” suggested Amy, turning her attention back to her search.

      Carob shrugged. “A woman in Greece is divorcing her husband because AI read her coffee cup and said he was cheating.”

      Amy paused and looked up. “For real?”

      “Yeah. I read it on Thiram’s news stream. He left it running on that weird device of his — over there, next to his half-drunk coffee. Not sure where he went, actually.”

      Amy gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh! Oh! Brainwave occurring — let’s get AI to read Thiram’s coffee cup!”

      Carob snorted. “Genius.”

      They raced over to the small folding table where Thiram’s cup sat. Carob held up her phone.

      “Okay. One quick pic. Hold it steady!”

      They excitedly uploaded the image to an AI analysis app Thiram had installed on his device.

      The app whirred for a few minutes:

      DEEP COFFEE CUP ANALYSIS COMPLETE

      Latent emotional residue: contemplative, fond of secrets.
      Foam pattern suggests hidden loyalty to an entity known only as “The Port.”
      Swirling suggests alignment with larger forces not currently visible.
      Presence of cardamom notes: entirely unaccounted for.
      Recommendation: approach carefully with gentle questioning.

      “Blimey, what does that mean?” asked Carob.

      Amy nodded solemnly, perhaps with just a touch of smugness. “He is a man of mystery. Didn’t I say it?”

      #7932

      Distracted by an ants nest of unusual dimensions and Carob’s attention being thus diverted allowed Amy a moment of reflection.

      #7927
      Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
      Participant

        Thiram Izu

         

        Thiram Izu – The Bookish Tinkerer with Tired Eyes

        Explicit Description

        • Age: Mid-30s

        • Heritage: Half-Japanese, half-Colombian

        • Face: Calm but slightly worn—reflecting quiet resilience and perceptiveness.

        • Hair: Short, tousled dark hair

        • Eyes: Observant, introspective; wears round black-framed glasses

        • Clothing (standard look):

          • Olive-green utilitarian overshirt or field jacket

          • Neutral-toned T-shirt beneath

          • Crossbody strap (for a toolkit or device bag)

          • Simple belt, jeans—functional, not stylish

        • Technology: Regularly uses a homemade device, possibly a patchwork blend of analog and AI circuitry.

        • Name Association: Jokes about being named after a fungicide (Thiram), referencing “brothers” Malathion and Glyphosate.


        Inferred Personality & Manner

        • Temperament: Steady but simmering—he tries to be the voice of reason, but often ends up exasperated or ignored.

        • Mindset: Driven by a need for internal logic and external systems—he’s a fixer, not a dreamer (yet paradoxically surrounded by dreamers).

        • Social Role: The least performative of the group. He’s neither aloof nor flamboyant, but remains essential—a grounded presence.

        • Habits:

          • Zones out under stress or when overstimulated by dream-logic.

          • Blinks repeatedly to test for lucid dream states.

          • Carries small parts or tools in pockets—likely fidgets with springs or wires during conversations.

        • Dialogue Style: Deadpan, dry, occasionally mutters tech references or sarcastic analogies.

        • Emotional Core: Possibly a romantic or idealist in denial—hidden under his annoyance and muttered diagnostics.


        Function in the Group

        • Navigator of Reality – He’s the one most likely to point out when the laws of physics are breaking… and then sigh and fix it.

        • Connector of Worlds – Bridges raw tech with dream-invasion mechanisms, perhaps more than he realizes.

        • Moral Compass (reluctantly) – Might object to sabotage-for-sabotage’s-sake; he values intent.

        #7925
        Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
        Participant

          Chico Ray

           

          Chico Ray

          Directly Stated Visual and Behavioral Details:

          • Introduces himself casually: “Name’s Chico,” with no clear past, suggesting a self-aware or recently-written character.

          • Chews betel leaves, staining his teeth red, which gives him a slightly unsettling or feral appearance.

          • Spits on the floor, even in a freshly cleaned café—suggesting poor manners, or possibly defiance.

          • Appears from behind a trumpet tree, implying he lurks or emerges unpredictably.

          • Fabricates plausible-sounding geo-political nonsense (e.g., the coffee restrictions in Rwanda), then second-guesses whether it was fiction or memory.

          Inferred Traits:

          • A sharp smile made more vivid by betel staining.

          • Likely wears earth-toned clothes, possibly tropical—evoking Southeast Asian or Central American flavors.

          • Comes off as a blend of rogue mystic and unreliable narrator, leaning toward surreal trickster.

          • Psychological ambiguity—he doubts his own origins, possibly a hallucination, dream being, or quantum hitchhiker.

          What Remains Unclear:

          • Precise age or background.

          • His affiliations or loyalties—he doesn’t seem clearly aligned with the Bandits or Lucid Dreamers, but hovers provocatively at the edges.

          #7923
          Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
          Participant

            Amy & Carob

            Amy Kawanhouse

            Directly Stated Visual Traits:

            • Hair: Long, light brown

            • Eyes: Hazel, often sweaty or affected by heat/rain

            • Clothing: Old grey sweatshirt with pushed-up sleeves

            • Body: Short and thin, with shapely legs in denim

            • Style impression: Understated and practical, slightly tomboyish, no-frills but with a hint of self-aware physicality

            Inferred From Behavior:

            • Functional but stylish in a low-maintenance way.

            • Comfortable with being dirty or goat-adjacent.

            • Probably ties her hair back when annoyed.


            Carob Latte

            Directly Stated Visual Traits:

            • Height: Tall (Amy refers to her as “looming”)

            • Hair: Frizzled—possibly curly or electrified, chaotic in texture

            • General Look: Disheveled but composed; possibly wears layered or unusual clothing (fitting her dreamy reversal quirks)

            Inferred From Behavior:

            • Movements are languid or deliberately unhurried.

            • Likely wears things with big pockets or flowing elements—goat-compatible.

            • There’s an aesthetic at play: eccentric wilderness mystic or mad cartographer.

            #7921
            Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
            Participant

              Key Themes and Narrative Elements

              Metafiction & Self-Reference: Characters frequently comment on their own construction, roles, and how being written (or observed) defines their reality. Amy especially embodies this.

              Lucid Dreaming & Dream Logic: The boundary between reality and dream is porous. Lucid Dreamers are parachuting onto plantations, and Carob dreams in reverse. Lucid Dreamers are adverse to Coffee Plantations as they keep the World awake.

              Coffee as Sacred Commodity: The coffee plantation is central to the story’s stakes. It’s under threat from climate (rain), AI malfunctions, and rogue dreamers. This plays comically on global commodity anxiety.

              Technology Satire & AI Sentience: Emotional AI, “Silly Intelligence” devices, and exasperation with modern tech hint at mild technophobia or skepticism. All fueled by hot caffeinated piece of news.

              Fictionality vs. Reality: Juan and Dolores embody this—grappling with what it means to be real. Dolores vanishes when no one looks—existence contingent on observation.

              Rain & Weather as Mood Symbol: The rain is persistent—setting a tone of gentle absurdity and tension, while also providing plot catalyst.

              #7920
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Key Characters (with brief descriptions)

                Amy Kawanhouse – Self-aware new character with metatextual commentary. Witty, possibly insecure, reflective; has a goat named Fanella and possibly another, Finnley, for emergencies. Often the first to point out logical inconsistencies or existential quirks.

                Carob Latte – Tall, dry-humored, and slightly chaotic. Fond of coffee-related wordplay and appears to enjoy needling Amy. Described as having “frizzled” hair and reverse-lucid dreams.

                Thiram Izu – The practical one, technologically inclined but confused by dreams. Tends to get frustrated with the group’s lack of coordination. Has a history of tension with Amy, and a tendency to “zone out.”

                Chico Ray – Mysterious newcomer. May have appeared out of nowhere. Unclear loyalties. Possibly former friend or frenemy of the group, annoyed by past incidents.

                Juan & Dolores Valdez – Fictional coffee icons reluctantly acknowledging their existence within a meta-reality. Dolores isn’t ready to be real, and Juan’s fine with playing the part when needed.

                Godric – Swedish barista-channeler. Hints at deeper magical realism; references Draugaskalds (ghost-singers) and senses strange presences.

                Ricardo – Appears later. Described in detail by Amy (linen suit, Panama hat), acts as a foil in a discussion about maps and coffee geography. Undercover for a mission with Miss Bossy.

                The Padre – Could be a father or a Father. Offstage, but influential. Concerned about rain ruining crops. A source of exposition and concern.

                Fanella – Amy’s cream goat, serves as comic relief and visual anchor.
                Finnley, the unpredictable goat, is reserved for “life or death situations.”

                #7917

                Chico noticed the inching bush from his hidden vantage point behind the tulip tree. For a moment he wished he wasn’t quite so solitary, and regretted that there was nobody to say look at that bush inching along over there to.

                 

                ~~~

                 

                “Sssh!” whispered Carob, holding a hand up to silence Amy. “Did you hear that? Listen! There it is again!”

                “Sounds like someone spitting behind that tulip tree.  But look over there!” Amy cried, “I never saw such a thing, that bush is moving.”

                “And it’s heading towards the tulip tree spitter,” Carob replied grimly. “This could get serious.”

                #7916

                Carob didn’t know what to say — which gave her a tendency to ramble.

                Was everyone avoiding Amy?

                Was it because she was dressed as a stout little lady?

                Carob cleared her throat. “Well, Amy, you look… most interesting today.”

                “I have to agree,” replied Amy, unperturbed. “Now — what is this about you and Ricardo?”

                “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you,” Carob said, shaking her head. “Partly because it’s top secret, and partly because…”
                She tapped her temple and nodded to herself — definitely a few times more than necessary. “I’m still working it out.”

                “But you know him?” Amy persisted. “How do you know him?”

                Carob knew Amy could be relentless.

                “Look over there!” she shouted, pointing vaguely.

                Amy didn’t even turn her head. She gazed up at Carob with a long-suffering stare. “Carob?”

                Carob scrunched up her face. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I think the others are avoiding you. Me. Us. Both of us.”

                She took a deep breath. “Thiram doesn’t know where we are or what we’re doing here — and he’s not good with that, bless. We don’t know where on earth Chico is — but we do know he spits, which, quite frankly, is uncouth.”

                She brightened suddenly. “But one thing I do know — here, amid the coffee beans and the lucid dreamers, there is a story to be told.”

                Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve noticed you still haven’t told me how you know Ricardo.”

                It was rather odd — but neither of them noticed the bush inching closer.

                Trailing suspect but nothing to report yet, messaged Ricardo.

                He knew Miss Bossy Pants wouldn’t be happy.

                #7915

                Amy supposed everyone was blaming her, for what she couldn’t say, but they had clearly been avoiding her. There was plenty of coffee here anyway, even if the rest of the world was suffering. Don’t even think it, she told herself sternly. We don’t want people flocking here in droves once they realise.

                So, do I want people or not? she asked herself. One minute I’m wondering where everyone is, and then next minute I’m wanting everyone to stay away.

                “You on the spectrum too, are you?” asked Carob, reading her mind.  “It’s ok,” she added, seeing the look of alarm cross Amy’s face, “Your secret’s safe with me. I mean about being on the spectrum. But be careful, they’re rounding people like us up and sending them to a correctional facility.  We’re quite lucky to be here, out of the way.”

                “Have you been avoiding me?” Amy asked, which was more immediately concerning than the concentration camps.  “Because I’ve been here all alone for ages, nothing to do but read my book,  draw in my sketch pad, and work on my needlepoint cushion covers. And where are the others? And don’t read my mind, it’s so rude.”

                “Needlepoint cushion covers? Are you serious?” Carob was avoiding the questions, but was genuinely curious about the cushion covers.

                Amy blushed.  “No, I made that up. In fact, I don’t know what made me say that. I haven’t started any sketching either, but I have thought about starting sketching. And I’ve been reading. It’s an old Liz Tattler; the old ones were the best. Real old school Lizzie Tattie, if you know what I mean. Risque romps with potting sheds and stuff.  None of that ghastly sci fi she started writing recently.”

                “Which one?” Carob asked, and laughed when Amy held it up.  “I read that years ago, T’Eggy Gets a Good Rogering, can I borrow it after you? God knows we could all do with a laugh.”

                “How do you know the others need a good laugh?” Amy asked, peering at Carob with an attentive squint in order to catch any clues. “You’ve seen then, then?”

                Carob smiled sadly and replied, “Only by remote viewing them.”

                Amy asked where they had been and what they were doing when they were viewed remotely. Has she been remote viewing me? What if they ask her if she’s been remote viewing me, and she tells them?  “Oh never mind,” Amy said quickly, “No need to answer that.”

                Carob snorted, and what a strangely welcome sound it was. “I didn’t really remote view them, I made  that up.  It never works if I try to spy on people. Fat lot of good it is really, it never works when I really really need to see  something. Or maybe it works, but I never believe it properly until later when I find out it was right.”

                “Yeah,” Amy said, “It’s fun though, I haven’t done it in ages.”

                “You should, it would give you something to do when everyone’s avoiding you.”

                #7912

                “Sweaty hazel eyes… like coffee cup saucers,” muttered Carob discreetly into her phone. “Good grief. Sounds like something that dreadful Elizabeth Tattler might have written.”

                Privately, she was shaken to see Ricardo. To her credit, though, she had done a splendid job of disguising her unease.

                What if he gave her game away?

                #7909

                A mad cackle started to shake the Universe again.

                “Mmm…” Thiram interjected. “Not like you to be so hung up on details now? Although, I thought that was the whole point — coffee beans acclimation to whole unexpected new places, with the AI models predicting or hallucinating the shifts of weather patterns and all? Surely coffee beans no longer grow where they’re supposed to?”

                They all looked at him with eyes like coffee cup’s saucers.

                “And what’s that place you’re calling Florida by the way?” he felt pressed to add.

                The cackling intensified, shaking their sense of geography to the core.

                #7904

                “What were you saying already?” Thiram asked “I must have zoned out, it happens at times.” He chuckled looking embarrassed. “Not to worry.”

                As the silence settled, Thiram started to blink vigorously to get things back into focus —a trick he’d seen in the Lucid Dreamer 101 manual for beginners. You could never be too sure if this was all a dream. And if it was, then you’d better pay attention to your thoughts in case they’d attract trouble – generally your thoughts were the trouble-makers, but in some cases, also other Lucid Dreamers were.

                Here and now, trouble wasn’t coming, to the contrary. It was all unusually foggy.

                “Well, by the look of it, Amy is not biting into the whole father drama, and prefers to have a self-induced personality crisis…” Carob shrugged. “We can all clearly see what she looks like, obviously. Whether she likes it or not, and I won’t comment further despite how tempting it is.”

                “You’re one to speak.” Amy replied. “Should I give you some drama? Would certainly make things more interesting.”

                Thiram had a thought he needed to share “And I just remember that Chico isn’t probably coming – he still wasn’t over our last fight with Amy bossying and messing the team’s plans because she can’t keep up with modern tech, had to dig a hole, or overcome a ratmaggeddon; something he’d said that had seemed quite final at the time: ‘I’d rather be turned into a donkey than follow you guys around.’ I wouldn’t count on him showing up just yet.”

                “Me? bossying?” Amy did feel enticed to catch that bait this time, and like a familiar trope see it reel out, or like a burning match in front of a dry hay bale, she could almost see the old patterns of getting incensed, and were it would lead.

                “Can we at least agree on a few things about the where, what, why, or shall we all play this one by ear?”

                “Obviously we know. But all the observing essences, do they?” Carob was doing a great impersonation of Chico.

                #7900

                Amy excused herself and went off to find a lavatory.  She didn’t actually need to go, after all she had only just popped into existence and hadn’t been offered a drink yet. But she did want to find a mirror to see what basic character characteristics she had had bestowed upon her when the story character gods had been assigning new players. She had to act fast too, before some other new story character might see her and describe her to the readers before she had even seen her self herself.

                Amy was quite glad to not have to learn new pronouns at this juncture.

                #7899

                “A Mexicano, por favor, ” said the man who had just entered the café.

                “Right away,” said Godric with his Swedish accent. “Your face looks familiar.”

                “Name’s Chico,” said the man with teeth dyed with betel leaves chewing. “Never been here before. I just popped into existence, called by voices of people I never heard of before. Maybe I just had a rough night. I don’t know.”

                Chico spat on the floor Godric had just cleaned. What did they say about customers already?

                #7898

                “Sorry I’m late,” said Carob as she crouched down to fuss over Fanella. “I have excuses, but they’re not interesting. I’m feeling a little underdeveloped as a character, so I’m not sure what to say yet.”

                “That’s okay,” said Amy. “Just remember … if you don’t tell us who you are early on…” She squinted and glanced around suspiciously. “Others will create you.”

                “I’d rather just slowly percolate.” Carob screwed up her face. “Get it? Percolate?”

                She stood up and slapped a hand to her head as Amy rolled her eyes. “Sorry … ” She patted her head curiously. “Oh wait—do I have curls?”

                “I’d say more like frizzes than curls,” answered Amy.

                Thiram nodded. “Totally frizzled.”

                “Cool … must be the damp weather,” said Carob. She brushed a twig from her coat. The coat was blue-green and only reached her thighs. Many things were too small when you were six foot two.

                “Oh—and I’ve been lucid dreaming in reverse,” she added. “Last night I watched myself un-make and un-drink a cup of coffee.” She gave a quick snort-laugh. “Weirdo”.

                “Was it raining in the dream?” asked Thiram.

                Carob frowned. “Probably… You know how in scary movies they always leave the curtains open, like they want the bad guys to see in? It felt like that.” She shuddered and then smiled brightly. “Anyway, just a dream. Also, I bumped into your father, Amy. He said to tell you: Remember what happened last time.”

                She regarded Amy intently. “What did happen last time?”

                “He worries too much,” said Amy, waving a hand dismissively. “Also, I didn’t even write that in, so how should I know?” She looked out toward the trees. “Where’s Chico?”

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