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  • #647

    When Felicity had taken the job, she had thought at first that it was all a big interstellar joke…
    Come on… Dead people speaking though living?
    But a few recent experiences made her feel there was kind of warmth surrounding her when she started the radiophonic sessions, and that she was feeling… inspired, for lack of a better word.
    Words indeed were coming and flowing, and even though she was rarely speechless, the words did have some different quality.
    And people enjoyed the show greatly, and mails kept coming to the radio thanking DDT for all of the marvelous advices…

    Till then, as she was conscious of the process, she had refrained issuing some definite statements on future events, as the inspiration was pressing her to do at times. As subtle as all of this was, she was feeling it was not really the same energy as the warm one; it was like incursions of a quicker and less stable bouncy energy.
    It was pushing her to make cocky statements, on mass events about to come… Oh, not again self-fulfilling prophecies, please! she couldn’t help but think…

    At times, Felicity was even wondering whether she was really going completely crazy.
    Oh, it was so much simpler to be a genuine fraud…

    :fleuron:

    — Arky, come here at once!
    — But, I’ve done nothing…
    — Stop being such a jackanapes, will you… You know very well there is no secret…
    — Yes…

    Despite his being immaterial, it was obvious that the One referred to as Arky was being scolded.

    — And you know perfectly well there is nothing to gain in pushing things…
    — But I intended well…
    — I know that. As generations of focuses of leaders and presidents have been doing. One would have assumed you’d knew better by now… I can see you’re enjoying being with me on the soapbox, but either you find your own, or you better stay clear next time we get a communication.
    — Understood.
    — Fine, class dismissed.

    #645

    As soon as she’d come back from her trip, Dory had planned to travel again very soon.
    Of course, she had enjoyed tremendously being home, being with Dan and young Becky… yes, she had… the first day for sure…
    Well… She was a born wanderer, she couldn’t do against her own nature, no need to beat herself for that, and feel guilty for leaving Dan and Becky periodically. Hopefully, Becky was very understanding, and perhaps that the fact that Dory was her stepmother made things easier for them both, without burdening their relationship with useless obligations towards one another.

    On the other side, many exciting destinations were on her list, and she barely knew where to start. One that had attracted her curiosity was the site of Jiroft in Iran, where the famed lost Kingdom of Aratta had been supposedly found very recently. Artifacts had been discovered on this site, predating our commonly supposed invention date of written language, which had fascinated Dory for a while, before she got lost amidst the wide spectrum of her other interests.

    Well, all of this was of frenzying interest, but there were dogs and back issues…
    Somehow, Dory had been struggling with lots of tensions in her back, and the more she forced herself moving, the worse the pain was. Finally beaten by herself, when no one else, friend, family or doctor could accomplish such a feat, she was stuck to a cushioned armchair for most of the day holding to her pain as to a stuck parasitic hated friend.
    And then, there was the dogs.
    As she was barely able to move, Dan had renounced to have her come with him and Becky to see Sabine, Becky’s mother, in Mallorca, where she had invited them for the Epiphany.
    Secretly, Dory was happy to have to stay at home, and not to have to make pleasing faces to the horrid obsessive woman she could only stand a few minutes without having to go out and empty a whole pack of cigarettes to calm her down.
    The only little drawback was that she had to take care of the dogs… And she was running short of dog’s food…

    Before leaving, Dan had left her a phone number of their new neighbours, a batty couple of Brits who had just rented the farm nearby, and with whom Dan was occasionally playing golf and lending a hand in small DIY work.
    Reluctantly, Dory took the post-it and smiled at the familiar handwriting of Dan

    BEATTIE & LEONORA FLETCHER : 933-157-821

    She composed the number in a deliberate slow motion, which strangely felt very empowering.

    — Hello! a quavering male voice answered
    — Err… Mr Fletcher?
    — Ms Fletcher,… herself, what can I do for you?
    — I’m Dorothy Mc Leane, one of your neighbour, you probably know my…
    — Oh, yes! Dorothy, may I call you Dorothy, Dan spoke of you so much that we were very eager to meet you, weren’t we Leo?

    A ruffling sound behind Beattie Fletcher seemed to approve.

    — And is there anything we could do for you?
    — Well, I’m awfully embarrassed to have to ask you, but I’m stuck at home, and my dogs don’t have much food left…
    — Oh my dear! You did so very well to call us, didn’t she Leo? We’ll be at your home in a few minutes!
    — But…
    — Oh, no need to thank us for that, it’s all natural, after all that your delightful husband did for us! We see you in a moment…

    And with that the line was cut. Dory was a bit disconcerted by the strange couple, but decided to dance with what was coming to her doorstep (wishing it would not be flamenco), seeing that having placed these quaint people in her reality could not entirely be a stroke of wild madness… If only…

    #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.

    #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.

    #622

    Somewhere during the 23 rd century

    “aaa AAAA AAAAA Tcheeeew !”

    “Hiiiiii?! Oh Fracking NOOOoooo!”

    The shriek had been heard in the whole facility.

    Phefia Beryl was the first on the spot where Vinya Grey had been playing so exuberantly with her vocal chords.

    — Vinnie? Are you alright?… What just happened?
    — Oh, Pheffy… I think I made an awful blunder…
    — What do you mean?
    — You know, my last experiment?
    — The g…
    — Yes!
    — What?!
    — They poofed away…
    — Away?… You mean, all of them? Oh bugger…

    :fleuron:

    A few minutes later, Vinya and Phefia were around a white table sucking on straws picked into white and red polystyrenoid balls.

    — Vinnie, you look terrible… That last geomagnetic storm had not done very good on your DNA I’m afraid.
    — And the worse is that each time I sneeze, I blow up wormholes… I thought it would go better very quickly, but last one was big and lasted long enough to let the whole experimental herd wander off in another time/space and/or dimension…
    — Yeah, that’s pretty bad… But wherever they went, they probably will die very soon… Imagine… With their stiff legs anytime they see something frightening, I guess a mere mapgie could easily have them for dinner…
    — Such a pity… I was close to doing something great with them… When we discovered these fossilized blue spiders, I knew it was the first step.
    — Bwah, this rehydrated frogrog is the grossest thing I’ve ever drunk… But yeah you’re right, the first results were very promising. The spiders venom could provoke very random and deep mutations.
    — And all we needed was a little more control on the direction of the mutations.
    — Anyway they’re just goats… You possibly can’t have breached a cosmic law with a handful of GOATS
    — Hope so Pheffy, hope so…

    :fleuron2:

    San Demangelo, 1848

    Elroy was laughing… Hey Joe, Twi! he shouted A letter from Uncle Ernie!

    — Uncle Ernie? How’s the old bat doin’? asked Twilight
    — He’s sending his greetings for the new year, and babbling about last dead people in the neighborhood. But there’s something funny. He’s saying that he’d just acquired some funny goats. Like popped in, out of nowhere. At first he’d thought of a joke, but apparently no one’s been claiming them. He’d thought them dead, they were a dozen laying stiff on the ground, but when they started to wake up, they went down again like broken dolls. Apparently the magpies on top of the tree had been scaring them. Ahaha… Where does he get such strange stories…
    — Well, magpies are scarey, Twilight said meaningfully, with a side glance at Joe
    — Whatever… At least he’d been giving us a good laugh. He’s saying he’s gonna breed the horny beasts, and start a Fainting Goat Fair (or FGF) in Marshall County. Perhaps we could get there next Thanksgiving…
    — Depends when the Freak Show’s coming to town, mused Twilight, I hope to see them soon…

    #621
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      “Hang on a minute” he shouted to his friends as soon as they were out of the grocery store, burden with the loads of the bags.
      Molly, Harvey and Francis looked puzzled at their foreign friend.
      Then with a shrug, Harvey sat on a pile of snow that had fallen from the roof, and leaned against one of the pillars of the square place dimly lit by a buzzing orange light.

      He run to the chalet on the left, which was apparently closed, but he knew there would probably be someone in there.
      He opened the creaking door, not startled by the bells tinkling at his left ear, and went straight to the counter, as though he had always known the place. A young man with a goatee was there, busy sorting old papers for the annual closing of the hostel.

      — Do you have a glass of water please? the stranger asked
      — Oh yes, sure… And with that?

      The man seemed to expect an answer… The stranger felt as if he knew that answer…

      — Yes… one of your… you know… chocolate things, with the wolf on it.
      — Exactly! the tenant was smiling.

      The stranger fumbled in his pocket, not having thought of requiring any money for a glass of water. But now…
      Phew, there was a coin in his left pocket. He drew it out, looked at it… A 3 euros coin? He didn’t know such a currency existed…

      — Oh, I won’t have the change I fear, the man answered… But I can make you a credit memo.

      He had no idea he would come back here soon, but the familiar place as much as the obliging man made him think that anything would be okay. At worse, he would have lost a few euros, which was no big loss.

      — Sure.

      The man showed him a red ticket, and leaning on the counter, proceeded with some explanations.

      — This is your credit memo. Additionally, as the hostel won’t be fully rented, you can use this as a reservation for next week. It’s for Mr Arkandin. You will be able to enter the special exhibit and join the guided tour. It’s a laying down travel. People are expected to go nowhere, yet they will travel. Pillows and blankets will be provided.

      He had a strange image in his mind of people laying on their backs and gliding on the floor in patterns leaving some tracks on the ground with various colours.

      — It is supposed to show people some beliefs about monogamy. And keeping track of their own travels…

      That was most puzzling… He wasn’t sure he would still be here next week, but that sounded intriguing enough to not be thrown in the bin right away…
      He thanked the man after having had his glass of water and putting the wolf-brand candy and red square of paper in his pocket.

      — There you are, sighed Molly, and what have taken you so long?

      #616

      She had felt it.
      When the old man had left his body behind, she had felt it.

      Oorlaith had foreseen that he would decide to leave this World, and thus was not affected too much. However, she was not sure that Leonard, who she had sent to the highs of Mount Elok’ram had had time to retrieve the cup of Margilonia.

      Oorlaith had already collected the wand of Selvaniel, which Leonard had brought back to her, thanks to her indications, from the Forest bordering the Marshes. Now, she hoped he had time enough to get to the old Abbot.
      Otherwise, it might be more delicate…
      Much more delicate…

      Hopefully, she had made contact with Roselyn, who had been settling in another part of Asgurdy, on one of the numerous rocky islands bordering the South-western coasts, where life was scarce and the soil barren, but where it was safe enough to do magic in this superstitious land, as not much people ventured to these places.
      Her spiked dragon had helped her carve out her new residency and she was quite well installed now.
      Before moving from the deserts of Asgurdy, she had managed to get the sunstone of Agnima.

      #612

      It’d been two hexades that the Abbot Hrih Chokyam Lin’potshee had been laying in bed in poor condition.
      At first, he had wanted to be as strong as he had always been towards hardships, but he’d finally admitted that quelching the pain wasn’t doing any good to him. So he had agreed to be taken care of by a young monk, and to lay in bed as long as was necessary.
      He knew that he was very likely not to get out of that bed but with his body covered by a white sheet, nevertheless, the thought was still something distant. The pain in his body was making him so present to himself that the only thing that was still blatant was that he was.
      More than the body, it was all his faith that was shaken. He had thought he would leave this life without mess, without pain, probably very discreetly in his sleep… But now, his head was wincing at every noise, even the nature’s sounds that once felt like music to his ears, he was eschewing them now as much as he could. His very skin was hot and couldn’t bear even the soft contact of the bedsheets.
      What was the point of all of this? He had never doubted that everything had its purpose, but now, he was doubting…
      He was even trying to find some reasonable reasons for what was happening, he who never trusted in reasonable reasons in the first place. Perhaps that was because of his seating under the chilly air and the warm sun in front of the Meditation Wall, reading for all of the poems that had been written by the monks who had dared to write. Perhaps he had “taken cold”, whatever that means…
      “Perhaps not” the voice kept saying softly in his head.

      Now, his whole succession was feeling like a moot point. After all, he was not even capable of saving himself from anything, then how could what he created make the slightest difference? These were all like an extension of his body, bound to decay and come back to Earths.

      Not so many monks had dared write upon the Wall about their highest truth. A few jokesters had begun at first, helping the others to participate.
      One in particular had had Hrih laugh for quite a while.

      A toad is a toad
      Unless kissed
      Endless Bliss

      Then a dozen of others had flourished upon the wall, until Aum Geong decided to write his own. He’d not wanted to go first, to allow the others to express without the burden of comparison, and also to have some more time to write something deep and thoughtful. But that profusion of nonsense between some occasional pearls of wisdom made him write his own.

      Unattainable is the Truth
      For in the Dust of things
      All in our View is bleak

      Doing Wrong we forswear
      For Dust to be lifted
      And Wisdom we seek

      In the deed of the Elders
      And the Faith in the Community
      Light and Trust bespeak

      All the monks had been quite impressed, but Hrih had not been entirely satisfied by it… To be honest, he even completely disagreed with it.
      Now, however, stuck in this bed, the poem was playing in his head and suggesting that the Worlds were something terrible that he had not yet understood, or be willing to avoid seeing. Perhaps Aum Geong was wiser than he was.
      Perhaps all that Hrih had put as foundational to his life had all been Dust…
      “There is no Dust, and you know that” the voice whispered softly.

      Now that he is about to die, what difference will it make anyway…
      He reach out for a bowl of water, and almost let it fall, as the weight of it surprised him. He was becoming so weak… He never had been so self-conscious in many many many years.

      After he had propped himself up to drink a few burning swallows of the lukewarm water, he noticed something folded on his bedside, that had been put under the bowl… Young Franiel had been the one attending him with Jog Lam, so it must have been the doing of one of them. He intuited that was Franiel.

      As he read the stanzas, tears were in his eyes…

      I am the driftwood
      the wave carried me
      I was buried in sand

      I am the flower
      the butterfly touched me
      I fell in love

      I am the raindrop
      the cloud released me
      I became the ocean

      The Young monk had probably not dared write it on the Wall, especially after most of the monks’ vocal appreciations of Aum Geong’s poem…
      “Perhaps not” the voice again spoke.
      Another reason for it formed into Hrih’s mind. Franiel perhaps didn’t feel ready for such responsibilities and his role and fulfillment in this community was not form rules nor to continue it.
      It was more to inspire them, and perhaps to start his own discoveries.

      Hrih wrote a note behind the paper. He wanted to leave something for Franiel, for him to keep faith in his coming adventures during these coming times of change.
      After a deep breath, he took another paper that was with him for already such a long time, wrote down some words, and signed it, the aura of his hand burning a glyph that was his signature in the paper. He then called for Jog Lam.

      — Jog Lam, my friend…
      — Elder?
      — I’m dying…
      — I know Elder
      — Let me continue. (Jog Lam nodded)
      First, will you give that paper to Young Franiel after the cremation ceremonies. (Jog Lam nodded again)
      Second, I want you to relay that I have made my decision, and that Aum Geog will succeed me (Jog Lam’s surprise was noticeable in his eye). He is, to date, the most adequate successor for this monastery.
      — I will do as you want.
      — Thank you my friend.
      — Elder…
      — Farewell, my friend, I am always with you.

      When Jog Lam stoically left the room, Hrih Chokyam laid down, his eyes on the ceiling. His body was so weak that all he could do was to project behind his closed eyelids and see the starry sky, even if he would have wanted something different for his death. He would have loved something like a nap in a sunlit meadow with a little singing brook.
      But seeing the actual World was something even more precious to him. The barren mountains of the icy season, the clear unclouded sky. His mind was so full of energy that his body lacked.

      With a deep feeling of gratitude for his body, he bid it farewell.

      #610

      All he remembered was the name “Akita”… He was not sure that it was his name, perhaps it was not, but he had taken it as his own.
      He’d been stranded on that island for so long he barely remembered whether he’d had a past before. In the beginning, he had taken an inventory of the passing time, but soon had discovered that days were irregularly long, and nights would sometimes last for more than one day, so that it was all pointless…
      The toughest part had been to live in good intelligence —he couldn’t really say harmony— with the predatory hairy nest of the daughters of Narani. But at least he’d made clear that he was able to defend himself and retaliate if needed…

      — Thanks to me, grunted a big dog half-focused, his head on his lap.
      — Yeah, mostly thanks to you, Kay

      Kay had appeared a few days after Akita discovered himself on that strange land. He was no common dog… In fact, Akita was wondering that it may only exist in his mind. Kay had been approaching him, more than he had tamed it, and soon Akita found out that he was no dog at all.
      He was, as Kay had said, an inugami or dog spirit, able to shape-shift, and willing to bond with Akita. He’s said Akita his previous owner had died, and that he would have to die with him unless being adopted by another…
      Akita had been reluctant at first, finding that there was something unclear, but he had agreed anyway… Better be with a faithful and powerful dog-spirit than die in the webs of the giant spiders…
      All he had to do was to name it. And so he named it Kay.
      Kay couldn’t be seen by most of the creatures in the forest, though the most sensitive could feel his presence. However, he could decide to take a more corporeal form, but that exhausted both Akira and Kay, and was rarely done. So most of the times, he was roaming the island in spirit form, which didn’t mean that he was powerless, far from it.

      — I can sense something’s coming, growled Kay who took the shape of a big two-legged werewolf…

      #570

      It’s a very nice name, Arona. But you must have been dreaming. My name isn’t Floyd in this focus.

      Oh bugger it! said Arona, not really listening to Floyd, or whatever he said his name was. Floyd, they look like nice people don’t you think?,… a bit weirdo perhaps but the monkey is cute … and I do love dancing. I have not danced in ages. Oh let’s just join in anyway!

      Well, I am not really dressed for it, and I am not much of a dancer … answered Floyd uneasily.

      We can be anyone we want to be! responded Arona, in an unusually irrepressible mood. let’s just close our eyes and imagine how we want to look, and let’s go! Don’t forget to smile will you.

      Arona and Floyd join in the Disco Dance

      That was fun! and you are a great dancer Floyd! laughed Arona. And thanks Guys! hope we didn’t interrupt anything, she called out to the new arrivals at the cave.

      Not at all, join in anytime! answered Georges with a smile.

      Actually, Arona, it’s Sanso, not Floyd, said Sanso.

      Oh right! sorry … I was sure you said Floyd, silly me. I often get things mixed up, apologised Arona, graciously. Anyway, I think I had better go back and see what Yikesy is up to. I left him playing with that Salumbmatibum thingy. Goodness only knows what he will have created!

      #567

      Veranassessee (V’ass) Eloha, swimming like a naiad in the waves of the sapphire sea bordering the island of Tikfijikoo, was back in a few powerful strokes on the wooden planks of the pier from which she had just fallen.

      Trained in many martial arts and in the art of concealing her emotions, she effortlessly managed to maintain a perfect composure despite the fact that this unexpected moment of inattention may have cost the loss of the precious box of rare Blue Bonnet spiders —the venom of which was needed for the good success of the “treatments”.

      Sharon and Gloria, still cackling unceasingly, thanked Armando, the pilot of the seaplane, who had entertained them no end with his stories of mysterious wreckages and lost aircrafts.
      Now they’d just landed on this paradisaic island, and a gorgeous woman dripping in water was extending them a firm hand, greeting them.

      :fleuron:

      Al was wondering who had jinxed his last entry in the play, that he had to write twice, since some invisible mischievous hand had just made him lose the first in the /dev/null dimension.
      Good thing the Sumafairies bent over his crib had been gifting him with a good memory…

      :fleuron:

      Welcome at Tikfijikoo, where your kewlest dreams come troo.

      V’ass was satisfied. Though, most of the box had been lost, she had managed to save two couples of spiders, which would be enough for the two turkeys. :yahoo_chicken:
      As for the remaining ones, let’s just hope they’re all dead and drowned.

      #565
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        It had been a long trip home, and Dory was glad the journey was over. She sat on the patio in the warm winter sunshine, surrounded by affectionate wet doggy noses who prodded her arm, making her slop her fresh squeezed orange juice. The birds twittered and screeched in the lemon and olive trees. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. Home!

        The screeching turned into a long drawn out yowl, and it was a moment or two before Dory realized that monkey Charlie had rounded up a gang of his canine buddies for another cat mauling expedition down at the bottom of the garden. Dory leapt to her feet and ran down the cobbled path, shrieking at the dogs to stop. She rescued the limp and traumatized, but thankfully unhurt cat, and wondered again what she was reflecting to herself every time her dogs ganged up on one of her cats.

        Shaking slightly, she sat down again in the patio chair, cradling the wide eyed cat, her fur standing in sticky peaks of dog saliva. Dory had stroked the fur smooth, and relaxed. Home! It was great to be home.

        #541
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Annabel Ingman beamed at Felicty. She was delighted that the interviews were going so well: four perfect ‘dead guys’ already, and 57 more applicants to interview.

          Welcome to the team Felicity, I’m sure you’ll love it here. We focus on fun, not facts, so just say whatever you want to, and you’ll be fine.

          Felicity returned the smile. I can’t wait to start, Annabel, thanks.

          Oh, by the way, what’s the name of your DG?

          Hhhmmm, Oh, er, Oliver Twist, replied Felicity, Yeah, Oliver Twist.

          Oliver Twist, cool, so that’ll be the ‘Ask DOT’ session then. See you on Friday!

          #499

          Thanksgiving, 1847

          That last business trip in British Honduras had proven fruitful to Aldous. It had almost made him forget about the blue bull of the Disperso family.
          Because Aldous was a collector. No one truly understood what were his motivations, but he was driven by the highest ideals. Some treasures weren’t deserved by the profane, he was thinking as he was munching on a tender juicy turkey leg.
          He belched with profound depth.
          Yes, he was doing everything with utmost depth and dedication.

          Take that blue bull for instance… A gift from Indian officials he had managed to have them bring here. Its real place was in a zoo, with a small fee at the entrance of course, but most importantly some information on how it was acquired and by whom. Definitely not in the farm of some hillbillies just because they have happened to win that stupid rodeo contest.
          In any case, he would put that right again in due time.

          Let’s think of more pleasant things. Like these mahogany traders who had came into contact with remote Mayan tribes. Mahogany was nice, but Mayan treasure were even more interesting.

          #467

          Jose Maria couldn’t sit still. It seemed as if more had been happening in the past few weeks than had happened in the whole of his 49 years. His mother dying and unexpectedly leaving him 123,000 euros would have made little difference to him had he not re~aquainted himself with Paquita. She was the real treasure; if he had had to choose between the money or her, he knew he would have chosen her. Thankfully he had both, and now they could both go to Tikfijikoo together. If the treatments worked, all well and good; if not, they had each other, and they would return to a quiet life on the old family farm in the Andalucian mountains.

          #459

          Frankly, Malvina seems a bit down, Tina said to Al after having read the play’s entry.
          Oh, well, I suppose she has too her bad hair days… sighed Al who had shaved his hair in a mohawk this morning. He was thinking of trying some new beliefs adjustments so that he would be able to regulate more precisely the flow of his hairs…
          In fact, he knew it was just as easy as knowing that the hair do not grow, just like trees do not grow.
          A bit like the mummy in that old book from Anne Rice who could just absorb the rays of the sun to regenerate his body…

          :fleuron:

          Malika was painting her toenails. Bright fuchsia.
          She would spend Thanksgiving with her family, and felt some lightness would be very needed in that environment.
          She had decided on a white outfit, with light blue and white coach purse and little heeled shoes.
          A little quartz pendant to complete the ensemble would be perfect.

          :fleuron:

          Malvina had finished preparing the vials of silgreen bloom’s potion. There were thirty three of them, all lined up, and now she could go for her walk to the village.
          Strangely, she became aware of an energy; in fact two energies. They were diffuse in the background before, but now, they were popping to the forefront, and very intensely.
          Visitors?

          That was unexpected…

          :fleuron:

          Salome had thought of a gift for Malvina. She had shown it mentally to Georges, and he had smiled in her mind warmly.
          And as they walked into the tunnels, they started to gather particles of matter of that dimension around their focus of attention, and slowly started to become translucent bodies, and then fully focused.

          The gift was following them.

          #453
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            As Arona started to turn away, Lucille called her back.

            Arona, my dear, I have a gift for you. A story.

            Oh, I don’t think I have time for stories, but thanks anyway, said Arona, anxious to get going.

            A little bit rudely disregarding Arona’s objections, Lucille continued:

            Once there were several people standing around a lake in which the full moon was reflected. They discussed the reflection. One person said it was an egg, another said “No, someone must have drowned, it is a bald head”. “Rubbish” said another, “clearly it is a balloon in the water.” One thought the moon was yellow, another thought the reflection of the moon was very emotional. Someone else thought it was soft. Why they had quite a discussion about the reflection of the moon and each one had a separate and disparate view of things. Of course they did, they were looking at it from different perspectives. All were looking at the reflection and not the the moon itself shining in the sky.

            Arona, Lucille said intently, Each person’s perception of the moon reflected in the water, tells us as much about that person as it does about the moon itself. Remember that.

            Arona tried not to giggle, she felt Lucille was getting a little carried away with this moon talk.

            Lucille, undeterred, continued; That’s the best any of us can do, is offer our own perspective. But it is just a point of view. Don’t you worry about who others think you are, unless that’s what you choose also. You be free. You trust yourself Arona and you will shine brightly like the moon.

            I understand, said Arona, as the flork cried out again, with incredible and stunning synchronistic timing. And she did, although she really did think Lucille had got a bit garbled in the telling of it, yet she did get the gist of the unusual little story. And after all, she realised, her own perception of Lucille had changed rather dramatically since that first encounter. Why, now she seemed like quite a sweetie, and really quite profound, in a complicated way. How very odd

            Lucille cackled and winked. Hmmm thought Arona, well, buggered if I know….

            #446
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              About time you woke up, came a familiar grumpy voice from behind a pile of logs. Mandrake emerged. And I don’t have fur balls, he added, haughtily.

              Mandrake, thank God! Arona had been a little concerned that , given the amount of time presumably had passed, Mandrake may no longer be with them. Tactfully she kept this to herself, given Mandrake’s especially truculent mood.

              Please tell me what happened now, she said to Vincentius. I think I am ready to hear.

              Vincentius looked uncertain, sighed , but agreed to tell her the tale. Afterwards, Arona was silent for quite some time. She stared thoughtfully at the fire, mesmerised by the dancing flames, gently stroking Mandrakes silky black coat.

              Oh bugger, she said eventually and stood up decisively. I really think I have to go and see that old lizardy croney woman, and without delay.

              I wish you wouldn’t, but I do understand, said Vincentius sadly.

              I don’t understand, said Mandrake crossly, twitching his tail impatiently and narrowing his green eyes

              Arona went over to the sleeping Yikesy and studied him with fond interest. He is not getting any better looking with age is he? She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and whispered in his ear.

              Thank you so much for caring for him, she said to Vincentius and gave him a huge hug.

              On the way out of the cave she ran into Leormn.

              Oh, she said, Vincentius said you allowed us to use the room. Thank you so much. And she kissed Leormn on what she thought would be his cheek, however, a little unsure of Dragon anatomy, it may have been technically a snout or something.

              Arona walked rapidly for several hours, trying to concentrate on the directions given to her by Vincentius and hoping that she was headed in the right direction. Eventually she started to tire and her determination faded. She sat down on a rock and closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped in weariness and she despondently wished she was back in the cave with the others. She felt deeply sad.

              And is this something you really must face? asked a kindly voice in her head.

              I have no idea really, she answered despairingly. I don’t know. I mean I thought I knew. I thought if I didn’t then I would always be in fear. When I looked into the flames of the fire it all seemed clear. I needed to understand and face it, I thought anyway….

              hmmm, said the voice. Well the best advice I can give you is to trust yourself.

              Arona opened her eyes and saw, to her surprise, a small cottage in the distance. Why, I don’t remember that cottage being there a moment ago, she thought. It looks just as Vincentius described. How remarkable. I was closer than I thought! Her spirits rose.

              Outside the cottage the old crone was bent over, digging in a small vegetable plot. A basket of cabbages sat by her side. She stood up at Arona’s approach, wiping the dirt from her gnarly hands on her apron.

              Hello Arona, she cackled. I have been expecting you. I don’t believe we were properly introduced last time. My name is Lucille. And she held out a hand for Arona to shake.

              I have come to get some answers from you, said Arona, firmly crossing her arms and ignoring the outstretched hand.

              Lucille sighed and dropped her hand. Her pointy chin quivered, and Arona noticed a big wart, with one thick black hair growing out of it, right on the tip of lucille’s chin. She tried not to stare.

              Alright little one, Lucille said soflty. Why don’t you go and wait in the orchard. I will go and fix us a nice, cool drink of lemonade.

              The orchard was full of old fruit trees, their twisted trunks reminded Arona of Lucille herself. From one of the trees hung an old swing. Arona sat on it, holding the rope, and gently rocked herself back and forwards, thinking. She had to admit, she was, quite frankly puzzled. The visit so far wasn’t going as expected.

              She kept rocking, faster now.

              She hit her heels into the hard earth again and again.

              I don’t know. She tried to dig these words into the earth with her heels.

              Then she sidestepped her feet in crab-like movements in diminishing circles. The ropes of the swing twisted tighter and tighter.

              Arona leant backwards and stuck her legs out straight in front of her. The ropes unwound and sent her spinning. weeeeeeeeeeee hoooooooooooooooo!

              She looked up into the sky. Blue sky through the trees with racing spinning clouds. She felt dizzy.

              She stood up and braced herself against the seat of the swing. She held onto the ropes and pushed hard against the seat beneath her. She bent her knees under the swing. She kicked her feet forwards.

              She wanted to go higher. She bent her legs back under the swing. Then kicked them outwards. She stretched her body backwards and arched her back.

              I don’t know, she whispered.

              She sat upright. She bent her legs back under the swing. Then kicked them as hard as she could. She leant her body backwards. She stretched as far as she could. On the rebound her heels hit the ground hard, but still she wanted to keep going higher and higher.

              I DON’T KNOW! she shouted, as loudly as she could.

              :fleuron:

              Lucille returned with the lemonade.

              How do I know if it is safe to drink this? Arona asked. You have cast one spell on me, how am I to know this is not another?

              Lucille cackled. Dear little Arona, she said, if I wanted to cast a spell on you I would have done it before now.

              Okay, well that makes good sense, thought Arona, gratefully drinking the lemonade.

              #423

              New Venice, November 2101

              Midora was sleeping peacefully in her baby’s bed, and Oscar was dozing on the sofa, exhausted by his new role as a mother.

              Bart was slowly finding himself back to his old studies. Just before Oscar became pregnant with their child, he was occupied with an old parchment his mother Indy had given to him.
              She had said they had found it years ago with Oscar’s mum, her friend Eugenia. It was under a glass frame, among many other stuff she had accumulated along the years, mundane bric-a-brac flirting with sublime antiques —such was her mother strange decorative style…
              Bart had known the parchment all his life, and her mother had sworn he would have it when the time would be right. During all this time he had thought she would most probably forget it altogether.

              When Bill, his father had disengaged, two years before (only two months before the New Century’s festivities, at the age of 79) Indy had said she needed to make some room in her apartment, and get rid of old things which were full of memories. After all, she was only 49, and Bill hadn’t wanted to see her wither in sadness, that would be such a waste.
              She had given him the old parchment.

              Bart had always been so close to his mother, probably because she had him so young. She was 16 when they had married with Bill, and Bart was born right after. Of course, she always played the old flattery trick when people said she must be his big sister; it wasn’t actually far from the truth.

              When he was younger, Bart had fearful dreams, of dying in atrocious pain, full of rash, at a young age in an alien and sunny place.
              Curious as to what hint it may have been, Indy had been connecting with him to the energy of the dream. And together, they had tried to find the reason of that manifestation in the young boy’s dreams.
              Despite her having such a fleeting memory, India Louise was skilled at connecting to other focuses, and particularly group ones, and Bart had found many information thanks to her. And the fearful dreams had disappeared.
              He had found he was a young prince heir of the throne of Egypt, who was supposed to marry his sister. But both had died very suddenly. It was not quite clear as to whether the illness was the result of a plot from their father Pharaoh’s enemies, but the death was very unpleasant.
              So unlike Bill’s disengagement, which was peaceful and full of love.

              So yes, people were not far from the truth when they saw them as brother and sister.
              According to Indy, the parchment was found within a cache inside the sister mummy’s sarcophagus, and might be linked to their shared focus. But her own psychic skills only extended as far as to notice connections, not as to go into more depths. That investigation, he would be able to do.

              :fleuron:

              Egypt, 2657 B.C.

              :tile:
              Lekshen had finished writing down what the long snouted god of his dream, Set had dictated to him.

              It was a strange story, of Set being the god of the pariahs, throwing down structures of the Holy and the Truth, for the sake of expansion. Lekshen couldn’t understand all of what he had been talked into writing, but he had felt an intense activity and thrusts of gushing energy passing through him.

              He needed sleep before hiding the text with the mummy.

              :fleuron:

              Paris, 2007

              :tile: That symbol, Quintin had dreamt repeatedly about it… It was a tile, he was sure. It could be oriented in two ways, and, depending on its orientation, it meant either injection or ejection of energy structures. It was linked to the family of the Speakers.

              Let’s insert it again then, he smiled to himself.

              :fleuron:

              When he connected with the symbols written on the parchment, Bartholomew was astounded. The energy was so familiar.
              There was a book coming from his mother. She had inherited it from her aunt, Guiny… She probably got it herself from her mother Margaret, or perhaps her step-mother BeckyBart wasn’t too sure…

              Finally, he found it. Inside the cover, there was a dedication. To you, dear Becky, happy birthday! With love, Kathy (2017).
              Kathy, Kathy… A flash of a rainbow-coloured anaconda into Bart’s mind… Must have been one of Dory’s friends.

              “There was once a god who was not a god — who was not a god, for you are dealing with legends,” he said, nearly whispering. “There was a god in ancient Egypt, and his name was Seth, and he was disreputable. And he threw aside establishments, whenever other gods rose up and said, “We are the truth, we are pure and we are holy,” this disreputable god stood up, and with a voice like thunder, said: “You are nincompoops!”

              “And the other gods did not like him,” Seth continued in his story-telling whisper, “and whenever they set up their altars, he came like thunder, but playfully, and tossed the altars asunder, and he said “Storms are natural, and good, and a part of the earth, even as placid skies are. Winds are good. Questions are good. Males and females are good. Even gods and demons are good, if you must believe in demons. But, structures are limited!”.

              “And so this god, who was not a god, called Seth, went about kicking apart the structures, and he gathered about him others who kicked apart the structures. And they were themselves, whether they were male or female. Whether they thought of themselves as good or bad, or summer or winter, or as old or as young, they were creators. They were questioners.

              “And whenever another personality set itself up and said, “I am the god before you, and my word is law,” then Seth went about saying, “You are a nincompoop,” and began to kick apart the structures. And so you are yourselves, in your way, all Seths, for you kick apart the structures, and you are the black sheep of the religions, and the black sheep of the scientists, and the black sheep of the physicians, and the black sheep of the your mothers and your fathers, and your sisters and your brothers.

              “And yet, the mothers and the fathers and the sisters and the brothers listen,” Seth went on in that quiet voice in that quiet room. “for they do not have the courage to be the black sheep…”

              Conversations With Seth, Volume 1, Chapter 9, by Susan Watkins

              #417

              Tina was sitting in a cafe waiting for the others to arrive.

              She was studying the play with a bemused and perplexed expression. Good grief, where was her head at? Not only had she saddled poor Arona with a baby, now she had a hunky nanny to contend with as well.

              She had been intending to bring Arona to the banquet in the cave … and had somehow got distracted.

              She read what she had written in astonishment “bronzed skin pulled taut over rippling muscles”….. “He came bounding athletically over” …. “deep, melodic voice” …and to cap it off calling him Vincentius!

              He didn’t even sound like her type, way too perfect, she mused. Thank goodness Al is nothing like that.

              Still, she wanted to trust the process and follow the pictures that came to mind when writing the play, even if she didn’t know where they were going.

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