Search Results for 'thanks'

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  • #3169
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      As Sadie pulled open the seam of the crocheted ferret a dreadful smell wafted out.
      “I’m not putting my hand inside there, key or no key” said Terry. “Smells like dead fish how revolting!”
      “That’s because is IS dead fish, look!” exclaimed Consuela.
      “Thanks for all the fish” muttered Sadie crossly. “The key must be in the other ferret. Someone must have tampered with the tags. It would appear that we’ve been hoodwinked and this is the decoy meant for the Russians.”
      “Does that mean we can tie these actors up and gag them, then?” asked Terry hopefully.
      “Yes alright” replied Sadie, distracted. “We may need some extra time after all.”

      #3162
      EricEric
      Keymaster

        The four thespians from the “Théâtre du Soleil” were delighted to have been hired by the Royal Intendant to be the clou du spectacle. They were planning something sensational.
        Chinese fireworks! And a huge colourful hot balloon, attached to a wicker basket big enough to carry them four acrobats in the air, and to bewitch the noble assembly stunned by their contortions and feats of equilibrium. They would make a fortune that night, and the the weather promised a clear bright sky with an ubiquitous full moon.

        They’ve had last minute doubts about the balloon plan, as their usual supplier of beeswax unexpectedly declined to fulfill the order. The whole town suddenly found itself short of it, and it was thanks to the local lard supplier that they could find a suitable amount of fuel for the hot balloon.

        They parked their brightly coloured theater trailer in the small courtyard in front of the Opera House. The construction rubble was blocking the way, and they would need to enter the Opera House though the Chapel, the Intendant had warned them.

        They noticed a maid, and where about to ask her for confirmation as to the direction, but she was ducking suspiciously as though to avoid being seen, and slid out of view very swiftly.

        #3097

        The verdict was definitive. The competition had been fierce and now only the best of the best would go to the final and mysterious mission.

        Terry Bubble couldn’t believe her ears and fanned her glistening face with her powdered hands batting her eyelashes to contain the swelling tears when she heard Linda Paul say in her snarkily uppity voice : “Uhuh, that dress, oh that dress sweetie, that was an offense to good sense, but you did lipsynch to perfection with this pouty mouth of yours… Terry Bee, you stay with me.”
        Then, turning to the other competitor, the gorgeous Tina Turnover look-alike in her glittery purple dress, a.k.a. Shantay Mûre. “Shantay, you go away.”

        Terry bowed to the jury, firstly Linda Paul herself, of course, then the sultry sulky Sadie Merrie, and finally took an extra second for Lady Gugu, who she was sure tipped the balance in her favor. She never was a big fan of the ageing star, well-known for her antics and poultry dresses, but there was no denying she earned being the sensation she was all over China —or that he was, there were lingering suspicions about this, which of course didn’t matter in the drag race.
        It had to be thanks to her ; maybe she was fond of sardines. Otherwise, how could self-doubt-ridden Terry Bubbly, like her friends barely over their teens, could hope to compete with the other seasoned divas, like Pseu Flay with her lion-mane wig à la Cher, who were nonetheless one by one eliminated by a strange turn of events.

        :fleuron:

        The selection had gone flawlessly. Linda Paul was boucing with effervescence and delight.
        “Dearies, dearies, you have been competing fearlessly against one another, now is time to be a team. Or find a time in which to be…”

        The three queens looked stymied. They were not used to share the limelight and shine in pairs, much less in a trio.
        Terry, Consuela, Maurana, you will be our three Muskqueerteers, fearlessly donning on wigs and shiny attires on a mission to retrieve a precious item for me.”

        The screen shined brightly to reveal a glittery pyramid, announced by the anchor’s male voice “The Queen’s Ferrets au Rochet!”

        “But of course, I cannot send you back without a chaperon. Fear not, fate has decided for us, that among the jury, it will be…”

        Terry hoped for Lady Gugu, she already looked like Elton Jaune in a wig, and would do great with Louis XIII, or Richeliou for that matter.

        “… Sadie Merrie!”

        “Oh good grief…” Terry’s shiny Elton Jaune in her thoughts suddenly was transphormed (as if they all had been into a huge deFørmiñG mirror) into that of Milady of Merry.

        #3007
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          The impending strategy and budget review was now quickly upon them.

          The much questioned old new authority of the Surge Team had decided all the countries had to join for that week long first round of strategy plan and as Long Poon was too much of a reminder of work (they said, but many suspected too much of a reminder of Ed Steam’s empire), Madam Li had graciously offered to host the venue in Shangpoon, where they had managed to corner 15,000 floating piglets and her services were still probably needed.

          All the thirteen chief operatives were busy setting things in order, and delegating current tasks during their business trip. Some of them were still hopelessly fumbling in spreadsheets and slides —a inane exercise in style they thought, but still…

          “I can’t stand it!” Cornella almost exploded in front of her computer, now returned to decent level of cleanliness since Aqua’s return. She was sick of this old ageing alzheimering authority. Not that she missed Ed too much now. He was a pig —and gawd, this waxed mustache from another epoch… A pig they all liked because they didn’t know better at the time and his charisma covered for all the tiny slips of behaviour or even judgement. She’d seen that same feeling when the ceremony was held for his ashes spreading; most of the tears shed there had looked a bit contrived.

          The mission to replace the pope with an alien-reconfigured Jesuit was a success, thanks to clever team work and her stellar delicate planning skills. A plan hatched before Ed’s demise, but that the old guys had been glad to call theirs. That was the waking call for her. If they could get rid so easily of the papacy, she would blow that budget convention from inside.
          That required thorough planning though, and a bit of luck. Most of the chick would gladly be on board with this.
          That’s when the mysterious vanishing dog legs cabinet came back to her attention.

          #2969

          Evangeline Spiggot put the phone down, and turned to old Flanigan, the cleaning man. “Another request to investigate the death of Ed Steam! Three already, and it’s not even lunch time. I think this is a case for Blithe Gambol.”

          “Lift your feet up, will you, I’m trying to make a clean sweep here” Flannely replied.

          Evangeline obliged and put her feet up on her desk, and put through a call to Blithe. After a few pleasantries, Evangeline explained the case. “So the question is, is Ed Steam really dead, or not?”

          “I can tell you the answer to that right away,” replied Blithe. “Yes, and no.”

          “Er….thanks, I think…”

          “You see, the difficulty with facts these days is that none are true, and all are real ~ well I know you know that dear, but it becomes something of a problem when clients want to know the Truth. Probable realities are pretty loosely woven these days; now, I can stitch together the case, and give you a more definitive answer. Or I can stitch together the case differently, and give you a different answer. The question is, really, what is the answer you want to hear?”

          “I’ll confer with the clients and call you back.”

          #2953
          AvatarJib
          Participant

            Eventhough Stu was not very bright, he had always been successful with women. Thanks to his young and handsome body. He’s been working at the gas Station in Cottonwood since he was 15, he’d figured out at that time it was the best way to meet women. Some of them were even coming as far from Phoenix, and his boss was rather content about it too. He’d even encourage his employee to take off his shirt more often.

            Days were following days, and it was the same routine, washing cars, filling gas tanks, meeting women. Nothing particular had even happen in Cottonwood. Of course there were often weirdos as they were close to Sedona. Some of them were asking if he had seen any ETs lately, or some guys asked him once if he’d ever been probed by aliens.
            It was all part of the job, and he didn’t really pay attention. His best response was no response at all and play the dumb. Except with women. He would always find something to say to make them laugh and he especially loved to see those sparkles in their eyes, that’s when he knew he could ask them anything.

            #2372

            That’s when a particularly shiny object caught Pickel’s eyes. It was on the table, in plain sight, but it was as if the others couldn’t see it. Of course, they don’t have their head, thought Pickel… but he’d forgotten that he’d left his head at home too.
            As he was approaching the table, Gnarfle noticed that he wasn’t following the bird keeper and the others in the other room and decided to stay with him. Maybe he wanted to play some game and Gnarfle would be glad to indulge him.

            :fleuron:

            The other room was full of birds, and Silly’s throat got suddenly constricted as she let out a raucous gag.
            Which startled both her father and the wise Peamon who let out an indescribable laugh.
            PeAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, it’s just here, thanks little one!
            Pee was a bit confused as he couldn’t see what the wise Peamon was showing them, and the little peagirl was trying not to think of the smell of the aviary… ( how do I know such a word? she thought to herself.)

            #2640

            In reply to: Strings of Nines

            New Venice, October 2117

            Now, where were we? Midora suddenly felt that the need for an agenda was called for. Spread out in front of her were a few collages and some balls of energy from all the links and connections she had found in the stories of her ancestors and gathered so far.

            Since her fathers Oscar and Bart had adopted the twins Hari and Jacq, her usually tidy room had been a mess. Fortunately, the adoption was almost complete, and in a mere week, the twins would then be able to choose another family, which they made clear they intended to do. She felt so appreciative that adoption was no longer bound by traditional laws of responsibility of the parents and ridden by culpability; instead, it was a healthier cooperation between the parents and children, and children were free to go with other families if they felt the desire for a different experience.
            When they’d adopted Hari and Jacq, Bart and Oscar had wanted for a continuation of the experience of bringing up children, which they did not have for a long time with Midora, as she was quite independent from an early age. And in truth, Jacq and Hari were very interactive and playful, and to be perfectly honest, quite a handful; in a few weeks, the apartment would surely seem deserted and empty.

            So, during that time, Midora’s researches on the stories had been put to a halt, and a lots of her energy balls which were usually neatly ordered on her lightboard were now merged for some, changed of forms for others… all thanks to her half-bros. She barely knew were to start to get a better view of it now.

            Let me see… there were a few threads going on there, and all we need is untangle some of them…

            She’d had fun reconnecting with the “Island of Dr Transvestite” theme, but now she found out, her favorite characters Shar and Glor, were now disembodied, stranded in transition, and perhaps waiting to be reborn to a nine-titted alien in the Worseversity after failed attempts of channeling. So far, no signs of developments for them though.

            As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete, and she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into. She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).

            Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes; she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations.

            Oh, and the Alienor dimension was still going on, though most of its development wasn’t yet showing up. What had happened of Arona, Franiel, Irtak’s father, the gripshawk? And now that Malvina was gone too… She’d found Mrs Chesterhope after her strange amnesiac shapeshifting accident however; and that was encouraging.

            So strange, all of these characters are so alive, she thought fondly, and yet none of them seem motivated enough to project themselves out with force and steadiness into her energy balls which still had a sort of blurriness and haphazardness to them.

            She made the intent to project more energy in the direction of stabilizing the currents of the strands of stories, and the energy balls’ colors started to shimmer lightly. That was certainly the way to go. Which one would be the most alluring to explore and follow?

            #2058

            In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

            EricEric
            Keymaster

              whatever characters
              thanks bloody
              somewhat hit thread
              everyone school
              girl continuity
              dead facts
              start details
              glor mad
              give professor
              wondering moment

              #2274
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The shopping trip during Prof Less’s class time was indeed fun. Ann purchased a cruet set with a dragonfly motif, half price in a sale. Just one more class to attend before the weekend, Professor Godfrey Gordon’s class, or Good God Gordy as he was affectionately known.

                “Ann, I must congratulate you on doing so VERY well with Continuity.” Gordon said, with much appreciation and deep sincerity. “You’re doing very well indeed. A toast!” he raised his glass, and smiled warmly at Ann.

                Ann found herself blushing at the unaccustomed praise. “Gosh, Gordy, thanks!” she gushed. “And what fun to have champagne in class! Cheers, everyone!”

                :beer:

                #2633

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Ann, I must congratulate you on doing so VERY well with Continuity.” Gordon said, with much appreciation and deep sincerity. “You’re doing very well indeed. A toast!” he raised his glass, and smiled warmly at Ann.

                  Ann found herself blushing at the unaccustomed praise. “Gosh, Gordy, thanks!” she gushed.

                  :yahoo_thumbsup:

                  #2627

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    The word flounder popped into Yolands head, and for want of the inspiration to do anything meaningful, or even useful, she googled flounder. She was astonished to find so many varieties of flounder, and recognized that she was counterparting with quite a number of them.

                    :fish:

                    There was the Crosseyed flounder that she felt an affinity for, at the end of an evening of trying to sort out her photos; Alcock’s narrow-body righteye flounder, which was what she felt like in a bed full of male dogs every night, and she could relate to the Antarctic armless flounder when she couldn’t keep track of the Antarctic thread. Barfin flounder reminded her of the green icon and her friend Finn; Bigmouth flounder ~ Yoland sighed, she definitely felt a connection to that often enough. Blotched flounder, well that sounded a bit like botched ~ there were many occasions when Yoland felt that everything she did was botched, half done and messy. Chain-mail wide-eyed flounder when she dabbled a bit in past lives, and the Disc flounder when she got her music in a muddle. The Dark flounders were the worst, when everything seemed to take on the tone of a horror movie, but they were often followed by a Deep flounder, which sometimes contained a few insights, more often than not promptly forgotten.

                    :fish:

                    Yoland sighed. Imagine counterparting with just about every flounder known to man! She decided she wasn’t the only one counterparting the European flounder, which was a releif, nor was she the only one counterparting the Fantail flounder, although at least it could be said that she wasn’t a complete fan of anyone in particular, dead or alive, she was a fantail of quite a number. There were long spells of resonating with the Finless flounder; Finn was always disappearing, or so it seemed to Yoland. Very rarely she felt an alignment with God’s flounder, thankfuly she wasn’t often prone to dwelling on God things.

                    :fish:

                    Ah, the Gray flounder, yes she’d had a bit of a flounder when Gray sent all those photos of the Beltane Dance, she’d had a flounder for sure in amongst all those. Looking back though, she’d had fun with the mummy and Ella Tindale in the Gulf flounder…

                    :fish:

                    Yoland had to laugh when she came across the Intermediate flounder. Yoland wondered if the majority of her foundering was counterparting with the Intermediate flounder and decided she was probably too intermediate to work it out objectively anyway. She often had a tussle with the Large tooth flounder, lordy, she was always floundering with dental issues. And the Largescale flounder, that really was the biggest ongoing flounder of them all, the sheer vastness of everything.

                    :fish:

                    Every now and again, less than previously though, Yoland had a Melbourne flounder on Saturday nights, and rather enjoyed it, but not as much as she enjoyed a good old New Zealand flounder.

                    :fish:

                    Another flounder Yoland always enjoyed was an Olive wide-eyed flounder, roaming around the ancient olive trees of Andalucia, wide eyed and awestruck with the beauty and history of the place. She also enjoyed a Peruvian flounder on occasion, too ~ she’d even had a dream recently about floundering around by the mysterious doorway of Amaru Muru. The next night she’d had a River flounder, dreaming of the river in the Grand Canyon.

                    :fish:

                    Sand flounders were the best of all though, Yoland recalled many happy flounderings in the world of sand and all its Subulmantium configurations. The trouble with the sand flounder was that it often morphed into the largescale flounder, and got quite out of hand.

                    :fish:

                    Yoland sighed, it had been ages since she’d felt connected to the Seven pelvic ray flounder, what with Dan working nights. She was beginning to feel like a Shelf flounder. However, at least thanks to her new diet of replacing meals with flans, chocolate mousses and ice cream, she was closely aligning now with the Slender flounder.

                    :fish:

                    The ongoing slug issue with the cat food was obviously because she was still strongly aligned with the Slime flounder. Notwithstanding, Yoland was rather pleased to note that despite her morose and petulant mood this morning, it had to be said that she often counterparted with the Smooth flounder; although that was easy to forget in moments of quiet desperation when the floundering got out of proportion.

                    :fish:

                    Smiling, Yoland remembered the dream of feet touching when she noticed there was a Sole flounder too. And how often the Spotted flounder popped up, she was always spotting clues. Well spotted! she would tell herself. Oh, and the Stone flounder, wasn’t that the truth! Yoland was aligning strongly with that lately, smoking more than ever, somehow striving for either inspiration, or perhaps oblivion.

                    :fish:

                    Oh well, I guess this is just a Summer flounder, it will pass, Yoland decided (who was secretly glad that she was nearing the end of the list of flounder names). And sure enough, the next on the list was the Three spotted flounder, surely a good sign! A probability change perhaps! As if to validate Yolands impression, she noticed the Tile-colored righteye flounder. There was even a Warthog flounder, which seemed to ring a bell with a recent entry to the Reality Play.

                    :fish:

                    Best of all was the Windowpane flounder, Yoland felt she would even go so far as to say that this was her new focus animal. Well, she thought, if I am making this all up, I can make that up too!

                    :fish:

                    Thankfully Yoland reached the end of the flounder list, rather pleased that it had ended on such an amusing and encouraging note.

                    Being closely aligned with flounders wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

                    :fish:

                    #2623

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Ann opened the letter from Morgana and read:

                      “The Fellowship congratulates and thanks you for your continuity work on the script. We acknowledge the extreme difficulties you contend with as you face erratic forces resistant to any form of continuity and seeking only to create meaningless threads. The Fellowship also advises the script will be even further improved if you could sexy it up a bit.”

                      “Good God” said Ann, momentarily nonplussed.

                      #2611

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        No, I think YOU are in the wrong place, said Tina indignantly, in a low and quite sexy voice thanks to her chest congestion. We are supposed to be in DANCING course, NOT creative writing!

                        #2047

                        In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Dark….
                          common?
                          Keep images;
                          hear others…

                          Eyes

                          Recent movements.
                          Heard,
                          Follow…
                          Kept questions.

                          Individuals

                          Library ~
                          Thanks, come fact!
                          Littleton smile:
                          deal?
                          feeling… rather….

                          Cat!
                          Ones eye…

                          Accept self.

                          #2606

                          In reply to: Strings of Nines

                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Tuning into her other focus Becky, which was happening with an alarming increase in frequency, Yoland scribbled down a few lines of what might loosely be termed poetry.

                            Methinks it’s time to ponder not
                            Upon the box of black and white
                            Methinks the time has come again
                            To thinketh not and ponder not
                            Upon the need to clear explain.
                            Begone, oh wordy facts, begone!
                            And leave me free to talk some rot
                            And note and jot alot of snaps
                            Of this and that, beguiling snips
                            Of snaps and wisps, of tongues and lights;
                            Hums and sparks of nonsense blips
                            And plates of eggs and french fried chips.

                            I’m running out of steam, said she

                            Report back now, Immediately

                            Toot! Toot!

                            “What I really love about this, Yoland” Grace said when she’d read her friend’s poem, “Is that it really is complete rubbish. I mean, it’s not cleverly pretending to be rubbish, it really IS rubbish. But I am feeling the energy, and I feel that you enjoyed posting utter rubbish, and that’s the feeling that counts.”

                            “Er….thanks, Grace…I think,” replied Yoland with a smirk.

                            “You rude tart” she added.

                            :buffoon:

                            #2590

                            In reply to: Strings of Nines

                            F LoveF Love
                            Participant

                              Franlise read the message from the Fellowship with mixed emotions.

                              The Fellowship congratulates and thanks you for your continuity work on the script. We acknowledge the extreme difficulties you contend with as you face erratic forces resistant to any form of continuity and seeking only to create meaningless threads. The Fellowship also advises the script will be even further improved if you could sexy it up a bit.

                              #2540

                              In reply to: Strings of Nines

                              F LoveF Love
                              Participant

                                Franlise had an outward beauty which matched the sweet loveliness of her inner being. Yes, she was a vision of pure loveliness, and many gallant knight had attempted to woo her away from her cleaning job. But Franlise knew that it was here, amongst the filth and dust of Ann’s office, that her true work was done. By day a cleaner, by night she toiled endlessly weaving Anne’s words into works of beauty. Words which would then go out into the world and give solace to many a despondent and lonely reader. To know that her words gave hope where once there was despair was all the thanks that Franlise needed.

                                Of course no one must know it was Franlise who was the true author. The Fellowship had insisted when they gave Franlise her mission that her part be kept hidden. Being humble, as well as outwardly beautiful and inwardly lovely, Franlise was happy to obey the wishes of the Fellowship in this matter. Besides, she knew that if Ann were to find out the truth, the pour deranged creature would probably be driven to place of complete madness.

                                Franlise shuddered at the thought.

                                #2504

                                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                                The smell of the incense was giving her a sense of comfort and was helping her unfocus her attention in order to let the trance occur. She was one of the Seers of the Crimson Feather Order and when she was in a trance, the Goddess was speaking through her for those priests or priestesses who were seeking directions.

                                The Seers usually had no memories of what was happening when they were speaking for the Goddess and they were usually coupled with a Witness so the message would not be altered by the requester to best suit his or her desire. Depending on the clarity of the message, a period of evaluation and interpretation could be necessary and in case of official communications it was then forwarded to every temple.

                                Though in certain occasions the Witness could be missing as it was the case today. The archbishop Boorla had requested a meeting with no Witness, and in such cases the value of the information was only considered of personal nature. He was late, and she could put off the meeting if she wanted to, but a faint feeling was suggesting her to wait a bit longer.

                                When he entered a few minutes later, introduced by her usual Witness, he seemed furious and having great difficulties containing his anger. He was a red long-haired cat and his collar was particularly imposing in such moments. She had to focus on herself and not let his irritation make her loose her balance for the trance. As the Witness left the room, she took a deep breath and purred gently as she began the ritual. The Requester had to keep silence until being invited to do ask their question and she needed some time to calm him.

                                She felt at first his irritation grow as she was purposefully delaying the beginning of the trance, but he couldn’t resist longer the soothing purr of the Seer, and as she asked the ritual question, she felt her consciousness fading out.

                                :fleuron:

                                When she came out of trance, she was feeling sick, the delivery of the message had been interrupted and though he was silent she could feel the fury of the archbishop flowing like waves. Apparently the message didn’t please him at all, and he barely spoke the ending ritual Thanks to the Goddess before he left the room hissing.

                                Though she was feeling tired and would need some rest, she couldn’t help wondering what had happen.

                                #2210

                                It all kept getting stranger and stranger to Harvey —or aliener and aliener, he would have been tempted to say.
                                Maybe that was because of the ash blue giant aliens he’d made contact with recently. They were nice though; slender body and ample slow movements, but despite all feelings of eeriness, they appeared to be kind and loving beings. Of course, when he had told the others about it, all they had wanted to know was how many boobies they had, and whether their appendices were proportionate to their heights. Harvey couldn’t help but roll his third eye (he was tempted to wink it at first, but remembered how he failed to convey anything like this, people not knowing whether he was winking or simply blinking…).

                                Funny thing was that now he was getting distorted and disrupted (or so he thought) communications even in broad daylight.

                                The last one, when he was reading Grips, his favorite newspaper’s headlines on the newsstand went like:

                                Home energy merely start, cave created answer
                                Zhaana, Mlle friend within, needed hidden face
                                view Leormn somehow warm smiled whole week

                                Yesterday, after having being woken up by the squealing little piglets during the storm, he’d loitered around the neighbourhood in search for sleep, and found himself wanting to declaim nonsensical words about a girl gloogloo-dancing under the sun of Androoloosie (that’s the name he got, from some distant parallel reality).
                                Perhaps he should make some podcasts out of this, they may well be the sign of a vastly intelligent design the code of which some erudite researchers could crack up thanks to his contribution.

                                Yeah… crack up… They would…

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