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  • #4701
    DevanDevan
    Participant

      I’d never have thought I would come back to the Inn. I had left believing I could make a fortune out of digging opals in Boulder, you know, finding the big one worth thousands. I didn’t miss my family and their odd attachment to the dead Fish. I guess except Prune, she had an ambition, of sort, meaning she wanted to get out of that black sucking shithole. And she always had crazy ideas. She knew how to think differently.

      In Boulder, instead of fortune I found dust, sweat and booze, also lots of suspicion and jealousy when anyone found something. I was sucked in the local habits. Bad habits if you ask me, the kind that suck the life out of a man. But I did it anyway, there was not much to do. It soon felt as suffocating as the Inn, and it was not because of the dust. It was just another shithole, ‘tis all.

      I was saved from dying from boredom when that strange man arrived on his Harley Davidson. He stayed for some times always telling stories. Crazy mad stories. I think he was a little paranoid, always believing he was followed or that some people were in danger. I asked him once why he was speaking so loud if he feared he was followed.
      The man laughed and said: “It is a mean of self preservation son. They won’t dare make me disappear or it will prove I’m telling the truth.”
      The kind of self explanatory stuff that you can never prove wrong or false, would have said Prune. Well with a better choice of words I’m sure.

      Anyway, the man and his stories are part of the reasons I came back because he talked about that Dead Fish Inn, and a goldmine.

      #4699

      Albie was hurt by Arona’s mockery, but tried to put a brave face. Derailing of the quest was expected, and he had to prove his bravery.
      He had started to realize people outside the Doline had a different way of speaking —very vulgar, his Ma, Freda would say; and they weren’t even nobility, so he couldn’t know for sure what was proper or not. Maybe it was all make believe. In any case, he found the new style rather daring… and exciting.

      He had spotted a large sign with a tourist map on it, and ran to check it while Arona and Sanso were engaged in jubilant jousts of jest.

      When he came back, he had to raise his voice to be heard.

      HRRMEMN! Mil… I mean… Friends! Arona is right, it’s going to be a long trek, and the road doesn’t get any better than this.” He pointed at the lone road in the middle of the sandy reddish expanse traveled by deceptive winds.
      “How long?” Sanso asked apprehensively.
      “By my count, maybe 7 days of walk due East of the place, and that’s if we keep walking during most of the day.”
      “Don’t be daft, boy!” Mandrake interjected. “It’s not like Arona not to have a plan.”
      The following silence was astounding, so he added, his meowing voice thinning as he spoke… “like an e-scooter from Jiborium Emporium? maybe?”

      Sensing the growing doubts, Arona spake. “Milords, do not despair.” Then she burst into a hooting laughter.
      “You are enjoying this, don’t you?” Mandrake said, miffed at her debonair.

      “You’ve become all so strung up now, haven’t you?”
      “Well, it’s not like it’s the friendliest place on Earth, is it? I think I spotted 3 scorpions and one fat brown viper not moments ago, and they didn’t look all too happy with their new neighbours.”
      “…”
      “Us!”
      “Ah, but I told you, we need to go to the local shaman for protection and safe passage first. There at her camp, we’ll get a rental jeep with a GPS. From there, to reach the Inn, it shouldn’t take us more than 10h… and 21min drive. Más o menos, amigos.

      She winked at Albie “is it enough a plan for you, young man?”.

      #4698

      Muriel looked at the unfinished construction work with an eye of reproach.

      “What? Don’t you like the new loo?” Eleri was apprehensive about the old cantankerous woman, who had started to take herself to be the manager of the place while her sister Margoritt was away.

      “No, it’s not the loo, dear. Your atrocious gargoyles, I may say, do add a bit of… Gothic flavour to it. Does for lazy bowels better than prunes if you ask me. I can’t be more in a hurry to leave the place. But no, it’s more the sink —or lack thereof— that I’m worried about. But of course I’m sure you have a plan for that…” She eyed Eleri over her round spectacles, precariously balanced at the tip of her angular nose, in a way that made Eleri uncomfortable.

      “Well, we kind of lost hope, after all the joiners and handymen that have come to fix it, and abandoned the work.”

      “So? Are you calling it quits? That’s not reasonable. Are you sure you’ve not badly chosen the spot, like decided to put in above a cursed indigenous cemetery, or that there isn’t some trickster pixie spell there?”

      Glynis, who was there with a basket of laundry ventured rather boldly:
      “I don’t think so, Morayeel.” She smiled innocently, knowing full well Muriel didn’t like the nickname and continued, even more emboldened.
      “I have dejinxed the place myself. No, I think the problem is that it’s too clean now. I probably must lift the cleaning spell, or no worker will ever approach the place and get it finished.”

      #4697
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        During summer, activity was slow at the mall in Kelowna, BC, so Jerk had a little more time to check on his other pastimes. Interestingly there seemed to be a lot of unusual activity on the findmydolls group.

        He was also tinkering with a home brewed AI, and launched the program.

        “Trancie are you awake?”
        “Did I fall asleep?” the AI answered back.
        “For a little while, yes. Trancie, analyse logs from findmystuff website, check group findmydolls.”
        “A moment. A moment. A moment. Analysis complete. Activity spike 57.21% increase.”

        This was quite unusual, but he wasn’t sure were to look. He looked at his administrator box, in case another message had required moderation. The filters triggers were not too sensitive, so there wasn’t a lot of messages.

        One in particular had triggered the system.

        “Trancie, read message in moderation queue #5363.”
        You need to come for information. Am sending you tickets and instructions for hotspot, so it won’t cost you a bomb. hashtag flagged for terror threat. D for Destroy, A for Approve.”

        That was obviously amateur work, Jerk thought. Criminals nowadays were much more careful.

        “Trancie, Approve.”

        Another thought crossed his mind.

        “Trancie, plot past month activity by geolocation on mapearth.com”

        It took a few minutes to refine the query so he could check the heatmap, and remove the background noise.

        The last messages all seemed to concentrate in the middle of nowhere in Australia.

        “How odd. So glad I’m not an investigative journalist, that place must be crawling with nasty things, scaly and poisonous and downright deadly.”

        Interestingly, a second point on the map was close to Kelowna. Actually, although it could just be narrowed down to a 5 kilometer radius, it looked ominously close to where he lived.

        Shivers started to run down his spine. Maybe he’d just stumbled onto a dangerous conspiracy. Dolls could be a code word for horrible things, possibly even human trafficking.

        He closed the laptop suddenly, his mind racing. What if they were onto him? He struggled for a moment with the urge to destroy his laptop and burn down the place and disappear off the grid, but he remembered he needed to breathe, so his rational mind could be oxygenated and think properly.

        “I may be a tad on the paranoid side.”
        But it ain’t paranoia, if they are trying to get you.

        He looked around. He was already as close as possible to off-the-grid without vanishing out of society. The place was deserted, and only a janitor was roaming the place mindlessly on his cleaning car. There was zero chance he could be a target.

        Yet.

        “Oh shut up!” he exclaimed out loud.

        He was intrigued by the mystery, but for now, he wanted to let it play out. He needed more data points to have Trancie plot a heuristic pattern. Well, to make sense of it, while he was working on her personality.

        #4696

        “Ricardo!” Miss Bossy shouted from her office she was rearranging into an office cum interrogation room.

        “Yes, M’am!”

        “Any news from our two insubordinate scouts?”
        “I’m afraid not M’am. Phone coverage isn’t that good in the bush I hear.”
        “Stop that nonsense! What tells you they’re aren’t just squandering my newspaper’s money over unearned mojitos doing precious nothing like gator’s watching on a beach, hmmm?”
        “I think they’d call that gathering clues M’am.”

        If Ricardo hadn’t be so earnest, she would have slapped him in the face for his attempt at humour, but he was blissfully unaware of the unwanted irony and impertinence of his retort.

        You’re going soft… she mused to herself, while snapping electrical wires together making a splash of sparkles in the air. The makeshift interrogation room was ready.

        “Ric’! Bring Sweet Sophie!”

        #4695

        The note had troubled Maeve. It was different than the one Shawn Paul received, not only because it was handwritten and very long, but also because it implied someone, potentially even several groups, were after the dolls and the keys.
        “You have to retrieve them,” the note eventually said, “and use the clues they hide to find the important people they protect.”

        There was no signature, but it sounded so much like uncle Fergus, oddly wordy and mysterious. Was he still alive after all this time? Did he still ride his Harley?

        Maeve’s first thought after the surprise was that she needed someone to take care of Fabio. The next thought felt like a brilliant idea. Lucinda. Maeve would go ask her to take care of Fabio during her vacation to Australia and would use that opportunity to spirit away the doll. She had the intuition she might need it afterwards.

        So she prepared her luggage and cuddled Fabio who knew he wouldn’t be part of the trip.
        “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I need you to keep that sad face of yours when we go see Lucinda.” In response, Fabio wiggled his tail happily and tried to lick Maeve’s face. “No! Keep the face,” she mimicked what she thought was a sad face.

        After all was packed she went to Lucinda’s with Fabio and her luggage.
        “I’m sorry, I’m going on a trip and I need someone to take care of Fabio,” Maeve said. As she had imagined Lucinda was moved by Fabio’s look and couldn’t refuse to take car of him.
        “Of course! He’ll be well treated here with my new parrot.”
        “Huhu,” said the colourful bird.
        “I think it comes from New Zealand,” said Lucinda. “It flew in yesterday and had not left ever since despite me not putting it into a cage, so I’m buying it food. It seems particularly fond of that doll I told you about the other day.”
        Indeed, the parrot was on the sofa, trying to open the doll’s head. That’s when Fabio jumped and tried to catch the bird. He clearly didn’t like it and the parrot flew away to a higher ground on an old grannies’ Welsh dresser, making a few glasses and china fall down in an awful breaking noise. Lucinda tried to catch the bird or the china or Fabio, but could do neither of the three.

        Seizing that as an opportunity, Maeve put the doll in her messenger bag.
        “I don’t want to bother you longer, I have a plane to catch. Bye,” she said, and she left with bags and luggage without checking if Lucinda had heard.

        At the elevator, she met with Shawn Paul.
        “Hi.”
        “Hi. I’m going to the airport,” the young man said. “Australia. Like you?”
        She felt uncomfortable. The note hadn’t mention anything about him. Unless he was part of one of those groups who were after the dolls. Maeve grumbled something while holding her bag closer. She didn’t know if she could trust him.

        #4694

        But Arona wasn’t quite ready to trek. On a pretense of tying her boot laces, she was trying to conceal laughter.
        “What’s that, Milord?” she snorted, “What is this quest of which you speak?”
        Mandrake’s tail shuddered in annoyance.
        “Do grow up, Arona!” said Mandrake. “We have only a few days and precious little progress has been made.”
        “I thought we had made excellent progress,” said Arona, deflated. “I mean, I found you, didn’t I?”
        “Well, technically it was me who found him,” said Sanso, puffing his chest out proudly. “Oh yes, you didn’t know that, did you! I was exerting my influence on the moon and the stars to guide us in the right direction.”
        “My word,” said Mandrake and Arona grimaced at him. “See what I mean!” she hissed.
        “The quest,” said Sanso, “is quite simple. We have a key and we need to find the door which it opens. And I suggest we make haste to the flying fish Inn where we will find said door.”

        #4693

        In reply to: The Stories So Near

        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Some updates on the Heartwoods Weave

          So far, there were loosely 2 chapters in this story, and we’re entering the 3rd.
          Let’s call them:

          • Ch. 1 – The Curses of the Stolen Shards
          • Ch. 2 – The Flight to the Desert Mountains
          • Ch. 3 – Down the Lands of Giants

          Ch. 1 – The Curses of the Stolen Shards

          In Chapter One, we get acquainted with the main characters as their destinies intertwine (Rukshan, Glynis, Eleri, Gorrash, Fox, Olliver and Tak).
          In a long past, the Forest held a powerful artifact created and left behind as a seal by the Gods now departed in their World: a Gem of Creation. It was defiled by thieves (the 7 characters in their previous incarnations of Dark Fae (Ru), Toothless Dragon (Gl), Laughing Crone (El), Mapster Dwarf (Go), Glade Troll (Fo), Trickster Dryad (Ol), Tricked Girl (Ta)), and they all took a shard of the Gem, although the innocent girl was tricked to open the woods by a promise of resurrecting a loved one, and resented all the others for it. She unwittingly created the curse all characters were suffering from, as an eternal punishment. Removing the Gem from the center of the Forest and breaking it started a chain of events, leading to many changes in the World. The Forest continued to grow and claim land, and around the (Dragon) Heartwoods at the center, grew many other woods – the Haunted Bamboo Forest, the Enchanted Forest, the Hermit’s Forest, the Fae’s Forest etc. At the other side, Cities had developed, and at the moment of the story, started to gain control over the magical world of Old.
          From the special abilities the Seven gained, some changes were triggered too. One God left behind was turned into stone by the now young Crone (E).
          Due to the curse, their memories were lost, and they were born again in many places and other forms.
          During the course of Ch.1, they got healed with the help of Master Gibbon, and the Braider Shaman Kumihimo, who directed Rukshan how to use the Vanishing Book, which once completed by all, and burnt as an offering, lifted the curse. Tak (the Girl of the origin story), now a shapeshifting Gibbon boy, learned to let go of the pain, and to start to live as a young orphan under the gentle care of the writer Margoritt Loursenoir and her goat Emma, in a cottage in the woods.
          Glynis, a powerful healer with a knack for potions, still haven’t found a way to undo the curse of her scales, which she accepts, has found residency and new friends and a funny parrot named Sunshine. Eleri besides her exploration of anti-gravity, learnt to make peace with the reawakened God Hasamelis no longer vengeful but annoyed at being ignored for a mortal Yorath. Eleri continues to love to butt heads with the iniquities of the world, which are never in lack, often embodied by Leroway and his thugs. Gorrash, who adopted the little baby Snoots activated by Glynis’ potions seemed simply happy to have found a community. Fox, a fox which under the tutelage of Master Gibbon, learnt to shapeshift as a human for all his work and accumulation of good karma. Olliver, a young man with potential, found his power by activating the teleporting egg Rukshan gave him. As for Rukshan, who was plagued by ghosts and dark forces, he found a way to relieve the Forest and the world of their curse, but his world is torn between his duties towards his Fae family in the woods, his impossible love for his Queen, and his wants for a different life of exploration, especially now knowing his past is more than what he thought he knew.
          At the end of the chapter, the Door to the God’s realm, at the center of the Forest seems to have reopened.

          Ch. 2 – The Flight to the Desert Mountains

          In the second Chapter, strange sightings of light beams in the mountains prompt some of our friends to go investigate, while in the cottage, the others stay to repel encroachments by brutal modernity embodied by Leroway and his minions. Glynis has found a way to be rid of her scales, but almost failed due to Tak’s appetite for untested potions. Remaking the potion, and succeeding at last, she often still keeps her burka as fond token of her trials. Eleri is spreading glamour bomb concrete statues in the woods, and trying her hand with Glynis supervision at potions to camouflage the cottage through an invisibility spell. Muriel, Margoritt’s sister, comes for a visit.
          In the mountains, the venturing heroes are caught in a sand storm and discover spirits trapped in mystical objects. Pushing forward through the mountain, they are tracked and hunted by packs of hellhounds, and dark energy released from an earthquake. Rukshan works on a magical mandala with the help and protection of his friends. Olliver discovers a new teleportation trick making him appear two places at once. Kumihimo rejoins the friends in trouble, and they all try to leave through the magical portal, while Fox baits the dogs and the Shadow. Eerily, only Fox emerges from the portal, to find a desolated, burnt Forest and his friends all gone. They had been too late, and the Shadow went with them through the portal instead of being destroyed. Luckily, a last potion left by Glynis is able to rewind Fox in time, and succeed in undoing the disaster. The beaming lights were only honeypots for wandering travellers, it turned out.
          Shaken by the ordeal, Rukshan leaves the party for some R&R time in the parallel world of the Faes, which is now mostly abandoned.

          Ch. 3 – Down the Lands of Giants

          In Chapter 3, which has only just begun, some time has passed, and Margoritt has come back to the City, at the beginning of winter for some special kneedle treatments. Glynis and Margoritt are in turn taking care of Tak, who has joined a local school, where he seems to have befriended a mysterious girl Nesingwarys (Nesy). Gorrash seems to have been hurt, broken whilst in his statue form by Leroway’s thugs, but the Snoot babies are still staying with him, so there is hope. Fox is always hungry, and helps with the reconstruction work for the cottage, which was damaged in a fire (we suppose during Leroway’s men foray in the woods).
          Rukshan emerges from his retreat after an encounter with a mad Fae, babbling about a Dark Lord’s return. Piecing clues together, he finds a long lost World Map and connection with a renegade magician who may have been the Maker of Gorrash (and maybe linked to the trapped spirits in the mountain after all). He sends a pigeon to his friends before he returns to the thick of the Heartwoods.
          Now, it seems the Door to the God’s realm has reopened the ancient Realms of the Underworld too, all accessible through the central pillar of the World, intersecting their World precisely at the Heartwoods, were the Gem of Creation originally was. He’s planning to go to the long lost Underworld of the Giants, were he suspects the so-called Dark Lord is hiding.

          #4691
          Jib
          Participant

            The day had started uneventful, the perfect kind of day for Shawn Paul to write his novel. He had been quite productive concerning the numbers of characters written in total, but after a few erasing and correcting only one paragraph of a few lines remained. But he was very satisfied with what he had written.

            Perfection will kill me, he thought. Looking at the piles of documents on his table, he felt tired. He looked at the unremarkable clock on his wall. It was eleven in the morning. Time for a tea. He got up from his desk carefully. He missed a step and inadvertently hit the wrong key combination on his keyboard. It closed his writing app without saving his work. Shawn Paul started panicking when the bell rang. Déjà vu.

            This time it was the mailman.
            “You’re a lucky winner. I need a sign.”
            Shawn Paul signed and was handed a big envelop written “LUCKY WINNER!” all over it. There was barely enough room for his address. The young writer, almost author, feared to open it. It was reeking of distraction potential and it could put his novel in danger when it needed loving care… and a lot of discipline.
            “Look,” said the mailman. “I have another one for your neighbour.” the man knocked at Maeve’s door and gave her the envelop in exchange for a signature. The young woman had no qualm about it and tore open the envelop. It was hard to read her expression when she got a plane ticket out and read the short accompanying note. She almost looked asian poker face at that moment. Her eyes went to the envelop in Shawn Paul’s hands, and he understood the question she hadn’t formulated.
            He felt forced to open his own envelop and it was as agonising as tearing apart the last chance to write his unborn novel.

            “What’s inside?” asked the mailman who was a curious fellow.

            “A plane to Australia, and a voucher to the Flying Fish Inn.”

            “Oh! I know that place, it was all over the news a few months back,” said the man. “I don’t need to envy you then,” he dropped before leaving Shawn Paul and Maeve in the corridor.
            Her cat showed up and meowed. It was clear to the young man there was an interrogation point in its voice.

            #4690
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              What were they doing with all those incontinent pads anyway? Three boxes of 48 pads in two days was impossible to account for. What could they be doing with them? Nurse Trassie frowned as she refilled the bathroom shelf, counting out another dozen. On a hunch, she put some rubber gloves on and rummaged through the trash. If she counted the soiled ones in the bin, she’d know how many were unaccounted for. Only sixteen in the trash, so where were all the rest? That’s, er, 34 missing, no wait, 36? no, 32. Well whatever, she gave up on the maths of it all, it was clear that most of them had gone missing.

              #4689

              “So, ‘ow we going to find ‘im then, Glor?” asked Sharon, taking a slurp of thick muddy-looking tea. “Ow! That’s too bloody hot. I’m going to ‘ave another word with the Matron about that Nurse, I am.”

              “You do that, Sha. Nurse Trassie wasn’t it?”

              Sharon nodded and pursed her lips tightly. “Bloody uppity tart. We bloody pay enough to be ‘ere, I reckon. They should get the tea bloody right.” Her eyes narrowed menacingly. “ Anyway, she’ll keep. So,‘ow we going to find ‘im then, Glor?”

              “Whose that then, Shar? Oh, you mean the doctor who does the beauty treatments? I’d forget my bloody ‘ead if it weren’t screwed on, wouldn I!”

              Gloria scratched her head vigorously, perhaps checking it was still there, before taking a moment to examine her fingernails.

              “Wot’d Mavis say then?” she asked at last. “When you did that texting thing to ‘er?”

              “‘Ere let me find my phone and I’ll read it out loud to you. Oh, blimey, ‘ave you seen my glasses, Glor?”

              Gloria’s generous curves wobbled and gyrated as she convulsed into fits of laughter.

              “They’re on yer bloody ‘ead!” she said pointing and gasping for breath. “Oh, I nearly peeed myself, ya blimmen muppet!”

              “Thanks, Glor. Wot I’d do without you, I don’t bloody know. Don’t mean to make you pee yerself though. It’s ‘ard enough getting them nurses to give out them extra thick pantyliners. Blimmin uppity tarts. Expecially that Nurse Trassie. Anyway, she’ll keep.”

              Sharon peered at her phone. “Mavis says: Wot a bloody brainwave! I need a makeover for my new fella!!’ LOL! “ She frowned. “Wot’s that word mean, LOL, Glor?”

              “Oh, it’s text talk. The younguns talk like that now and our Mavis always did like to keep up with trends. Lots of lust it means. That saucy cow!”

              “She always was a saucy one that, Mavis! Look at us stuck in ‘ere and ‘er with a new fella. Lucky sod. Maybe after our beauty treatment, we might get us a new fella too.”

              “I don’t know ‘ow we’re going to track down the Doctor though, Shar. I don’t know ‘ow we’re going to track him down when we’re stuck in this bleedin’ ‘ole.” Gloria shoulders shook and she began to sob loudly.

              “There, there, Glor. Don’t cry,” said Sharon, rubbing her friend’s back. “They’ll put you on more bloody pills if you cry. Oh! I know wot will cheer you up!”

              “Wot’s that then,” asked Gloria, sniffing loudly into her hanky.

              “I’ve ‘ad one of my bloody brainwaves!”

              “I knew you would, Shar! You’ve always ‘ad brains. I’m all agog!”

              “We’ll get Mavis to go to the papers! Put in an advert to find ‘im!”

              “You’re a blimmin genius, you are, Shar!”

              #4687

              Ric was confused as to why he found himself flushed and vaguely excited by Bossy Mam’s sudden and attractive outburst.
              He was so glad the two harpies were off to goat knows where, or they would have tortured him with no end of gossiping.

              Still troubled by the stirring of emotions, he looked around, and almost spilled the cup of over-infused lapsang souchong tea he had prepared. Miss Bossy was the only one to fancy the strong flavour in a way only a former chain smoker could.

              Thankfully, she was still glaring at the window, and while he had no doubt he couldn’t hope to give her the slip for that sort of things, she probably had decided to just let it go.

              He took the chance to run to the archives, and started to dig up all he could on the Doctor.
              Sadly, the documents were few and sparse. Hilda and Connie were not known for their order in keeping records. Their notes looked more like herbariums from a botanist plagued with ADHD. But that probably meant there were lots of overlooked clues.

              He flipped through the dusty pages for a good hour, eyes wet with allergies, and he was about to bring Miss Bossy the sorry pile he had collected when a light bulb lit in his mind.

              How could I miss it!

              He’d never thought about it, but now, a lot of it started to make sense.

              Thinking about how Miss Bossy would probably be pleased by the news, he started to become red again, and hyperventilate.

              Calm down amigo, think about your abuela, and her awful tapas,… thaaat’s it. Crème d’anchovies with pickled strawberries… Jellyfish soufflés with poached snail eggs on rocket salad.

              His mind was rapidly quite sober again.

              Taking the pile of notes, he landed it messily on the desk, almost startling Miss Bossy.

              “Sorry for the interruption, M’am, but I may have found something…”
              “Fine, there’s no need for theatrics, spill it!” Miss Bossy was ever the no-nonsense straight-to-business personality. Some would have called her rude, but they were ignorants, and possibly all dead now.

              “There was a clue, hidden in the trail of Hilda’s collection. I’m not sure how we have missed it.”

              “Ricardooo…” Miss Bossy’s voice was showing a soupçon of annoyance.

              “Yes, pardon me, I’m digressing. Look! Right here!”

              “What? How is it possible? Is that who I think it is?”

              “I think so.”

              They turned around to look across the hall at Sweet Sophie blissfully snoring.

              “I think she was one of her first patient-slash-assistant.”

              “How quaint. But, that explains a lot. Wait a minute. I thought none of his patients were ever found… alive?”

              “Maybe she outsmarted him…”

              They both weren’t too convinced about that. But they knew now old Sweet Sophie was probably unwittingly holding the key to the elusive Doctor.

              #4686

              One morning Fox noticed a pigeon on the fence. It was cooing and certainly trying to catch a female. But there was none. Actually there hadn’t been so many pigeons in the woods, and Fox had always thought they were city creatures. That’s why he looked closer. The pigeon fretted, a little bit uncertain of the two legged man, because of his fox scent that was still getting out from time to time. But it remained still enough so that Fox could catch it. It would make a nice addition to their lunch.

              He was about to break the bird’s neck when he noticed the little cylinder attached to its left leg. He detached it and called Glynis. The cylinder was enchanted and it required some skills to be opened. Someone didn’t want anyone to read that message.

              Glynis arrived and the pigeon tried to fly away, but Fox had a firm grip on it. Glynis glared at him.
              “Don’t kill the messenger, please,” she said.
              Fox, not after some hesitations, released the bird who landed heavily on the fence.
              “It’s a shame to let go of such a well fed bird.”
              “I know, but we may need it to send back a message and well trained pigeons are hard to come by in the woods.”

              So they didn’t have pigeon for lunch. And Glynis struggled. And after noon they were still trying without much success.
              “None of my spells have worked so far. I don’t know what to do to crack it open,” lamented Glynis.
              “Good idea,” said Fox, “let’s try that.” He took the cylinder and bent it slightly. It cracked open easily. Glynis looked at Fox daringly.
              Before Fox could talk, Glynis said: “You’re allowed to roll your eyes. Two turns only.”
              Fox did and they read the message. It was from Rukshan.

              “Dear fellow companions, I’m sure you’ll know how to open the message,” he started. They snorted.
              “I found a path that I hope would help revive our friend. Although I need some help. I’m sure the work with the carpenter and the joiner is done and Fox can come give me a hand.”

              Fox growled.
              “I’ll bring him their hands.”
              “Please, don’t,” pleaded Glynis, “not until they are finished with their work in the cottage.

              #4685
              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                “I used to win prizes you know,” Miss Bossy Pants sighed and rubbed her hand through her hair, leaving it in further disarray.

                “I’m sure you did,” said Ric with a small smile which could have been interpreted as a smirk. Miss Bossy Pants decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

                “For journalism. One year, I received the top journalism prize for my investigative piece about the sausage industry. Cutting edge they called it. And now,” she frowned and looked out the window. “We must get someone to clean those. And now, I am a mere figurehead.”

                Ric opened his mouth but Miss Bossy Pants held her hand up.

                “A mere figurehead. Mocked and deriled. My staff, who I pay, follow whatever goddam leads they want and pay no attention to my explicit orders. You think I don’t know that?”

                She glared at Ric.

                “Quiet!” she said, slapping her hand on the desk and standing up so violently that her cup of tea trembled and sloshed over the sides. She glowered down at Ric, also trembling.

                “This ends now! Get me everything we have on the Doctor. I want names of victims and any poor sod who is still alive you are going to interview! I am going to crack this goddam doll case wide open. He’s the one who is going to be goddam very very sorry.”

                #4681

                The path ahead was blocked. Repeatedly.

                Some filter was preventing him to access the path, and move forward.

                He wished he had an oiliphant, or something equally powerful that could blast through. But more subtle measures were required. The evil that blocked his path was a different kind of monster, something built on inaction, and slow decay. One would exhaust oneself to argue with it, and moving it with force would only ensure its full and entirely focused resistance.
                Patience and proper action, in a flow like water. It was more than a magical mantra, it should be a way of life.

                Rukshan had looked at his options, and the map he found only confirmed what he had surmised so far. There were three barmkins, old defensive enclosures that hindered his way out of the Zaunoff Camp Fort, the Southern outpost leading to the safety of the Forest’s outer groves.

                Tackling the first wall would test his resolve, but he was ready. He removed his cloak, stretched his back and cracked his knuckles.

                Move like water

                The creeping ivy and catsfoot flowers started to react and whisper in the wind.

                A hole? There was a hole in the old wall, and with some chance, the plants would lead him through.

                #4679
                prUneprUne
                Participant

                  I could still smell the ounces of pecksniffery I got from the commiserating board during the review for the renewal of my scholarship.
                  My family background did its part; I guess it actually helped wet a few eyes.

                  A year ago, I was elated when I learnt I was accepted in the boarding school I applied for in secret. It is the only one in the country with an equivalence for astronaut programs. They don’t really advertise, but if you search, you can find them. Guess that’s how they select the motivated ones. I still have high hopes to get selected for the Mars program. They’re launching the first commercial travel in 2 or 3 years they say. That’ll give me time to prepare.

                  Almost didn’t get the letter though, between the nosy sisters and my messy aunt. Hard row to hoe, like they say. Thankfully Mater was still strong as a bull when it comes to holding this family together.

                  I guess it’s mostly for her that I come back from time to time. The fish’s still here on the fireplace, stupid as ever. I sure don’t come back for it. I think I’m missing Devan too, but he’s never kept touch. Can’t blame him, must have been hard to be the first born, that sort of things.

                  I had a dream last night; Mater must have sent it. We had to entertain guests —that’s how I knew it was a dream, must have been ages we had guests in the inn. I was doing a little cabaret show, then we all went for fortune cookies at the Chinese local restaurant, like old times.

                  Guess with the summer break coming, I don’t have much better things to do anyway, and bus tickets are cheap. As cheap as Aunt Dodo’s barmecidal crackers luncheons.

                  #4677

                  There were strong wind currents when they passed above land, drafts of warm air competing with each other, and it took some skill to land the Jiborium Air Express without any damage.

                  Albie was impressed as he observed Arona swinging between cordages, pushing the levers for added hot air, or throwing away some ballast to adjust their elevation.

                  “It’s incredible the distance we can travel without refueling,” he mused aloud. As if Australia’s coasts weren’t huge enough, their travel inland seemed to have stretched for days. Sanso had been seasick most of the time, and at first Arona thought his retching was just emotion sickness, but it was only motion after all.

                  “The secret is in the lard, boy. It burns longer.” Sanso said, before reaching for a bucket.
                  He resumed. “Arona could have taken a Zeppelin you know, the Emporium always used to have few spares, they’re so much more comfortable, and still quite affordable.”

                  “Guess your comfort wasn’t the priority, nor were you expected, were you?” Mandrake was in a somber mood, well, somberer than usual.
                  “Mmh, someone’s sprightly today! Guess it doesn’t have anything to do with Ugo the gecko, does it?”

                  The bickering continued a while longer after all the landing was done, and the balloon was folded back in a neat package.

                  “Mandrake! are you coming, or do you prefer to argument to death under the sun?”
                  “Of course I’m coming.” The cat stretched and jumped on his feet, with Albie in tow.

                  “Before we venture further in Mutitjulu land, we’ll need to seek permission from the local shaman.” Arona said.
                  Noticing the boy, she asked “Aren’t your parents going to be concerned, you seem a little far from home!”

                  “We can still send them a postcard?” he answered tentatively. “It’ll be like a quest, a rite of passage for me. After that, I’ll be a man in my village!”

                  “Well, when you have had enough, let me know. I think most bodies of water are connected to the Doline, I can just send a magical trace with the last pearls to guide you home.”

                  “That is kind and generous, Milady. Thank you.”

                  “So what is our quest?” Sanso seemed to creep out of the shadows where he was lurking.

                  “I don’t know about you Sir,” Albie jumped, “but mine is clear now. I am at Milady’s… and Milord’s (he added for Mandrake) service.”

                  “Well, that won’t surely get us run in circles now.” Mandrake sniggered. He turned to Arona who was already ready to trek in the rocks and sand. “What about you? Has your quest anything to do with that key you got?”

                  #4676

                  When Hilda received the message from her old friend Lucinda her first thought was Miss Bossy Pants award for the “Most Stylistic Synchronistic Article”. There was already a synchronicity because she’s also had a tip off from some guy calling himself “Superjerk”, which was also about dolls. If she followed the lead about the doll stories, and managed to connect them together, it could be the scoop of the year ~ whether or not there was an actual connection between them.

                  Hilda had made copious notes from the long and garbled telephone conversation with Lucinda about everything she knew thus far, and where she was stuck. Clearly the poor dear needed Hilda’s special expertise in following a lead and putting the clues together to form a picture. Admittedly Hilda didn’t always stick to facts ~ who did in journalism these days anyway! But she had an intuition that this was just what she needed to get her teeth into. It had been a boring year in the extreme reportage department. Extremely boring.

                  It had been years since Hilda had been in contact with Lucinda, and that had been on a remote viewing forum. Neither of them had been much good at it, but some of the other members had been brilliant, so it came in useful at times to use their expertise. Hilda made a mental note to rejoin that forum, if it still existed, or find another one. She changed her mind about the mental note, and jotted it down in her notebook. It was a good idea and could come in handy.

                  The short and cryptic note from the guy calling himself Superjerk didn’t provide much information other than the synchronicity, which was of course noteworthy. And he had provided the link to that website “findmydolls.com”. The story was already starting to show promising signs of weaving together.

                  Not wanting any of the other staff to cotton on to her new thread, Hilda told Miss Bossy Pants that she was going to investigate the “hum” in Cadiz. That peculiar Horns of Gabriel phenomenon that occurred randomly around the world had been heard over a wide area of Cadiz and Seville. Hilda had another old friend in that neck of the woods; so she could easily pretend she was there covering that story, with a bit of collaboration from her friend, while she embarked on the real journey to the Flying Fish Inn, in some godforsaken outpost of the outback.

                  That nosy Connie had somehow managed to find out about the whole thing, eavesdropping again no doubt, and Hilda had no option but to come clean with her and ask her to join her in ironing out the story. They would have to deal with Miss Bossy Pants later. If the scoop was the success that Hilda anticipated, then they would be getting an award, not a reprimand.

                  It was worth it. Hilda felt more alive than she had done in a long time.

                  #4675

                  The sixth finger on Barbara’s left hand looked quite odd, but it was a nice recent addition from the Doctor. She looked at it while the Magpies were slowly awakening. A bleak bipping sound was all there was indicating the average pulse of the seven spies.
                  The Doctor, poor man, seemed to have had some difficulties recently to remember her name and also that she was a woman. Since a few weeks, in order not to startle him when she entered the new lab, she had had to get rid of her beehive hairdo, but she had kept it in a secret vault in her bedroom and every evening she took it out and brushed it and put it on her head to remind her.

                  She had been quite dedicated to the Doctor and had stayed despite the last mess at the Hidden Spa. She spent an awful lot of time erasing all the links and comments that could lead to them, hence such an empty thread. It was all her doing, Barbara’s, and she could do that because of her new left pinkie in which she had an electronic key controlling all the machines and the lab’s security network. And it was connected to the Internet.

                  The bipping sound was accelerating signalling to her that they were close to awakening. She was going to call the Doctor, he had said that he had to be there when they opened their eyes because he must be the one on whom they imprinted. Like birds you know. He would be like their mother and they would obey him. She turned on the comlink and called him.

                  “What?”
                  “It’s Barb, Doctor.”
                  “Who?”
                  “Your assistant.”
                  “Oh. Why are you disturbing me in my Jacuzzi?”
                  “They are awakening.”
                  “Who?”
                  “The Magpies.”
                  “Oh. I’m coming.”

                  But there was no more time.
                  The pods were open and the seven Magpies were looking at her.

                  “No! No!” said the Doctor who entered at that moment. “What have you done!?”

                  #4674
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    The doctors assistant remembered a joke he’d heard about oysters.

                    “Save money on expensive oysters by drinking sea water out of an ashtray,” he said.

                    But the doctor was too busy hooting with laughter at his own jokes to hear him.

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