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  • #369

    These guests have been once again distracted on their way to the party… Malvina was thinking, munching some raisins for her stomach was growling now.
    Perhaps they were gathering more guests along the way, the cave was so full of surprises.

    Oh yes they are, said Leörmn, they have now a little Ugling boy in their care… It’s like this young woman has truly a golden heart…
    Aaaand, added Leörmn with a mischievous smile, I guess this unlikely couple with a baby will probably have some surprises in spare for us,… notwithstanding the fact that the cave’s tunnels are already steamy anyway.

    Malvina caught off guard, almost rolled on the floor laughing at the unexpected probability that had surfaced in her mind, and blurted out a swear word “Boston!”

    #363

    Arona was surprised that Sanso wanted the baby and she was not sure what to do. She felt the baby had been entrusted to her, and felt quite caring towards it. Sanso grabbed it from her, and she could see that he really wanted it.

    She would need to feel her way through this. Yikesy started crying.

    Mandrake looked at her and rolled his eyes. Do you want the baby or not, Arona? he asked her

    Suddenly she felt clear. Yes I do she said, smiling. And she thanked Sanso graciously, for his kind offer, and he willingly handed Yikesy back to her, realising that having a baby was probably not suited to his lifestyle.

    In fact Sanso was relieved. The cute little blue eyes had started looking quite rat like when Yikesy started crying.

    So it was all perfect.

    In fact it was all hunky dory.:yahoo_sick:

    and off they went.

    #359

    New Venice, year 2101

    In the waiting hall, Bart was pacing the floor recklessly. They were having their first baby, but the doctors had hushed him out, because there were some complications…
    All he could do was wait.
    They were one of the first couple to have tested the new program that allowed same-sex couples to procreate without requiring the assistance of a third-party so to speak. In fact, it had been hypothesized to be possible a long time ago already. Well, theoretically… because the most challenging part had been to bring acceptance to the people, as the old beliefs were still alive in a few moribund activist groups. But what,… nature was doing even more exotic things in the realm of creatures…

    Now he was thinking of Oscar, who had chosen to be the bearer of the child —a girl that would be… will be, mentally corrected Bart to himself. Funny thing about genetics was that male-male couples could have either girls or boys, but female-female couples could only have girls. Only because the male “Y” chromosome was carried by men.
    It had been a painstakingly long subject of discussion among scientists and philosophers as to the unbalance it would create, but well, for the time being, it was the chosen design for our human natures.
    As long as new ways of bypassing this restriction had not been invented, better enjoy it than stretching one’s mind around it.

    Looking at the window which showed the stilted structures above the waters, Bart was thinking how it was all an incredible story… What were the probabilities for that to happen?
    Bart couldn’t help but feel grateful for all of his blessings.

    At the same moment, the big breasted nurse appeared at the door crying with a large smile “it’s a healthy girl!”
    Bart burst into the room.

    :fleuron:

    They had already decided how she would be called. Midora, they had agreed.

    When he entered, Oscar Wrick’s young face was tired and sprinkled with beads of perspiration, but he had the happiest look on his face. He was still feeling a bit self-conscious about the changes the pregnancy had generated in his body, but for now he was all absorbed by the little breathing thing resting in his arms.

    After a warm embrace, Bartholomew Jobsworth thought that he should spread the good news to the family, at least to his mother, dear sparkling Indy and Bart’s parents, Eugenia and Cuthbert. He also had felt the presence of his Dad, Bill, during his wait and was deeply thankful for all of their support.

    #357
    Jib
    Participant

      Yann was thinking about their first kiss. They were not in physical proximity but the sensations were quite real, and it was enhanced by their mergence. When he talked about that with Quintin, his friend told him he had felt it too. He was in Scotland at that time, and they were playing energy games and creating connections. It was very intense and more and more intimate.

      Yann was in Scotland with his friend Bruno, and one night, as they were sleeping in the same bed, Yann was dreaming of Quintin, he was taking his hand. At that moment, Yann was also aware that his friend Bruno was taking his hand in the “real” world. He’d been thinking that his friend was channeled by Bruno, it was a fun idea :)

      They eventually planned a meeting in real life as soon as Yann would be back from Scotland… 4 days. Quintin even met Yann’s parents then, as his friend Bruno had organized a “surprise” for Yann’s birthday. When Quintin arrived at the train station, they both were feeling a bit awkward, didn’t really know how to say hello :yahoo_big_hug: :yahoo_thinking: :yahoo_kiss: :yahoo_thinking: well for now a hug was perfect. Yann was feeling a strong desire to kiss his friend, he was very attracted and the feeling was quite different from their energy games in Scotland. The physical proximity was creating barriers that weren’t there before… maybe the fear of being intrusive or aggressive…

      One thing at a time… they were eventually together for 4 days. It was a beginning.

      Quintin had some stuffs to take care of before they could go to Yann’s appartment. Something to do with his previous appartment, mail to check, some stuffs to take… Nothing particular to tell about that… Yann let Quintin do what he had to do, though he had a strong desire to stroke his hair. After a moment, that’s what he did.

      Quintin smiled. Yann was feeling an intense warmth in his body and he approached his head and kissed him. Well, that was awkward :)) but soon they were very comfortably lying on the bed and playing different games.

      Wow thinking again about all that was making him feel hot. Better go to work a little.

      #353
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Nora Long was dying. She knew she didn’t have long left, and she had some affairs still to attend to before she was no longer able. Nora was a childless spinster, a frugal recluse with an uncanny knack for winning premium bond and lottery prizes; nothing big enough to attract much attention, but more than enough for her needs. Consequently, she had quietly amassed a fortune over the years ~ and she wasn’t about to let the state have it all.

        Nora had spent most of her 88 years dreaming, and talking to ghosts and spirits. She wrote all of it down in notebooks, hundreds and hundreds of them, until the advent of the computer in more recent years. She had splashed out and bought one, and gamely taught herself how to use it, keeping her journals online from then on.

        Nora discovered how to google one day. Wondering what in the world she might want to search for, a name popped into her head: Yurara Fameliki.

        Nora had learned to trust her impulses, and she searched for the unusual name, double checking first with the voice in her head as to the correct spelling.

        Nora began to read the story on the websites first page. Three days later, she was still reading it, as it grew day by day. Nora was almost sorry she had already chosen to die. At last she had found some people she could relate to!

        But Nora was too weary to change her mind. She did have a plan though, a plan that cheered her greatly. On the websites pages she had noticed a little sign saying ‘Buy a Drink’.

        #348

        The Assassin was already in the room when Baul came in… Baul wasn’t sure if he would have prefered him not to be here so he could himself gather his mind. But he was well used to camouflage his feelings and inner struggle and his face was quite smiling, as usual.

        Looking at the Assassin’s face, Baul was feeling very uncomfortable, he almost winced… the bluish glow of the dagger tatoo on the forehead of the man was quite disgusting. Baul kept smiling though, he wouldn’t dare show his own weakness to anyone, especially an Assassin. His eyes were piercing his soul, if Baul had believed in such thing he would have run away, but he didn’t believe in anything except himself and the power of money.

        As the Assassin was never talking first, Baul presented his offer putting the object he had brought on the table.

        — Open the chest. You’ll find your paiement inside.

        :fleuron:

        Ar’Am Khra was waiting, still gazing sharply at Baul, making him feel even more uncomfortable.
        The Assassin was quite impressed with how the man Baul could master his own reactions, and though he was quite intrigued by what his client had brought, he wanted to play for a few moments. With a very slight movement of his eyebrows, so slight one wouldn’t have notice, he managed to add an irritation in his look. He saw the movement of fear in his client’s face, but still it was so subtle he could have imagined it.

        :fleuron:

        Baul pushed the chest toward the Assassin, a bit nervous, but he could …. a sudden thought came to his mind, wandering like a Strokgnutch in a henhouse. He swallowed imperceptibly… Had someone already put a contract on his head? He managed a smile as he was opening the chest for the Assassin.

        :fleuron:

        This Baul was quite impressive. Ar’Am Khra had known what he was thinking as though he could read his mind.

        He lowered his eyes to look at what was in the chest. He really desired being surprised by his clients, and this one had never failed to surprise him…

        :yahoo_alien:

        Once again…

        :fleuron:

        Baul was surprised as the Assassin wasn’t showing any hint of the slightest emotion at all… Would he show anything else than disdain even once!?

        :fleuron:

        — A glubolín :yahoo_alien:

        #342
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Al was concerned about Tina. He wondered why at times it was like their moods were at the antipodes of each other. Like one was in summer when the other one was in winter. Of course, seasons had gone awfully awry in the past (well, in people’s perception at least), and cherry trees were at times blooming in the late autumn, so that was hardly a good metaphore. Enfin bref…
          Sometimes he wished they could move to a part of the Earth were the differences were leveled or not so dramatic, but of course, that would be focusing unduly on what seems awry, and not appreciating the differences for what they brought in understanding for each other.

          Like most people now, Tina and him were living in a free relationship, not bonded by written contracts, just by a mutual wish to be experiencing a common exploration. But lately, especially with the play writing, deep issues had surfaced between them, and he was no longer sure of what they were exploring, as it was like shifting sands. Of course, now, most people were shifted themselves, thanks to the new generations of children who were exceptionally gifted in accessing their own essence. But for them, in their mid-30s, there were still issues linked to their old patterns of thoughts, many deeply ingrained ways of thinking, coming from many generations before them.
          That T.R.A.P. attraction thing was a good example of the differences. It was mostly an attraction park for his generation, not really for children, as they were greatly able of doing these kinds of inner-travels without the aid of technology —not that they didn’t enjoy it either.

          Al was thinking of a gift for Tina. He wanted to show her that she had really transformed Jadra, or that they had come a long way since the wandering in the cave tunnels, or that everything started to make sense, even the invisible friend Blohmul…
          Well, there were still mysteries around him, (not mysteries really, but things yet at the state of seeds, or potentials) but he was no longer a hair on the soup they cooked. He was the blue fox of Mævel, and more interestingly, that cursed god was the son of Mirÿnda, the Goddess of Mirth —but that, Tina had not realized yet…

          Actually, now that he was looking at the entry, Al noticed that Jadra was last seen with Mirÿnda, and that struck him as something more than a coincidence…

          #336

          Hi Torsten, said Tina, giving her old friend a hug. Thanks for calling and saying you had some time to chat, hope I didn’t sound odd when I answered the phone, Becky was there, and I didn’t want to tell her. I am trying to pretend I am normal you see, she laughed wryly.

          I really need someone who isn’t involved with the play to talk to though, I feel like I am going a bit weirdo, bottling everything up. And it is affecting the play and my relationship with the others.

          I can’t find my place in the play the others are writing. See it is the play “the others are writing”. I feel as though I am drifting through it, trying to find my way amidst the structure, if you can call it structure, they give it. And that is the way I am feeling about life, I can’t find my place in it

          At the moment I claim to believe in magic, and that I create my own reality, but I certainly don’t feel it the last few days. She thought for a moment. Well other days recently have been golden, it is all magic. I find it everywhere. Yes, I have had days like that, but the last week or so I can’t find it.

          What changed?

          I felt as though I couldn’t create what I wanted to.

          What if you could?

          All of it? It would be a miracle though. My rational mind tells me it is not possible. And in that lies the source of this pain.

          So you don’t believe what you claim to believe

          Tina thought for a moment. I keep feeling the eyes of that Blue Mule character I told you we created on me. That’s not his name, but I keep getting stuck on the spelling . Well actually I didn’t create him. The others keep creating new characters, every time someone does a typo, it is “hey! new character!” Anyway this was ages ago. And in the play there was a picture that one of the characters, Quintin, did, and whenever I say “I can’t”, then I feel these eyes of Blue Mule challenging me, and it’s like he’s saying, “ well what DO you believe then?” and it is like a real challenge in these eyes.

          #334
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            …..it’s just that it does sound rather simplistic, I mean ……Tina frowned at the script.

            Well, it depends doesn’t it, Becky replied. As it’s a fictional recreational piece of performance art, certainly it wants a few complications, a few twists, a few riddles…..

            The phone rang, interrupting Becky’s rambling. Tina rather rudely snatched the phone just as Becky was about to answer it, suddenly seeming to be a bit breathless and pink in the cheeks.

            Just then a garbage truck came to a grindingly noisy halt outside and Becky was unable to eavesdrop on Tina’s oddly furtive conversation.

            #323

            — The legend of Mævel — (Part II)

            The young fairy princess, whose secret name had been forgotten, and thus her very existence to whoever had known her, grew up as a beautiful child.
            Mævel she was, and the youngest of the clan too. Her delicate features stood out of the many children that Jorg and Ilga, her human parents already had, and they first saw her as probably their most useless child, being frail and unfit to the works of the woods. But she’d been saved from a sure death, and that had proved to them that the child was some odd gift from the Gods.

            Mævel looking at her brothers and sisters, was constantly reminded of how different she was, as small and fair and fragile as a sparfly’s egg. She helped her mother Ilga as much as she could in the kitchen, preparing meals for the clan. Her parents did not know how she could ever get a husband, as she would never be much of a great cook either.
            So, she was feeling not fulfilled by what she was doing. She loved her parents, and sisters, and brothers, but there was something else that she did not know how to express.
            During the springing and sunny seasons, and even the rainy and icy one, she would go after her works had been done to the little meadow brook, and watch for hours the little rosy trouts dancing in the clear waters.

            And much of her young years passed, and she learned how to cook, how to sew and how to wash clothes and many other tasks that could help the family. She had improved much in her skills and could do wonderful adornments to her sisters and brothers clothes. But noone cared about the adornments, which would be useless for them. But they loved their little sister nonetheless, though they did not understand.
            Soon, all the elder brothers left the house, one by one, and the sisters too. And as Mævel turned twenty one, she was left alone with old Jorg and old Ilga.

            That day, her parents had offered her a pearl white ribbon, for her to tie her hair, and they had thought it would probably please her, as it was as useless a thing as their mind could imagine. And indeed she was delighted by the gift, and to please her parents, she had danced and sung in the night, barefooted on the floorboard, her shiny golden hair swirling around her, as they both loved her to do.

            The next day, Mævel went to the brook to wash some clothes, when she noticed a reddish bluish spark of light coming from the forest nearby. How strange she thought. Perhaps it is only my imagination. But soon, a plaintiff cry came from the same direction, and she was deeply moved by the cry.
            Leaving her clothes to dry up, she went to the forest, knowing she could trust her instincts and that no wild beast would harm her. Calling to see if someone was there, a voice called her, crying “here, here!”

            Behind some fern trees, she was surprised as she saw a wounded blue fox. Was it the fox that had spoken?
            — Yes, that was me, answered the blue fox
            — Oh, a talking fox! You are wounded, aren’t you? asked Mævel
            — Yes, a stupid arrow from a stupid hunter… I can’t extract it, would you help me?
            — Of course, answered Mævel, hold on a second.

            And she leaned forward to draw the arrow from the fox’s leg, holding fast so that it would not hurt the creature. She was just knowing what to do, as if she had done it many times already. Then she drew out her white handkerchief, and bandaged the bleeding wound, tying it tightly with her pearl white ribbon.

            — I must leave now, said the fox, I am greatly indebted to you, young lady
            — Will you tell me your name?
            — I am called Blohmrik. And may I inquire as to your name?
            — I’m called Mævel, but you can call me Mæ
            — Such a lovely name…
            — How come you are a talking fox?
            — I was not always in the form that you see now. This form is due to a curse from the God of the Forgotten, from which I foolishly tried to stole secrets when I was a young god learning magic.
            — Ooh, so you are a god? Mævel was amazed
            — Oh, smiled sadly the fox, as you are also, though you probably don’t realize. Gods are not so different than what you think…
            — Oh, really? So there isn’t anything I can do for you, is there?
            — You have already done much for today Mæ
            Mævel was blushing… She dared ask to her new friend
            — And will I see you again?
            — Perhaps sooner than you know.

            #321

            — Daddy, daddy! I want to come with you!

            Young Peregrine had been running after his father at the moment when he had put the letter in his pocket ready to go off the streets.

            — Oh, really? Sean Doran Wrick was weighing the possibilities.

            Peregrine was still in fluffy rabbit slippers and pajamas, but he had a very determined look on his young face.

            — Then perhaps we should ask Guinevere to come with us too?
            — OK, I go ask her!

            And off was Peregrine, running down the hall of the large Dublin apartment to his sister’s room.

            Sean was thoughtful… Well, Edmund had said that the private jet would be ready in an hour, so that was leaving him some time to have a nice beer at the pub before departing to New York to see the Traveling Reality Amusement Park, or T.R.A.P. for short, as the imaginative publicists of his father’s company had decided to brand the new revolutionary concept.

            Sean had been supervising the very first prototype before he had met Margaret, and then had got more interested in his “real” family life than in amusement travels in fairy lands… But nonetheless his father had trusted his flair, and had kept him informed of the developments of the project.
            Now, for the premiere of the T.R.A.P., he’d got some VIP invitations, but grieved with Margaret’s death, he had not wanted to go there at all. That is, until Becky had spoken about it…

            Peregrine came back with a pout on his face.
            — She’s not sure if she wants to come, he said…
            — Oh well. Then, let me have my beer, and I come back in a few minutes to see if you and your sister are ready. I’ll pick up whomever is ready and packed up.
            — Yipeeee! Peregrine’s eyes were gleaming with joy.

            #320
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Sean put the letter in his pocket. Perhaps a trip to the Amusement Park wasn’t such a bad idea. He always enjoyed Becky’s company, and he was curious about dear old Al. Becky’s postscript hadn’t made a great deal of sense, but then, Becky was a bit like that. The truth of it was, he needed a break.

              Sean wondered if Tina would be there. He remembered their brief meeting, and how he’d been struck by her sweet voice. And Sam, dear funny Sam!

              Sean put his hat on, and walked out into the clammy Irish drizzle. A pint of guinness in The Dunloughpadraisobahairiedunkennyloughaire Arms to celebrate, I think! He patted the letter in his pocket and smiled for the first time in months.

              #307

              Chiara got quite a fright and spun round quickly. She stood gazing at the funny creature, a woman who had a sort of cattish feel, who had shouted BOUH at her, momentarily uncertain as to whether to burst into laughter or tears.

              Illi watched Chiara’s trembling lip with some concern, especially when she saw the very large woman who was with her. Illi felt it may be prudent to make a hasty retreat, however, before she could make her getaway, a tiny figure emerged from behind a rather large pebble.

              Hello, said a little pink fairy. I am the Fairy Princess of the Land of the Long White Cloud. Did you fly here? Look I can do magic and she waved her magic wand, said abracadabra and produced some small white feathery fairy wings for the delighted Chiara.

              Frowdup she called excitedly. A round green blobby creature who blended seamlessly into the environment like some sort of exotic plant hopped over.

              Yes Dear Fairy Princess?

              Please could you play the music for us?

              Oh delighted to oblige answered Frowdup, producing a flute like instrument.

              At first the sweet notes of the instrument floated tentatively on the warm air. They rang like pure crystal, cool and pure, then slowly gained in confidence and multiplied, as though possessed of supernatural powers. It seemed the simple melody Frowdup played was accompanied by a whole orchestra of instruments.

              The little fairy laughed in delight and grabbed the giggling Chiara. They began to dance instinctively with the energy of the earth, swaying at first like a tree in the wind, then whirling like the wind itself, soaring high into the air, imitating the flight of a parrot, then swooping joyfully back to the ground. They were connected to the magic of the music.

              ***

              Whanga, one of the 13 Witches of Loathing was feeling rather bad tempered as she gazed into her glass ball. hmmmm bugger, she said crossly that little Fairy Princess from the Land of Long White Cloud is having way too much fun. She seems impervious nowadays to my magic spells of loathing

              Whanga had to confess to being a little puzzled. For a while she felt she nearly had the Fairy Princess in her clutches, but one day something seemed to have changed, and the Fairy Princess did not seem to be so affected by her whispered spells any longer. What sort of magic had she found to protect herself Whanga wondered. .

              ***

              It had begun to rain gently whilst Finn was in the enchanted fairy ring. She didn’t mind, she loved the rain and the trees protected her from the getting too wet. It felt cosy and magical. She had such a strong sense of the presence of her younger self. The younger Finn was three years old. Finn remembered the day,it was etched in her memory as a turning point, and yet it was also as though she were there again. She talked with her younger self, wanting so much to give the younger Finn a gift to help her make a different choice that day. Finn knew she had to trust with her heart, not reason it with her head, because there were just too many questions she could not make sense of, and magic did not seem to be so much about sense anyway. Anyway,whatever, if nothing else she felt lighter within herself .

              #305

              Quintin couldn’t sleep.
              Now he was thinking, he had delayed it for too long.
              They all had been thinking of it, talking and glossing over it for so long. Some had dreamed of it, feared it, asked for it to bugger off. Lots of pains and struggles, but it had only been clever or not so clever ways to delay the unavoidable.

              Now, he had an urge to insert it. How come he had not thought of it before. All he had to do was insert it in his reality.
              Well, that would sure mean lots of changes, but after all, no pain no gain.
              Or no abundance.

              ABUNDANCE abun·dance [ ə-ˈbən-dəns ] “The ability to do what you need to do, when you need to do it”

              That’s how Pasha, a Russian friend of Dory had defined abundance — speaking of Dory, now Quintin was seeing how she was ahead of the herd, and a bit of a coal (slow) mine canary too. Quintin would have changed all the world’s dictionaries to have that new definition everywhere. What a task…

              Actually, that’s it! Quintin had feared the implications, as lots of people did.
              It would mean everything would be allowed. Everything would be true, even the most blatant contradictions would be harmoniously living side by side. Struggle would be needless, and all that would be needed to do would be to stop paddling upstream.
              What a mess it could be for salmons and control freaks as himself.

              Perhaps worse, it would change everything, even “past” events where everything would also be allowed, now.
              In-of-body travels (rather than the too classical “out-of-body”), meeting other selves appearing out of nowhere, talking with dead people, or sugarplum fairies, traveling instantaneously to meet Tchaikovsky and have him change his dying swan for a stuffed talking Mother Goose, flying, shape-shifting, manifesting objects out of thin air, the possibilities would be extraordinary… All in that physical reality where everyone was struggling to prove none of this was possible.
              But if everything would be allowed, then be it! And he would go and live in 23, Dragon Alley, Phœnix Ville, Sunnyvalley with Yann (and the others of course, if they wanted to) and do whatever they wanted to do.

              OK. That’s a deal then. Release the camouflages, open the watergates and leave the damn dams to beavers and loosers.

              Let’s insert the Shift, now.

              And let the fun continue, and worry wither away.

              ***

              Well, and what’s that Shift all about?

              Quintin’s friends Michaela and Elias had said about it :

              “You are also bored in the experiences that you have created to this point. You have experienced. You have created in the manner that you have designed previously. Now you choose to be creating in an expanded experience, allowing more of your awareness, more of an opening to consciousness, more of your own creativity and your own abilities, and you are discovering that your abilities are within physical focus limitless. You have merely limited yourselves as an element of your beliefs, but as you are also moving into acceptance of your beliefs, you are widening your awareness and you are allowing yourselves to view how many more abilities you hold and how very creative you are, and not creating your limitations with such severity. Those elements in your reality that have been thought to be impossible are not impossible!” 1

              #298

              The City, year 2257

              Janice had just awoken from a strange dream, where she was watching big round cabbages being harvested in what looked like Quintin’s father garden. They were all firmly rooted on a black irrigation pole across the garden, and people were using strange devices to turn them all delicately and pick them afterwards. In the dream, there were black puppies too, sleeping in the straw of a kind of hut nearby. And she had seen another creature, and had been surprised first because it was unlike anything she had ever met, even in dreams. It was hairless and brown as soft mud, and was hiding in the neighbour’s garden. Then it had crossed and came to play with her…

              Janice was lost in her thoughts strolling on the way to the common dome, when she met Rodney, her father’s friend.
              They had been recently trying with her father Jacob, and also Qixi to connect with their shifting focuses of the Ancients, two centuries and half before their time.
              Some of them, they had found, had been playing a sort of game of story-telling and clue-sowing… (Janice was laughing as her father’s friend, the scientist Arkandin, always insisted on seesawing instead)

              Perhaps her dream was telling her that the crop was ripe, and it was time to harvest some from it. She told her dream to Rodney. All at once, he was quite excited and they started to feel they wanted to chat more freely. So they went into one of the Medraw Caps that was available and soon imagined a comfortable environment for themselves to explore more.

              Janice could hear Al or Quintin complain about how things were getting confusing.
              She tried to convey to both of them that they could be excited about it, as it was expanding their understanding, but they weren’t very receptive.

              ~~~

              Somewhere Al was saying to Becky
              — The more you try to fix it, the more confused I am
              — Hahahahah yes! Becky was answering, I guess so! Ahahahah! Al, what a fabulous dance of confusion we do… The Confundo Tango
              — Ahahah, yes!

              Al started again to moan:
              — So who’s dead, who’s the shapeshifter? Who’s the human, who’s the cat? :-??

              (Rodney was laughing, as for him, he could accept the confusion as much easier, letting him free to wander around!)

              — Illi was a woman, a shapeshifter who shape-shifted into a cat, then, she died. Becky was saying (Rodney added mentally “Now, she is disengaged” as he knew that “death” was a confusing word.) She was an archaeologist
              — Okay, that’s cool, that’s what I thought, Al acquiesced. Then thought back of what was said of her and wondered… Anyway, it will probably find a perfect answer …
              Becky nodded
              — I got lost myself when two Illis appeared, and a grip-thing as well
              — Because I didn’t want the grip-thing to be dead! Al couldn’t help but laugh. That would have been too easy, like wiggling out. Not using your imagination within the context of objective imagery to sort out “things”…

              ~~~

              While Rodney and Janice were seeing that their other focuses were kind of stuck in their explanation, they had time freeze and both decided to come back to their “now” to start from their understanding.
              A funny thought had come to Janice, that she shared with Rodney.
              — Oh, the funny thing you know, about Becky having written to Sean…
              Rodney nodded. Janice continued:
              — It just appeared in my mind just moments ago, at the same time you (well, Rafaela) inserted into the story of Malvina. That Becky would have been asking Sean something, and that perhaps it would have helped him talk to his father in the future.

              — Well, that Sean is SUCH AN ENIGMA! bumped Rodney a bit excited by the implications.
              — What do you mean? asked Janice, who just remembered that Sean Doran has a cousin named Dorean.
              — Who is he? Where is he? was asking Rodney now.
              Rodney was having a hard time remembering what had been inserted yet in the story about him.

              So Janice manifested the Wrick family tree in front of them, so that he could see better. She started by manifesting an acorn, then threw in on the grass, and it sprung forth in a little sapling with signs hanging from its branches.

              — Well, it’s all in the script, answered Janice, he’s Lord Wrick’s son.
              — Oh boy, I am in trouble again for not keeping up with the facts! Rodney sighed, and laughed…
              Janice laughed “So that you can surprise yourself again!”

              Rodney felt thankful for the sumafiness of Janice who was always prompt to display helpful hallucinations and reminders.

              Janice stopped the growth of the family tree for a moment and started to comment it.
              — See, in Becky’s time of the reality play, Sean is Lord’s Wrick son, and has just lost his wife Margaret, and got his two young children around their 10s.
              — When is Becky’s time then? Rodney wondered, I hadn’t though of that…
              — Becky’s time for the reality play is around 2033…
              Then Janice had the tree grow again, and sprout more branches from Sean’s children:
              — …Now, Sean is the grand-father of the twins, except than the twin’s time is around 2057 if it had not changed yet. It’s so carefully woven, but it’s fun how it effortlessly came to fit in.
              TRUST AND ALLOWING AND GOING WITH THE FLOW cried Rodney and Janice in unison, in the realisation of how well all this was.

              Rodney was beginning to remember it all.
              — I just remember the part about Sean, so he is still a bit of a mystery
              — Yes, absolutely
              — We don’t really know do we why Hilarion didn’t mention him
              — Oh, there’s also the Margaret newspaper thing… Janice fumbled in her memory to find the proper link that would display the image of the newspaper cut just at the right of the family tree. Adding with a wink “with more dates to get bearings”
              — Ahahah, I’d love to have pocketfuls of ball bearings said Rodney who manifested a pocketful to distract him from the load of information. OH YES! he cried, I had forgetten about this! What an incredibly HUGE story this is…

              Rodney was squinting his dream eyes
              — So, Sean was into humanitarian effort after 2001…
              — His father actually I think, said Janice. He was a bit too young.
              — Oh OK, I misread, that’s hard to read!

              Then, all of a second, Rodney erupted in an uproarious laugh
              AHAHAHA, I had just forgotten to de-hallucinate these pince-nez spectacles! Now, it is much easier to read!
              Janice was laughing so hard, she thought she would shatter the hallucination with the wobbles of the soundless sounds.
              Then she added:

              — Sean is born around 2000, a bit before.
              — OK, maybe he went to help the Tuaregs, Rodney was accessing some information now. Maybe he was the one who put the mummy in the locked room that India found.
              — You know I had something funny in store for the mummy mystery, Janice couldn’t help but laugh again. I imagined we could have inserted Old Manon, coming down to secretly drink from her old malt whiskey’s flask, and finding them messing up with her old dear stuffed cat…
              — Maybe the mummy was the same one that Dory saw in the oblong hole in the ground outside the cave, Rodney was still accessing flickering images swirling around his head. And Sean was there helping the Tuaregs and moved it to safety.
              Of course, years previously, Illi Fergusson, the archeologist had buried the mummy there too for safe keeping.

              Now, Janice was hooked:
              — Was it where Illi learned about shapeshifting tricks from the old tribe?
              Rodney noticed Janice’s funny remark and laughed before continuing:
              — The Tuaregs were conducting secret coleslaw experiments in the desert. In combination with sound and irrigation techniques, they were going to run the entire Sahara into a broccoli field.

              Janice was amazed at the cabbage “coincidence” and irrigation stuff with her dream of that morning. Of course she knew there where probably mis-interpretation of the imagery coming from Rodney’s visions, but something made sense.
              — Around which year? she asked
              — Arrggh I don’t know!… Then, taking a breath of dream air, Rodney said “1923”. When Illi learned shape-shifting trick, 1923.
              — It makes sense, said Janice who was now thinking of other dispersed informations about Illi Fergusson.
              — Yes, she learned from Dashine Ashara… Although who that is, I don’t yet know.
              — Wow, said Janice. She had felt a connection with the “da’sheen” sound. She continued: somewhere, Illi Fergusson has said: “my parents were aristocrats”
              — Yes, answered Rodney who was accessing again, they were, and they knew the Wildes .
              — And it was said too: “[…] a nurturing presence that reminded Illi of the maid she and her parents had in their cottage in South Africa”… like her parents were traveling a lot.
              — Ah, South Africa! Illi’s parents emigrated to South Africa with Sir Abingdon Portfellow, an elderly scholar on ancient artifacts and embalming.
              — Seems she knew John Lubbock too, said Janice again, reviving old data banks of information. Dates seem okay, so if she was around 30 in the Tuareg adventure, she could have met him.
              — Wow, said Rodney, this is even more interesting…

              “But we may sit at home and yet be in all quarters of the earth.” Janice had just summoned the voice of the naturalist and archaeologist. Rodney applauded “Lubbock said that? cool quote!”.
              — Yes, like Illi’s quote, which was from him “What we see depends mainly on what we look for”. I wonder if that’s one of your (Illi’s) overlapping focuses, said Janice…

              — Well, Illi didnt stay long in South Africa with boring old whatever his name was, Rodney pursued
              — Yes, she was young with her parents. They were traveling…

              They were both amazed at the magical cooperation they were doing at that moment. Janice would have loved to share all of that with Qixi and Jacob, but probably their energies were present at the moment too, though not focused here.

              She then remembered something else:
              — Oh, and there is something else! Quintin’s dream of the woman detective. Let me fetch it she said, summoning now Quintin’s memory to talk to them.
              … by night, near a museum in London, in the 1920s. She was investigating a case of a strange disappearance near a small replicate of an Egyptian pyramid that had been put here for display. There had been an exposition of ancient artifacts in the museum, which had been recently unearthed by a team of archaeologists and graciously lent by Egypt’s officials. Strangely enough, the woman detective feels linked to the story, and is probably Dory…
              Date fits again, she said in awe.
              — Perfect! said Rodney. She was of course Dory too, but in that focus she was Illi Fergusson… he slowed down, then said No! wait! The detective was another one of my focuses. The archeologist who stole the mummy for safekeeping was Illi.
              — Hmmm
              — Hmmm
              — So you are both the thief and the detective, the one who creates mystery for yourself, how interesting, giggled Janice.
              — Yes, and not only that Janice! Rodney was taking a mysterious air… I am the mummy too!

              Janice bust out laughing imagining Rodney in bandages. Yes, of course!
              Then, she had a name come with that: Apsh’un Shet she said, very self-absorbed.
              Now, that was Rodney’s turn to burst out laughing.
              — “I am not sure about that!”
              — Doubting my insights… mmm, how rude… Janice frowned then laughed again.
              — If you call me that, I may have to make you out to have a speech impediment
              — Sounds a good Egyptian name for me though, seems it means “Light of the Dawn”
              — Does it? Oh that sounds nice…
              — Well, in some Egyptian dialect, yes. She was a Princess…
              — Hahaha! Reminds me of Aspen Shit. Rodney doubted Janice could be serious about that name, but Janice was now the one to be accessing some information.
              — Bit bossy Princess
              — Which dynasty?
              III rd, answered Janice, who fumbled in links of consciousness to find some timeline to project for them.
              — What year?
              Janice projected the timeline below then said
              — I’d say around 2657 B.C., in Ancients way of telling time.

              They both marveled at the splendid team work they had been doing, and hoped that the other focuses involved would be able to get some parts of their insights too.

              Rodney was seeing something else
              — There is also, a very fascinating link between Tassili in the Sahara and Egypt which is a mystery AND there is a connection with Egypt and Scotland too…
              — Illi the gripshawk comes from the mysterious land of the Sands, south of the map fragment
              — We may unravel more than we think… Illi is an other dimensional focus of the Illi essence…
              — Yes she is. She is a connection too, being “lost” in the land of dragons after hopping through traveling portals…
              — Exactly
              — And they communicated because they are helping each other
              — Which is why she doesn’t always ‘fit’ into this reality’s energy configuration
              — And they have some difficulties at times with translations of other dimensional stuff
              — Yes! resulting in confusion!

              And they both laughed again, looking at the great tapestry of clues that was woven before their dream eyes.

              #292
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Becky, if the truth be told, was astonished at the lack of logical comprehension of the other script writers on her additions to the reality play. And not only that, they seem to have missed completely the Key Point of her recent addition to the unfolding saga. She sighed.

                She’d thought Tina might have cottoned on to it, she was always banging on about keys, and sand, but no, she was too obsessed with her ‘alien invasion’ to even notice. And what was ‘reverting back to her own true self’ all about? How ‘real’ was that? In all of Reality Becky had never known an ‘absolute true self’… Reality According To Becky was like… well, like sand….shifting, moving, changing, ever forming and reforming… why, a single grain of sand could even be in more than one place at the same time, shifting and forming and changing in many realities all at once…

                Becky sighed again. Whoever in all of reality would want to contain all the grains of reality sand inside the confines of one measly sandbox?

                #291
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  Oh yes, it is all perfect, interjected Tina, in her new soft and gentle voice. Thank you so much for helping me to understand.

                  AHAHAHAAHAH, laughed Becky, nearly snorting, Tina are you okay today?

                  Well no actually, my head has been pounding for the last 24 hours. I think I have been taken over by those pesky aliens again. They tell me that the only way to get rid of them is to revert back to my own true self.

                  Hope you do it soon muttered Becky, all this niceness is quite unnerving.

                  #1309

                  In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    October 12 th

                    Lots of movements have been started, movements of expansion, and the joint efforts and ventures took off for new exciting potentials when the migration to the new “expanded sandbox” (as playfully expressed by Quintin) has been completed.
                    Interestingly, it has been relatively painless and quick in both the find of the perfect “method”, and the perfect “tools”. In noticing how the feelings where acting as a compass that was telling him whether he was in the right direction or not, and in trusting them, Quintin has incorporated that tool without previous knowledge of its potential use. He just knew it was right.
                    And so it is.

                    October 16 th

                    My dear friend Elias has expressed some time ago this, which may be interesting for the adventurers to read and see how it applies to them…

                    “I expressed to you at our last meeting that some focuses continue each other as ‘sequels’ of books. … They are continuations, so to speak. Although they are not accomplished linearly, you may view them as continuing chapters of the same story. In this, they would be considered parallel focuses. You may view within your new game many focuses in which you have held experiences quite different to each other. Then you may also view some focuses that are seemingly related. You are engaged with all of the same characters within a continuation of the same play.” [Elias, #142]

                    #287
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      India Louise and Eugenia momentarily forgot about the gold locket and walked over to the exceptionally long trunk. India dropped the locket into her pocket as she investigated the exterior of the trunk, which didn’t appear to have an opening. It seemed to have been made around whatever it housed, and permanently.

                      ‘How strange’, mused India, ‘it must not be intended to open, ever!’

                      ‘That makes me want to open it’, said Eugenia. ‘Let’s! Let’s open it!’

                      Eugenia was rummaging in the desk drawers for a suitable tool.

                      ‘Wow, look at this, Indy’. She held a heavy black letter opener up to show India, with an elaborate carved dragon on the handle. The dragon had glittering amethyst eyes, and a serpentine line of coloured stones along its back.

                      India shivered involuntarily at the sight of the dragon. Horrid nasty creatures, dragons, she muttered, resisting an urge to cross herself. ‘Peace be with you, now bugger off’ she whispered the spell under her breath so Eugenia wouldn’t hear her and think she was a silly goose. Horrid scaley slimy stinky reptiles.

                      ‘You go first, Genie, try and prise the trunk open.’ India didn’t want to touch the letter opener, but she was rather curious about the contents of the trunk.

                      Eugenia was a strong and capable lass, with a practical methodical mind ~ unlike India Louise ~ and before long the first piece of wood came splintering off.

                      ‘Nice one, Genie, well done.’ India said as Eugenia wrenched off another few planks.

                      ‘Oh MY GOD!’ ‘Jumping Jehosophat!’ ‘What the……’ ‘Holy Moly, Genie, what the….’. After a few initial exclamations, the girls were silent, the hair standing up on their arms.

                      They were looking down at the shrivelled features of a dried up body, covered in bits of disintegrating faded fabric.

                      ‘A mummy! It’s a friggen mummy!’

                      #284
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        What’s that smell, Indy? It smells lovely in here, like coconut. It’s coming from that trunk over there.

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