Daily Random Quote

  • Arona was lost. She had been lost for quite some time now and had got over the initial surprise this realisation had given her. It was not very often now that she questioned her decision to leave the others. She had tired of their endless journeying, always in circles, always moving and yet never seeming to move ... · ID #131 (continued)
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  • #3156
    Jib
    Participant

      Sadie almost had a fit when she received the models for their party attire. Blue, Red and Yellow, cork bums bigger than whales’ head and, that was a surprise, instead of wigs, three cornered hats looking like a galley with oars. She sent a message to Linda Paul.
      “There must be a mistake, we are supposed not to create ripples through time by introducing…” she thought about the right words… “new fashion trends”.
      The e-zapper buzzed as the answer arrived.
      “Sorry sweety, those were the only outfits available at the moment. They came directly from China. Cheap, cheap. Crisis for everyone. I’m sure you understand, Sadie darling.”

      Sadie thought of a diplomatic way to tell the news to her proteges. The hell with China, she thought. They were in the very time period that inspired the Queens for all the wigs and the fancy dresses that would come with Marie-Antoinette. They just had to be creative and follow the thread of maids to help them steal some more interesting clothes.

      #3147

      On this bright morning of 5 January 1757, Robert-François thought it would be his birthday in less than 4 days. He would turn 42, and had just been a domestic servant for his whole life. He was not prone to depression, but the thought was almost disheartening. His life had been full of turns of fate, like many he’d known, but with so little to show for it.
      Sure, he could blame his hot temper for that, his nickname “Robert the Devil” was not for naught. Still, his wife and daughter loved him well enough, he wasn’t a bad person, pious even, after years spent with the Jesuits. So what made him so angry this morning, he couldn’t tell, maybe the moon a little too bright in the morning light, maybe the melted snow turned shit in the gutter of the streets and on his shoes…
      His employers at the Parlement were right, something was rotten in the country, and the King and his whores were to be blamed for it. The butcheries at war he’d witnessed, all led by silly creeping courtesans in the name of of philandering godless king.
      While walking in the streets, this bright morning, with his hat covering part of his face, he was muttering words under his breath and from time to time gave a brief thought to the kitchen knife tucked in his leather bag.

      #3144

      Jean-Pierre Duroy couldn’t get his day going. There was a royally nagging problem of loo clogging that he couldn’t get solved. Apparently there were bugs in the microsoil under the soft underground, or was that the network of pipes he couldn’t tell. No amount of boiling water or any of the extravagant chemical concoctions by the Count of St Germain would seem to have any effect whatsoever this fine morning apart from making the matter worse.
      It seemed that the removal and construction over the Grotto had not gone as well as planned when it came to plumbing.

      There were more pressing matters however, notwithstanding that the royal defecation could well impact the mood for the day and maybe the whole country, so there was nothing light about it.
      Such matter was to oversee the decoration of the main part of the Opera House which was already complete. Construction work had slowed during winter, and cement would take longer to settle, so there were still piles of tiles, gravel and other rubbles left lying around, but Madame de Pompadour was very eager to get a performance tonight, and had been so intent on it that she’d ordered for champagne, fine draperies, and even the newly fashionable toile de Jouy to drape inside the alcoves.
      What she had not anticipated however was the inordinate amount of candles which were needed to light all the place brightly enough during the night.

      The Royal beehives being unable to provide enough beeswax, they had to source the material from nearby hamlets, and already a throng of carts full of candles driven by some petite gens eager to sell theirs was lining at the entrance of the Palace pending security clearance.

      #3134

      They did only realize they got out of the tunnel when the dimmed blue lights faded completely. It was almost pitch black apart from a few braziers in a narrowing vaulted tunnel paved in the manner of a future metro line.
      The passengers had noticed the transition from the smooth gliding gait of the zebras to the clopping of the hooves on the cobblestones. Sadie peaked outside of the carriage
      “Have we arrived? Where are we?”
      “Rightly so, darling. We’re under the grotto. Technically, it’s a chapel now. I did some adjustments underground.”
      “Mmm…” Sadie nodded indecisively. She couldn’t find the least rude way to nod without letting her thinking it was utter rubbish show through. So she kept quiet for a moment and even refrained rolling her eyes. “So, we’re….?”
      “We’re at the North Wing of the Palace, darling. It’s just nearby the Royal Opera House of the Palace, where your show will be held tonight, your e-flapper should have told you that. Don’t mind the construction work, it will give a steampunk feel to your show before it’s even invented.”
      “Of course.” she said evenly. “The North Wing. Well, we all in need of sleep and refreshing before tonight’s show, so…?” trying to worm out meaningful words from Sanso seemed a futile attempt.
      “Fancy that, darling, I have another delicate extraction of time stranders to go to,” checking a greasy paper from his shirt pocket,… “in last century or so, I can’t afford to be late. Let me help you lots out of here, leave it to Chair to take back those zebras to the Royal zoo and deliver that barrel of fine champagne, and you’re on your own.”

      Before Sadie could tell the word rude, Sanso had folded the carriage back unto itself, pocketed it and disappeared in a wallmhole —leaving only beside herself, the mute Chair on top of a barrel of vintage champagne, four exhausted and pawing zebras, and three sleep-deprieved disheveled divas.

      At least, the secrete cave of a Chapel is not overly conspicuous she said, trying to cheer herself up, remembering her training that light would prevail.

      #3121

      Queen Marie, Our Good Queen, as the little gents liked to call her, had not been as excited at the prospect of the salon since a long time.
      She ringed the bell for the servant girl to bring more wood, as drafts of chilly air were coming from outside. Although quite modern and shiny, the palace was not as equipped for the cold season as the old castles from her mother land. Worse, with age and soft weather, she’d grown accustomed to being warm, and couldn’t bear the cold any longer.

      The crackling sound of the pine wood inside the small chimney was comforting and brought her back to her thoughts. A salon, full of delightful witty people, with laughters and costumes, entertainment and champagne wine. She’d heard a special batch of barrels from la Maison Ruinart would be brought especially for the Royalties. Of course, she knew most of those were small favors for the King’s mistress, Reinette, but she didn’t care. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind the woman, who had been always very delicate and considerate towards her, almost affectionate. To be honest, she was a blessing, as the inextinguishable appetite of the King for the flesh and woman beauty was now too hard to bear.

      But a party like this, ah… She reveled in the thought of seeing again monsieur de St Galle and the mysterious Comte de St Germain who always was the light of the party with his extravagant stories.

      The servant had finished to dress her for the night, putting her new powdered wig on the parakeet shaped wig-holder. She’d bought the wig with its lacquered holder in the morning from a small shop in Paris, which was had quite an aura of mystery she’d heard. Naturally she’d wanted to see for herself.
      The wigmaker was a gaunt and unassuming young man who notwithstanding made an impression on her. Jean-Baptiste’s wigs were simple and elegant, albeit not terribly inspired. His eyes, on the other hand, had a piercing yet soft gaze about them, and didn’t seem embarrassed to look at her, almost through her, as if she were a person, instead of the Queen surrounded by a retinue of bland people eager to please.
      “Let me draw you some fingers” he’d said to her, changing abruptly the topic from his rambling about books he was inspired to write about symbols. He’d forgotten the traditional address of “Your Majesty”, yet wouldn’t be stopped —regardless of the shocked expressions on the people’s faces.
      “You see, I love symbols, and when I draw people’s fingers, I can foretell events to come”.
      So that was it, she’d thought, the reason why everyone was ranting about him. He’d better be more inspired at that than wigs, as her patience was wearing thin.
      She’d had fortune tellers draw her cards a few times, but the fingers drawing part was curious enough to entice her into removing the glove off her eburnated fingers and letting him do his trick.
      An eldritch feeling crept though her spine as he was uttering words for each of the fingers he drew on with a slight pull of his hand, just enough not to crack the joints.

      In the bed warmed to a delightful temperature by the bouillotte, she began sliding into deep sleep, while a mixture of words half-forgotten or half-remembered danced around in her mind like the swirls of snowflakes dying on the warm window of her chamber: “funny moment, cold diversion, dream parade, house moustache pink, blue wonder carpets, possible king turned, green mirror travel, understand whole large parade”…

      #3115
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        “What is a ‘Parkerized’ wine or champagne anyway?”
        “There is a lesson here. Maybe more than one. The first is that it is probably unwise to rely on the source of a new noun to understand the meaning of that new noun. The second is that one should not rely on observers and critics of critics to understand the mission of the critic.”

        #3093

        In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          taking spain
          knew black team under often help especially week starting

          #3072
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            You may well ask how a large and solid standing stone broke in two. (The same stone, coincidentally, that fell over a couple of days ago). There is no mystery here, or supernatural phenomena, no extreme weather event or geological catastrophe. The stone was merely thrown over a fence, because the person throwing it attached no particular importance or significance to it; to him, it was “just another rock”. The person to whom the stone had importance and significance quickly decided there was an important significance to the stone splitting into two incident, although she had not yet deciphered what it was. The idea of “nothing being cast in stone” held considerable appeal, as did the simple idea of a stone circle relocating. It was unusual, unexpected, magical even ~ although not impossible, not often considered as a possibility, and rarely if ever considered as an idea worth pursuing. Perhaps that was because there was a strong belief of certain places in space having intrinsic related values, even if those values were not clear. Values based on the assumption that anything that has been in place for a very long time must be there for good reasons that we may not understand, but that we should respect them and revere them notwithstandingstone.

            #3062
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              flower synch! but her mind was dulled with tiredness and she could not explain, although they questioned her relentlessly.

              “Just align with whatever path you are on… it is by far the easiest way” she whispered as she dropped off to sleep.

              She woke to find herself on a path. It was dark and only the ground directly beneath her feet was visible. It was hard to move forward under these conditions and she desperately wanted to see more. She fought with the darkness until, eventually, she realised the darkness was an illusion. With that realisation she took hold of the darkness and it fell away in her hands revealing a stage.

              The stage was bare, other than an old boot and a plain wooden chair. She sat on the chair and looked around.

              “This is a bit gloomy” she said. “I want flowers”. And deep crimson wild sweet peas appeared. “I want lots of flowers! And I want blue sky and sunshine and a few fluffy white clouds and a gentle sun shower for me to dance in and a rainbow to fill the sky with wonder.” And as she wished, the bare stage was transformed to a landscape filled with a vibrant profusion of colour and life.

              #3052
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Vacationers Casebook Notes: There was an understanding about standing room only, it was outstanding and that was no misunderstanding. The vacationers were making a stand, standing their ground, notwithstanding that everything had come to a standstill. Stand and be counted to withstand the stand up comedy, or there might be a stand off.

                #3020
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Wordblade! I know you’re under there, come out!” Mari Fe hissed, her voice muffled under her disguise. When his face appeared through the folds of velvet, she laughed. “What have you done to the band music? Have you heard them? Somebody’s slaughtered their notes, was it you?”

                  The Wordblade eased himself out from under the heavy carved platform, glancing up and raising an eyebrow at the statue of Jesus towering above him.

                  “Very fetching” he said, as he pulled Mari Fe’s red pointy hat off and put it on his own head. “I saw lots of these hats in an 2nd hand shop in, when was it, oh around 2027 I think. Nobody could remember what they were for.”

                  “Never mind that, can you do something about the slaughter of the musical notes? There hasn’t been any requirement for surge diversion tactics so far during Semana Santa this year, the energy has been very relaxed and disorganized, less regimental and alot less intense. You were supposed to check in with me first”, Mari Fe said, “But then, who wants to do what they’re supposed to these days?”

                  #3018

                  Special Detective Bryan Connor of the Third Task Investigative Unit of the Surge Team Force pored desperately over his case notes. He’s been tracking the elusive Wordblade ever since the Wordblade almost wiped an entire Verse civilization off the face of Demonta, where the surge began. He scratched his temple feverishly & clamped his eyes shut. The Wordblade’s latest massacre occurred on Twitter, where he publicly slaughtered the alphabet.

                  “How is it possible that he cannot be caught?” He pondered aloud. “He commits deed after deed of expression & he cannot be accounted for.”

                  Just then, Mari Fei strode through his marble-walled office. Her commanding stride elicited an aura of assurance and regal confidence, & Connor turned around & met it with relief sighing through his breath. “Ah, Professor Fei of the Institute of Spirit/Consciousness. I’m so glad to see you. Perhaps you could-”
                  “Assist you in locating Wordblade?” She chimed in. She laughed heartily at the sight of Connor’s astonished & mildly bewildered expression.
                  “Don’t bother yourself with asking me how I know. I just do.”
                  “Ah, then I have no need to impress the severity of these circumstances. The Wordblade’s elusive deeds are overwhelming: he seems to be intently breaking every rule for the sheer fun of it & he doesn’t care.”
                  Professor Fei slowly walked pass him & climbed up the spiral stairs that led to a balcony overlooking the vastness of the Murtuda Galaxy. The Murtuda was the biggest galaxy in the southern Universe, & by far certainly the biggest, boasting a total of 125 portal-highways that bore the blood of intergalactic travelling.
                  “Bryan,” she sighed. “Don’t concern yourself with catching Wordblade or understanding his motives. That young man is a danger unto himself, so we just let him be.”
                  “But if we let him be then we may never calculate the amount of havoc he could wreak!”
                  “I know that, but the issue still-”
                  “No!” He broke her off. “The Counsel always justifies his deeds as an issue of self-freedom. He’s out there slaughtering alphabets & kicking poets’ butts for being normal & the Counsel embraces that?”
                  He became silent for a moment, contemplating the Professor’s response. He knew he took a bold step but the Surge Team was on the verge of capturing Wordblade & they needed as much help as they could.

                  When the Professor turned around, she looked calmly at him.

                  #3017
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    meanwhile in South Africa, an alphabet slaughtering surge made landfall, scattering the inhabitants, celebrities and everyday heroes alike. Some suspected the elusive Wordblade

                    “Alliteration ascends the assonance of abseiling abstract aspects of anterior antiquities from ancient altars,
                    Bouldering down blocks of brooks that break the boring & bland borders of bondage,
                    And blinking through bleak and black boxes of brisk bravery.
                    Creeping into crops of crooked crocks with crotches of cockroaches cramming into cans of calamity, the crisp cat crackles the calling.
                    Dreaming of damning devils and demons dancing in droplets of dreary darkness drags the drunken diligence from the draught’s damnation,
                    Even the everlasting ethereal elves ebbed and eased into the effervescent eloquent estate of eternal elitism.

                    For the feeble and fumbling fatuous frontiers, the folly frolicked and fornicated with the familiar friend from foes’ fervent fevers;
                    Greater than gradient grand gestures of gestaltic granite grasses,
                    The gruesome grizzle grabbed the gore by the gripped grunting.
                    Higher than homelands of hands in horizons,
                    Heavens and Hells or Hades hazily hear the honing of the horses and horns-
                    In internal infernos of inflicting infringes of institutional insurrections Interrogations instigated imminent innate innovations.
                    Jacknives of jaundiced and jilted jokers jabbed at the jumping jingles of the jesting jackals that jet over jerseys of jeering,
                    For the Killer Krakens kelp the kites from kids who keep kaleidoscopes of kind and keen keepers.

                    Longer than languid lads that laze in lost latitudes the lieutenant lounged behind lines of lingering losses-
                    Maids mellowed around mazes of men and manners of mad moments and made for mates on mattresses on mothered matrimony.
                    Noisy & never-ending neckties on nests of nicked numbers never nominated the nurses that nosed the nuns for nuns’ nihilism
                    Beyond the Oligarchs of overt operations of obligating omnipotence ostracizing the omniscience & omitting its ownership to the omnipresent order.
                    Pilgrims to pentagons by people from poached & palpitated places of placards of propaganda pondered their positions in this power polarity
                    When quivering quills of quavering queens quelled the quarterly quests of the quaint quarrels.

                    Because roving rivers of raging ravines and raving reviews raced to the rest of the ripped rampant ravages and revelled at the rambling randomness
                    Structured subsiding and subsidized societies should string the strongholds of the supreme sultans of seeded senses.
                    Taking the trusty treaty the trussed toppled truants took the trickling ticking of time to the tables of trampled trees of timber,
                    For under the ubiquitous umbilical umbrellas of ultra-sounds from upper-level ulcers underground underworlds underestimated the union.

                    Vivid visions of voracious vampires of vexing vacuum vortexes vilified the vindicated vindictives from the violent vapid vanity
                    While wild & wily whiskers of whispered whisky whisked the wailing widows
                    From the wells of wanting when the wanton warriors walked on waters.
                    Yards of years of yearning the yesterday’s yonder yarns of yellow yolk yawned Into the youth’s yoked yams
                    For zigzags of zapped zebras to zip the zest in zealous zones.”

                    #3013
                    Jib
                    Participant

                      Cornella was tearing out her hair trying to understand why she couldn’t find any meeting room available for the first day. It was bad enough that she had to prepare the presentation about the budget, and to top it off she had just been appointed to the the week’s room planning. Vivian, their secretary was sick, she’d apparently caugh some naughty shitty stuff and was spending her time between her bed and the bathroom, and obviously she hadn’t done her job.

                      “I don’t understand, we’re the only teams in this building and that software tells me everything is booked.”
                      “I think they are rewiring all the meeting room tomorrow,” said Aqua Luna.
                      “How do you…” Cornella stopped. Did Aqua Luna just talked about rewiring? “I didn’t know you were taking english lessons,” she said.
                      “I don’t,” simply said the Chinese woman, and she returned to her work.

                      Cornella’s mind was already trying to find another place where they could meet for the first day. Something that wouldn’t make her team appear disorganized. The aquarium would be too distracting. A hotel was out of the question as their meeting was supposed to be secret.

                      She suddenly had an idea. She rushed into Ed’s office and began to knock the walls, carefully listening to the sound.

                      #3003
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        The fourth-age interim authority of the Team had given new directives. They were clear enough. The new wave was in full bloom and required utmost attention, so all the operatives in action had to temporarily suspend their missions pending review.
                        Madame Li, for instance, was again in the middle of a food and water scare surge in Shangpoon, where bloated floating glowing gloating piglets were found roaming freely in the river of the city’s main water supply. And that was the least of those she had to corner these days in the most populous city of the country.
                        Simply enough, they were required to pay attention to what they paid attention and gave importance to… Which wouldn’t solve most of the surges, most of them had sniggered when they heard the speech.
                        “Or are they suggesting we are the ones creating the surges to get a rush of adrenaline, maybe?” Skye sighed.
                        A bit of unwanted leave in all this craziness wasn’t something they all were used to, especially under the previous management, but for all that was worth, they seemed to all relish a bit of pressure release.
                        “Relish that, old horseradish,” Pearl said “now I’m pretty sure they did overdo that religious stuff…”

                        #2998

                        “The possibilities of liverworts are unimaginable. Not many people know this, Pearl” Skye said, “But liverworts have the capability to communicate with any other liverwort anywhere on the planet. Nothing out of the ordinary, you might say, and you’d be right! But what is not ordinarily known is that the liverworts have this sort of fat cell, scientists still don’t understand the function, but what this fat cell does is communicate ripples. Ripples of communications. Sort of a wifi intent distribution system, for want of a better technical name, although some call it wifindilivi for short. Another unusual advantage of liverworts is their colour ~ green. And everyone loves green these days ~ cover something with greenery, nobody complains. Anything covered in green foliage automatically conjures up wholesome natural goodness, mother nature, all that kind of stuff. Nobody objects to it like they do with security cameras and mobile phone masts.”

                        “I heard about a pyramid they found in the jungle that was covered in liverworts” replied Pearl. “A friend of mine, Blithe, found it ~ well, it just popped in her head I think, and then she saw it in the news.”

                        “Exactly. No accident that pyramid was covered in liverworts! And the “popped in her head” commincation wasn’t random, either. But nobody suspected a thing, finding a pyramid covered in liverworts in the jungle!”

                        #2996
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          “Blimey! The Pope, eh? Are you teasing me again?”
                          Vera didn’t answer.
                          “Oh come on! Don’t give me that need-to-know-basis treatment, as much as I love a good riddle, I hate secrets! Are we going to look for the reincarnation of a famous Pope à la Little Buddha? Tell me, tell me!” Bouncing with excitement on the rolling Eggsway made her almost fall head over wheels into a flangeway carved into the muddy track that went deeper into the forest.

                          Regaining her balance, she looked ahead to see Vera was already a few meters ahead — and navigating the Eggsway was becoming difficult. She knew she should have opted for the 4×4 model…
                          So… Vera wasn’t really paying attention, she would have to try another approach to worm answers out of her. What was so special about this place anyway? Lost continent of Mu, ancient architecture, maybe underwater tunnels… Nothing that would lead directly to the Vatican she surmised… Unless…

                          They arrived at a clearing in the forest, where blue glow sticks had been placed in a round pattern. Vera was standing there, after having carefully placed a glowing green rote at the center, staring at the middle of the light circle, and without turning her head to look at her, told Lulla “Here’s your answer coming.”

                          A huge buzzing throb started to fill the air, sounding to concentrate at a focal point not higher than 10 inches above the ground, at the exact center of the blue circle. It begun sparkling and * BooM *, in all its slimy tentaculeous glory, a spaceship was there.

                          “Special delivery from our alien friends” Vera said, finally deigning to look at Lulla.

                          The rather small spaceship started to slowly expand, becoming larger, until an opening appeared, letting a form emerge from the membranous appearance of the hull. The form which looked like some person was suddenly dropped unceremoniously with a * Plop! * while the spacecraft elastically recovered its initial shape.
                          Moments later, it was gone, and with it the buzzing sound.
                          The green rote payment was gone too. Greedy aliens.

                          “Come on, let’s bag this guy and bring him home for phase 2. A red convertible SUV is waiting for us at the portal’s entrance.”
                          So, that’s where I come in… Lulla was starting to wonder what was the use of her being here, since Vera was so bossy and secretive. But now,… Of course she was better at hatting, but she could call herself without bragging a real bagging specialist.

                          #2991
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            “Early retirement!” Skye said, “Bloody cheek! Undercover operation, very hush hush, it was. The noteworthy case of the Welsh Leaves of Absinthe, a very interesting case indeed. Fifty Seven bottles in that case, and each one different. I had to case the joint first of course, then proceed with the utmost abandon. Absolutely crucial to work this one to the book ~ intuition and impulse, and absolutely no planning.”

                            “I can’t wait to hear all about it” said Pearl. “ I heard about the Rose surge while you were there, and something about a radioactive grafitti surge originating in an abandoned nuclear plant in the mountains?”

                            “Absolutely true, Pearl. I heard about that one on the way back to the airport, spontaneous radiactive grafitti appearing and it’s heading east. That’s the bizarre thing, it’s working its way across the country, and each new sighting is east of the last one.”

                            “Sounds nasty, what’s the plan to divert it?” asked Pearl.

                            “Liverworts.”

                            #2986
                            Jib
                            Participant

                              Aqua Luna had difficulties understanding what the voice was telling her. The words made perfect sense, separately. They were like bubbles floating around her, she could almost see them. Each had a different hue and some where even shining a bit.
                              “What am I experiencing ?” she asked.
                              At least it was her thoughts, but she wasn’t sure the voice would understand as each bubble seemed to follow its separate route once out of her mouth.
                              When more bubbles appeared in the room, it seemed they were coming from all around her, and not from a specific location. She wondered if she was in some kind of whale ship, in its stomach.
                              When more bubbles came, she began to feel a bit irritated. She smashed one with her left hand and got startled by the booming “SHAKE”. She retreated on the spongy stomach which was emitting bubbles now. She tried to shoo them away and their explosion was more like a squishy sound.
                              A bigger bubble was coming toward her. It was with shades of pink and blue, very vibrant. She put her hands on her ears before it blew out, but the sound seemed to come from her skin now.

                              HAHAHAHA

                              When more bubbles came to her, the words she heard were the following

                              quickly full days told moscow
                              dragon sounds face earth itself
                              pin often middle herself under light
                              katarina warm asked further turned

                              It made no sense at all, but she was beginning to find it fun.

                              #2983
                              Jib
                              Participant

                                Aqua Luna’s duster was stuck in Cornella’s keyboard. She was still struggling to free it without paying too much attention to the screen. The red symbols blinking on the maps would have confused her, she would not have understood their meaning or the significance of the buttons she inadvertently pushed in her struggle. She has grown in the countryside, at a time where there was no internet available. She barely used her Oopia telepooh her daughter offered her a few years ago. The truth was she didn’t know how to take the call, even after her son in-law, showed her. Richard, that was his name. “He got the face’s name” she thought imagining the rag was a hair in his nose.

                                “I got it!” she exulted, pushing unknowingly the key combination to lock the session again. She returned the keyboard to its former position just as Cornella arrived.
                                “Oh! Thank you Aqua, you’re such a sweetie.”
                                The cleaning lady who didn’t really understood English put on her talk-to-my-hand smile. And left the room. She would clean the other desks later, she needed a break.

                                Cornella’s voice stormed out.
                                “What the heck! There has been a breach in the artifact chamber!”
                                But Aqua Luna wasn’t paying attention, it was like French to her. She was rather wishing she could taking one of those red limo to go back to her place. The Chicks always used them to go everywhere, but Aqua had to take the public transportation system. That wasn’t fair.

                                She sneaked into the garage, not aware of the camera system or the alarm system. Tony, one of the chauffeurs was there.

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                              Daily Random Quote

                              • Arona was lost. She had been lost for quite some time now and had got over the initial surprise this realisation had given her. It was not very often now that she questioned her decision to leave the others. She had tired of their endless journeying, always in circles, always moving and yet never seeming to move ... · ID #131 (continued)
                                (next in 05h 36min…)

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