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  • #1176
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “We must go to the Elsespace Arrangement” Sanso repeated “At once.”

      “OK” Zhana shrugged and smiled up at him. She was enjoying wandering around with Sanso and was in no particular hurry now to reach Nishanti.

      “We can use the Elsespace Arrangement to get to where we need to go” Sanso said and Zhana asked where were they going anyway, to which he replied “We’ll know. Whatever pops into your head will be a clue.”

      “A clue to where we’re going?”

      “Oh not necesarily, it might be a clue to something else entirely” replied Sanso.

      “Well doesn’t that get a bit confusing? How do you know which clue is a clue to what question?”

      “What?” asked Sanso, frowning. “What was the question?”

      #1175
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Al was singing this Hallowe’en tune in his imp costume:

        “Trick or treat, smell my feet, we want something good to eat” :yahoo_pumpkin:

        —“Sacrebleu,” he said to Tina “I guess Becky Pooh must not be far away, I can feel her limerick rhymes aiming at Ewrick”
        — “Mmmm, ‘whatever that means’ I suppose” retorted Tina, rolling the eyes of her funny Hallowe’en fancy dress. :ghost:

        #1169

        Antarctic Ocean, International subwaters

        Good job my dear ones! “ the voice of the Baron was echoing strangely inside the metallic hull of the submarine.

        In front of the screen, Pavel, Claude and Jarvis were sipping vodka martinis in celebration of their new crystal skull acquisition.

        “It’s got a really extraordinary quality.” Jarvis answered after a moment of silence “I’ve been starting to study the skull and it’s taking some sort of aquamarine colour with the pressure variations, it’s impressive. And it seems we’re attracting an unusual amount of cetaceans in our trail too…”

        “Fascinating! I can’t wait for you to bring it to me”

        “Baron?”

        “What?”

        “What do we do with your old friend?”

        Phoebe?”

        “Yes. We made sure she was properly treated, as per your orders, and she’s got access to the bare minimum so that she doesn’t play any trick on us.”

        “Good. Well, I suppose you can release her on any friendly coast of your liking. She is greatly able to go on from there, though she will probably not like having been outwitted in stealing abilities… Whatever. Do as I said, and don’t get too mollified by her apparent frailty, she’s tougher than she seems.”

        “Okay. See you at the meeting point then.”

        #1164
        TracyTracy
        Participant


          Becky looked at the pebbles in her hand and then looked up at the little jars of sand on her kitchen shelf.

          “Pompeii and Ville Franche, I’d like you to meet Grand Canyon, Valley of Fire and Zion” she said ceremoniously, and placed the little shard of black rock and the smooth taupe pebble on the shelf next to the jar of Zion sand.

          In her hand she still held the aquamarine quartz crystal. “You’re different” she said “And I’m not sure what to do with you yet.”

          The previous evening she’d found herself holding the sea green stone in her hands as she listened to an unexpected voicemail from Jane. As Jane sang the Sumari song, Becky had felt the crystal glow and vibrate. She wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, but somehow it seemed significant that these unexpected gifts — the aquamarine quartz, the pebbles from Pompeii, and the Sumari song of Creation from Jane — that arrived on the same day, were all connected.

          The second voicemail she felt sure was for SeanJane singing Molly Malone , and at the end of the voicemail, laughing.

          Becky smiled. Whatever it was, it felt good.

          “Aquamarine is excellent for the 5th, or communication chakra. It can help singers and orators get the full quality of expression by releasing emotions that get blocked in the throat.”

          “Well, what a coincidence!” exclaimed Becky. “Singing sync! That’s a good start”

          She returned to her research.

          #1159

          “You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!”

          Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.”

          Elizabeth read the last two lines she’d been working on to her publisher, Godfrey Pig-Littleton.

          Godfrey snorted. “Elizabeth, really! You jest, I hope.”

          “Well, I was just trying to fit each of the four themes into one chapter, they all seemed to fit together so easily” Elizabeth replied. “Why not? Tempestuous, Elusive Dreams, Unspoken Looks, and Pleasure”

          “You seemed to have fit them all into two sentences, never mind a chapter. And your characters sound like characters in a play.”

          “Well they are characters in a play, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth.

          “Ham actors, that’s what I meant. Anyway, Liz” Pig-Littleton said with a slightly mischievous grin, “What if Gayesh doesn’t want his face slapped by Becky?”

          “What do you mean?”

          “What if Becky doesn’t want to slap Gayesh?”

          “Well, she will if I write it into the play, surely!” Elizabeth started to frown. She knew that once she invented her characters that they continued to exist in a reality of their own, being free to create their own realities in whatever probable dimension they found themselves in, but she had never really stopped to think about the ramifications of her continuing to write incidents into their lives.

          “Maybe Becky has moved on from where you left her last time you wrote about her, in a completely different direction” Godfrey continued “And maybe she doesn’t want to play along with your theme word game. I mean really, is it fair to make her? Maybe she was having more fun doing whatever it was she was doing while you weren’t even thinking about what she should do. Quite rude really to interrupt her just so that you could do your word theme games. Bit of a cheek, I’d say.”

          “Oh Godfrey, that’s easily explained” Elizabeth had remembered Probabilities, which was always a handy excuse in continuity disputes. “Another probable character will do what I write for them to do, there are probably hundreds of probable characters now, all going in different directions.”

          “Is that wise? Really Elizabeth, that sounds outrageously irresponsible. Hundreds of probable characters running amok, and you have absolutely no idea what they’re all getting up to.”

          “Well they’re not my responsibility Godfrey, for heavens sake!”

          “Well if they’re not your responsibility, then who’s responsible for them?”

          “Nobody is responsible for them!”

          “Well that sounds like a recipe for chaos if you ask me” Godfrey said with a sniff. “You’ve unleashed hundreds of probable Becky’s into reality, not to mention Leo’s and Bea’s….”

          “And Pig-Littleton’s” Elizabeth interjected under her breath.

          “… and Sanso’s and Dory’s” Godfrey, who hadn’t heard Elizabeth, continued to reel off the characters names. “I mean how big do you think reality is? The rate you’re filling it up with probable characters there’ll be no space left!”

          Elizabeth started to laugh. “Oh Godfrey, you’re a case. Ahahah! They don’t take up any space at all! Anyway, GodfreyElizabeth turned back to her notepad. “Listen to the latest chapter and tell me what you think:

          “You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!”

          Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.”

          Godfrey Pig-Littleton was impressed. “Elizabeth, how perfectly you incorporated the four themes into one brilliantly short chapter”

          Elizabeth closed her notebook with a satisfied smile and yawned. Let them all do whatever the bloody hell they all want to, I’m off to bed. Plenty of probable characters available in the morning, waiting in the wings.

          #1146

          “Oh My God” exclaimed Bea. “I had a dream about the DOOR!”

          “Oh, well done! The question is, did you remember it?” asked Leonora.

          “As a matter of fact, Leo, I did!” replied Bea with a happy smile. “As a matter of fact, although I’m not too sure how factual matter really is, but anyway, I did remember the dream, and I wrote it all down.”

          “Gosh, up early this morning, weren’t you?” asked Leo, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and watching the sun come up over the mountains through the open door.

          “Oh I didn’t write it down this morning, silly! I wrote it all down last week.”

          Leo placed her cup on the table and rubbed her eyes, frowning. “Wait a minute, let me get this straight…..”

          Bea laughed ~ she was in rather a jolly mood, despite the early hour. “I had the dream last week, Leo, but I only just realized this morning that the dream was about THE DOOR

          “So what did you learn about the door, then?”

          Bea frowned. “Well I’m not really sure. But it seemed so significant because it was that scary door, you know, the dreams I’ve been having for years about that door in that bedroom that’s too scary to get near, never mind go through….would you like to read it? Maybe you can interpret it for me.”

          “If I must” sighed Leonora “You better pour me another cup of coffee then and pass me those cigarettes.”

          Leonora read from Bea’s Dream Journal:

          I was sorting winter clothes out on an upstairs landing of a cottagey gabled house,
          and decided to use the upstairs bedroom instead of the downstairs one.
          The bedroom was a recurring dream one, gabled attic with dormer windows kind of room.
          Then I saw the door and remembered this was the door I was always too terrified
          in dreams to open; it was so scary that I always wanted to use this bedroom
          but never could because of that terrifying door and whatever lay beyond it.

          “Didn’t you do a waking dream and go through that door?” Leonora asked. “Oh, yes here is is…”

          Remembering that I had done a waking dream and gone beyond the door once,
          I marched up to the door, flung it open and strode through.
          Suddenly an almost overpowering fear and dread stopped me in my tracks
          but I carried on anyway.

          “Oh, bloody well done, Bea! Good for you, girl!” Leonora could be a bit waspish at times, but she was a kind old soul underneath.

           It was a bit like a old slightly shabby but once grand hotel foyer, high ceilings
          (not the same as when I went through in the waking dream, which was then rows
          of closed doors on either side).  The foyer opened out on the left into a large old
          fashioned restaurant dining room, with one person over on the far side sitting at
          a table.  I carried on straight ahead through opaque etched glass double doors
          onto an upstairs outdoor terrace.  There was a city scene below.  On the left
          was a shallow ornately shaped ornamental pool.

          “Reminds me a bit of our trip to Barcelona, this does, eh” Leo commented.

          “Yeah, I’m sure that had something to do with the gargoyle imagery” replied Bea.

          A woman squeezed past me holding a small thick book and I knew she was
          going to jump off the terrace which was several storeys up.  She collapsed into
          the pool, writhing backwards, baring a flat white breast and dropping the book.

          “Flat breast, hahah Bea, that weren’t you then, obviously, was it!”

          Bea chuckled. “Not bloody likely! I reckon that bit slipped in the dream because I can’t find a comfortable bra lately”

          “You and me both” replied Leo. She continued reading from the journal.

          I picked up the book, and somehow ended up with two books, which seemed like guide books. I couldn’t hold onto the two books with the creature in my hand, which was weird, like a very heavy small furry grey reptile, or gargoyle.

          “Maybe it was a baby dragon?”

          “Don’t say that!” retorted Bea, who had a horror of dragons. “The thought did cross my mind too, though” she admitted.

          I was holding it with one hand round its middle and the fat grey belly of it
          was bulging out under my fingers.  It was unbelievably heavy for such a small creature
          and I didn't want to hold it, so I passed it to a boy. (Twice I was holding the creature,
          and twice I passed it to the boy, but I can't recall the other time)
          Back inside the building, I followed the boy down a big wide staircase that
          curved round to the right at a landing below.  I started to fall down the stairs and
          knew it was because of the book that I was holding that the woman had been holding
          when she collapsed into the pool, so I threw the book down the stairs to save myself,
          and felt the tumbling down from the books perspective, although I stayed in
          the same place, clutching the banister.

          “Well I am amazed that you remembered so much, Bea! Going through the doors and finding the books reminds me of Jane’s Library you know”. Leo was starting to go into an altered state.

          “Are you going into an altered state, Leo?” asked Bea. “Are you channeling Juani Ramirez again?”

          “The creature, the gargoyle, was representing ‘a different species of awareness, of consciousness’” continued Leonora, as Bea hastily started taking notes. Leo wouldn’t remember what she’d said while she was channeling Juani, so it was essential that Bea record what was said.

          “The weight was a marker to help you recall the creature, as well as being symbolic of denseness”

          Bea couldn’t help making a snirking noise. Dense eh, she said under her breath.

          “The door” continued Leonora “Is a signpost, a marker.”

          Just then the phone rang, snapping Leonora out of the trance. Bea picked up the telephone, but there was nobody there.

          “Pffft” said Bea.

          “More coffee?”

          #1124
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The Chief Minister of the Oddlings sat behind her desk, smiling at her new protege.

            “Well then, T57, you’re ready to start. Who have you been assigned to?” she asked.

            “Gabor, Sindy and Swinde” replied T57 promptly. She wasn’t quite sure who these characters were, but the names popped into her head strongly at that moment, and if she’d learned anything at the Ministry, it was to trust whatever popped into her head.

            “Gabor, Sindy and Swinde!” exclaimed the Chief Minister. “Why, they’re mine!”. She rummaged through the files on her desk. T57 assigned to three from her own batch! This was going to be interesting!

            #1115

            Marvin Scrozzezi was taking a look at the rushes they’d taken the other day. At first he was considering putting them in the bonus section of his movie, a blooper section or something.

            But now, the blooper section was overweighting the “real” movie by far. And with the defection of few of the actors (well, “actors” was more of an empty shell of a title than anything else, as most of them were friends or acquaintances), he had to hire new ones.

            What a mess.

            Roger

            Perhaps he should continue his movie with different actors playing the same role alternatively. That would make a nice change. Perhaps it would even been hailed as a pioneer movie by the auteur movies snotty critics.

            “Whatever works…” he giggled to himself as he started to rewrite some parts of the scripts.

            #1090
            Jib
            Participant

              Hector suddenly felt outside of his body and became only a spectator of his own life.
              It was like he was a master in karate (whatever that was) and he took care of Finnley in the library in no time.

              He realized Finnley had a real breast, and quite generous… A surge of adrenaline overflowed his mind and all he remembered after that was the feeling of the carpet on his naked knees and the generous forms of Finnleys in his hands.

              #1072

              This door is influenced by the energy you irradiate.

              You have to trust your energy in order for it to lead you to the most fulfilling place.

              Irtak drew his hand closer to the rippling surface of the door. Its aspect was so changing that it was like he was seeing all the tiniest elements that composed the matter, whatever it was. Hesitating, he asked Leormn.

              — Are you trying one of your tricks on me? It’s like I’m hypnotized.

              He’s not trying to lure you in… said Jeckle.
              The vibration you are currently feeling is the resonance of your energy with the one filtering through that door. said Heckle. I suspect it comes from another realm…
              But it is close to this one, Jeckle added. His muzzle quivered with excitement. I feel a friendly energy filtering from the other side.

              The waves of curiosity emitted by his friends were compelling, and Leormn could feel it. He himself was very interested by what he could feel was some kind of counterpart of himself. He was familiar with the energy but it was somewhat different from his own.

              Our strong desire is maintaining the door open. We can go safely through it and return in no time… he suggested in a soft persuasive tone.

              Arona, who was feeling a bit forgotten, grunted and added a tad dubious :
              — I’m not sure we should do it. We should tell the others… Where are they by the way?

              Apparently, the dragons and the boy were more fascinated by what was leaking out of her drawing. She’d been a bit surprised that one of her creations… if one could call the few brushstrokes a creation… that it could produce such an odd reaction. She couldn’t help but notice that the two words were anagrams.

              Leormn looked at her with a renewed interest.

              I’m feeling you are connected to that other realm, dear Arona. We all are in a way, but it’s like your lineage came from that… gate. Would you dare find out about your origin?

              She looked at him dubiously. His gaze was so intense that one moment…

              — Are you serious? she asked.

              He grinned… Who knows… if you don’t go you may never find out ;)) and I’m sure the others can take care of themselves when we are gone.

              Saying that he jumped on the other side like he was acting on a whim.

              The twins looked at each other and followed him… and Irtak was next…
              What was she to do?
              It was almost as if the door was staring at her. Challenging her… and she didn’t really like to be alone in these dark corridors.
              She jumped in and felt completely stretched out for what seemed a few seconds. She almost lost sense of who she was when an image started to form in her mind.

              It expanded until she was surrounded by a warm sensation of well being and lightness. She was completely safe in this place.
              A sudden woosh and a sensation of cold. She fell on the floor, her members suddenly failing her. The light was completely different and she couldn’t hear anything. Panic began to overwhelm her and she realized she couldn’t emit any sound either.

              As suddenly as it was gone, her sense of hearing reappeared.

              Who was shouting like that?

              AronaArona!

              The directedness in the tone was enough to make her recover her balance. She stopped shouting and began to notice her other senses… nothing particular at first, but she had the weird impression that it was different. Looking around her, she saw that the dragons were sniffing around like puppies and Irtak was following them like one of them.

              — Where are we? she asked Leormn.
              The sound of her voice was lower-pitched than usual, and Leormn started to laugh at her look of dismay.

              Hahaha! I don’t know yet… but we have all the time to discover.

              — Can’t we come back to the cave now? I don’t feel comfortable here… look at the sand, it’s purple… maybe it’s some kind of bacteria or something, maybe it’s contagious…

              He gave her one of those irritating wink. She was about to retort bluntly when she realized there was no way back.
              The door had disappeared.

              #1050

              Leörmn was erring through the corridors of his draggilish mind. Some of them were nicely painted he’d found, but apart from some friendly glukenitch glowing droppings, it all seemed a bit empty.

              Of course, connections were ever there, floating around, and could be summoned as easily as a pleasant memory in the spacious eternal present. But those were not memories the dragon wanted to interact with.
              Since they all had made that move of the cave anchoring point to the past, nothing was quite as it was. A truism of course, but sometimes you can’t do much more than state the obvious first, to be able to change it.

              The remnants of the dynemotical ström (another word for wortex, or intercrossing of dimensions, or whatever you want to call this mess) was only starting to fray, and it had left them all in a kind of depressed mood. Depressed, as in less pressure, and a bit deflated.
              As soon as he imagined the words, they became reality, for dragon speech is about the very essence of things, and it can make things be what they are said to be.
              And so he was now morphed into a deflated rubber skin of a dragon, sliding inside the tunnel doing proutish sounds that he tried to put together into harmonious music notes, to entertain the schpurniatz colonies.

              The notes started to take some funny foggy shapes and, using the painted walls as a partition, arranged some pretense of a sentence.

              Words seem lamp; gives lost Malvina soon damn door, telling unexpected…

              Mmm, a door? Of course, little sweet Arona had been painting a door, but why couldn’t he use it too?

              The key was in bridging with the past now… that much he could tell, and perhaps that door may help.

              #1012

              Elizabeth just had a brilliant idea actually.
              Why not just print her rumbled heap of scattered notes… just as it is. In four volumes if needed.

              What Lemone was saying in his Words of Comfort for the Descended already?

              It’s not the writer’s job to piece the stuff life is made of together, it’s the job of the reader.

              “Bloody good point,” she’d be keoon saying.
              Trust the reader to take what they want, read on impulse… Whatever or not… She had a feeling that in the future when people are reading her stuff, that it will make more sense to them than to current day average readers.
              She was so leading-edge.

              Of course, her editor would make a fuss, but he would have no other choice than recognize her genioos.

              How exciting it all was.

              #945
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Becky visited the nursery at The Facility every day, and smiled vaguely at the triplets, relieved that they were thriving and being well cared for. She had spent several happy hours ordering a new wardrobe online, charging it all to The Facility, whose staff were being wonderfully kind and accomodating. She spent the days reading historical novels, lounging on the recliners on the numerous patios and balconies, or strolling through the colourful leafy gardens, or floating in the cool lotus filled pools, without a care in the world.

                The past few months had been draining, exhausting. The unexpected break from everything that was familiar was doing her a power of good.

                One hot still afternoon, Gayesh, the director of the facility, called her into his large airy office. The antique ceiling fan ruffled the papers on his desk. The papers were part of the antique decor, giving the room a nostalgic 20th century air.

                Becky, we have been observing you while you’ve been staying with us, Gayesh said kindly. And we would like to make you an offer.

                Observing me? asked Becky, feeling a trifle violated.

                Oh, you know, at the essence level, dear, replied Gayesh, with a gentle smile. Your essence did agree, we couldn’t be intrusive, of course, as you know.

                Oh well, if my essence agreed that’s ok I guess, answered Becky, mollified. What’s your offer?

                Gayesh explained at length the purpose of the Facility, while Becky yawned and studied her new shoes, her mind wandering…

                …….and so, in a nutshell, Gayesh was saying, If you give us permission, we can send a cloned Becky back to Galle, and the husband Sean, while you, my dear, do whatever you desire. You can be mother to the essences already lined up to manifest via your, er, the clones, body (and may I point out that none of our undercover clones so far have been uncovered, shall we say), which will facilitate….Gayesh chuckled….your new found freedom! You will be a free Becky that nobody knows exists! Free to wander hither and yon, without any responsibilities…..what do you say?

                I accept your offer, sir! Becky said, jumping up to shake Gayesh’s hand.

                #900

                START! said Tina.

                Becky and Tina were doing a meditation together, and Becky decided to just write whatever popped into her head. She could always delete it afterwards, or edit it, she reasoned.

                “Bagpush got out of the washtub”, Becky scribbled, “ And scooted down along the river line to the marks butty big one by the farm. Heavens above, fishly, what’s that brown thing on the water butt? Gawbsmacker said, don’t be talking like that, shekeltons in a hide to ho where and its first light, fair bright and hey ho the wash go. Abbon Ipswich, slaty flats of corncake, hey dee on the wash bucket, spittin in the hole hey down dooly. Margaret Apsworth laying on the white cotton cake spread, fair dooly down the one hooly. Ay and its a hey ho fair fooly down by the wash pooly, drum rolling in the har fool haley, down by the dash darnly. I said, hey ho the brown tooly, hoggin all the raw tooly, stewing in the far fooly for eight pence an hour. Said Mavis of the green sportwear, theres may flowers in the far horse hair, weel butter in the spar for tucker and muck down in the cow butter, said bree in the bird barny, a flying for the far fooly, well its knees up and out your dooly for the green hay beer fair. Its a fine night for a hooly in the row bottom in the far fooly, said mavis of the tom fooly, in the wash bucket down stairs. Once more, sell a nickel farthing, in the morning and in the darning, and say way more is in the star sign than a wash bucket down stairs.”

                Good greif, exclaimed Becky, What was all that about?

                What a load of twaddle, Becky, said Tina with a laugh.

                Well you know what? It was kind of fun and refreshing to just write nonsense
                I am sick of things MEANING something, Becky said, and then, warming to her subject:

                Lets have some good old fashioned MEANINGLESSNESS!

                #893

                The day had been long. Actually, from an outside perspective he had been apparently sleeping almost all of it, so it was not appearing as if it could be a really exhausting day at all.
                But Al had been extending his body researches in the subjective. He’d started to play again with his various dream bodies he had known the existence of for quite a while now, though he hadn’t yet found the time to experiment with them fully enough. An idea he owed to Sam, who he had been pleased to hear about his unusual experiences in the Australian bush, or more accurately, in the Dreamtime.

                Playing with these various “bodies”, or qualities of attention and perception, he was aware that his thoughts on the recent events occurring in their story was still unfolding in the backstage of his attention. A rehearsal perhaps…
                Nevertheless, he was delaying the actual representation, for he felt he was not yet ready for it.
                He could feel lots of information waiting for him to download them and process them. But he wanted to do it with clarity.

                Last try had not been very convincing… He had dreamt of a midget Tina, in a flowing mauve and lemon chiffon dress. Of course, in the dream he had taken great care of not hurting her feelings, all the more since she seemed so fond of the dress. He couldn’t really tell her that the dress was giving her an enormous butt and that she was rolling her hips comically when she was walking… Impossible…
                While dream-Al was searching for words to truthfully convey his appreciation of whatever little thing that could be left to appreciate on that dress, dream-Sam had been quick to tell dream-Tina she looked like fairy Nuf. What had he said! She soon started to weep noisily. Fairy Nuf, as anyone knew, is a purple-clad plump grumpy fairy, with a pointy hat and she couldn’t possibly look that bad.
                Speak about clarity…

                Al tried again to concentrate. Taking deep breathes.

                He could feel more and more clearly the presence of the woman. Her aura was beckoning, and she seemed to want to share information with him —pieces of information he would be free to tell others or not, it didn’t matter.
                What mattered was that there was this deep desire for this information which was coming from him; and equally as deep as his, her own desire to share was palpable.

                Salome ” he whispered “ I am ready to see
                He soon started to fall into another lucid dream…

                #1801

                In reply to: Synchronicity

                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  few spider synchs – the other night I had a vivid dream of a spider, a large one with a funny symbol on it’s back. I found it in my ice-cream and was trying to catch it in a small plastic jar. Then I decided I must search the icecream to see if there were any more spiders. The icecream parted in the middle and changed texture, resembling the texture of a spider’s nest. When I woke up I read Eric’s new comment

                  I had been planning to add a spider comment to the tifikijoo island thread and was had a particular comment in mind. The next time I looked at the story site, the comment I had been thinking of came up as the random quote

                  Franiel thread , where I talked about the messenger birds Fincheons and introduced a motorbike – I wrote this directly before going to my hairdresser. As he was talking he told me he had always wanted a motorbike. He had to leave me for a few minutes to move the motorbike of another client which was blocking the access way. He also told me he’d had an unusual bird incident, a fantail had on two separate occasions circled his head, freaking him out rather. The maori believe this bird is a messenger bird, some believe it is an omen of death, others that it is an omen of good-luck … well whatever it is regarded as a messenger. Another synch with the comment; the fincheons are grey birds, the fantail found commonly in NZ is the grey fantail

                  A couple of synch numberplates today: EAGL 1 and EGY221

                  #847

                  Becky’s heart was racing and her breath was coming in short rasping breaths. I need to change probabilities, and I need to do it fast! There’s not a moment to lose.

                  Maybe I can change the past, she thought, change it to a probability in which I didn’t marry Sean in the first place. Oh Lordy, but how do I do that exactly? Her head was spinning.

                  Maybe I should just run away, now, pack my bags and disappear before Sean gets back from the bar.

                  No, that won’t do, she said, biting her lip in consternation. I want to keep the wedding presents, especially that YouDo doll.

                  Becky rummaged through the pile of magazines, looking for the script of the Reality Play. Oh dear god, if I change probabilities Al and the others will kill me, it will make such a mess of the threads.

                  Becky was distraught. What shall I do! she exclaimed, wringing her hands.

                  BREATHE, a deeply resonant female voice said. BREATHE into YOU, that’s right, BREATHE…..

                  Becky stopped wringing her hands and drew a shaky breath.

                  That’s right, the voice continued, BREATHE into YOU…..

                  Becky took another deep breath.

                  BREATHE…..

                  Oh for heavens sake, Becky interrupted rather rudely, That’s enough of that blimmen breathing for now, thank you very much, now bugger off, I need to think.

                  The voice in her head changed to a masculine one, that said with a chuckle, “THINKING” is absolutely FATAL, my dear, just DO what ever is easiest for YOU.

                  You mean, do whatever I want, and bugger everyone else? asked Becky. Wouldn’t that be a bit inconsiderate? I mean, don’t I have a responsibility to the others?

                  HAHAHAH, you are funny, said the voice. Did all that Seth and Elias stuff go in one ear and out the other?

                  What Seth and Elias stuff? Haha, just kidding, of course I remember it all. Reading about it and actually DOING it, well, they are two different things……her voice trailed off, and she frowned, deep in thought.

                  Thinkin’ aint doing, said the voice.

                  #837

                  As Claude was entering deeper into the giant babul tree, the obscurity was resounding with joyful peals of laughters and whispered words that seemed to mossify into his mind, like they weren’t really words, but bubbles pops and boobles.

                  He was resolute to find out whatever was going on in this place…

                  #825

                  When he first witnessed how the traveling portals worked, Badul had been greatly impressed. No such magic existed on Asgurdy, and even though is was supposed to be a small portal, it was greater magic than anything his imagination could have devised.
                  He and his crew were so much impressed that Badul had required his small crew to settle down so that they can study further the thing. Tomkin had frowned a bit, as he was eager to continue and above all to leave this uncharted district ruled by a fierce warlord (or “governor”, as it was required to address him) in a moistly forest miles away from any living creature, but then again, Badul’s orders were not to be discussed.

                  The portal was constituted of a wide circle of heavy limestones, with two crossing arched vaults made of limestones too, with smaller blue stones incrustations of various shapes tucked into round holes regularly scattered along the vaults. These smaller stones could apparently be rearranged, and Tomkin and Badul quickly figured out they were used to determine the coordinates of the various places they would be traveling to. This portal, they’ve been explained had a set of other stones, ocher and dark red ones which were not part of the traditional set of the main network on the continent. Their design was not overly displayed as the others which were left on the portal at all times. They were carried on the spot by one of the generals of the local governor, and used under strict guidelines, for fear that the parallel network would be uncovered.

                  It took Badul a dozen of hexades to relinquish his fear of the unknown magic that made people disappear and reappear in thin air. He was a brave man, and that which he could see with his own eyes was no longer deemed irrational. It was very real, and he could use it. And there was no point in delaying the experience of it, as it was the only way for him to conquer his turmoil.

                  So, on that fine morning of the falling season, he decided to move. Genflik Thran, the local governor, had come to appreciate the help Badul and his men had provided him in loading and unloading the cargoes of goods which were banned on various parts of the Warring Kingdoms nonetheless traded on the black market with great benefits, and occasionally escorting them to some of the nearest villages. But the deal had been made clear from the start: he would allow Badul and his men to use the network in exchange of two hexades of service. In fact, they had repaid the debt largely already.
                  So he agreed to let them go on their journey and provided him and and his crew enough supply to continue their trip for quite some days. And as a token of appreciation, he allowed Badul to choose his destination, a privilege that was rarely granted, as usually people where glad to take whatever ship was about to depart.

                  Badul turned to Tomkin, wondering where they could go next.
                  “There are a few villages I heard of” Tomkin said after having pondered, “in the valleys down Mount Elok’ram. I heard this place is the tallest of the World, and is full of ancient powerful magic. Perhaps we can go to one of these villages, as I don’t think there is any portal on the top of the mountains.”
                  “Ahaha, yes, you’re right” had smiled Genflik Thran “I’ve been heard there is a monastery on top of this mountain, but no portal unless you go in the valleys. Not that they couldn’t have built one, but they thought it would soon become too crowded and… how did they said? Yeah, unholy… with the ease of a portal access. Now, perhaps that with the new Abbott, it will change… who knows. We already have approached him, and he seems a man with a nice sense of compromise, for the good of all, ahahaha!”
                  “What’s this village called?”, asked Badul
                  Chard Dut Jep “ answered Genflik Thran “I have a local contact there, a witchy woman, with some sense for business too, when you’re there, ask for her, people call her Madame Chesterhope. Just don’t forget to mention you are coming on my advise, or else the bitch might reserve you a trick or two of her own, ahahaha!”.
                  To Chard Dut Jep then!” cheered Badul, and his crew echoed with him.

                  #810

                  Quite frankly, Midora didn’t know how and where to look for Badul. She had spent lots of time delving into the labyrinth of chapters that composed the book, at first to no avail.
                  Only after some familiarization with the narrative had she come to roughly understand that the two books where rewriting the pages —or even, rewiring them— so that each time she started over, it was like a similar yet different story. Most of the alternate versions did occur within the same kind of environment, or the same dimensions as the previous ones, but there were always all kinds of small hints that made her get a small hunch that it was not quite the same story she had read before that was taking place now.
                  She had even become quite good at tracking down these flimsy moments where she found herself wondering what felt “different”, at odds, or simply not quite at the same place. Like in her dreams, these were precious cues telling her to pay attention. More than simple cues, of course some of them where howling at her face that something required her attention. The additions made by her distant relative Dory, or later on by her step-daughter Becky were compelling cases of such occurrences. Asynchronous apparitions of mummies sometimes reminded her of stories told by one of her father and where more generally speaking of symbolic death and regeneration, but when all of these cues where as many portals the details of which she could lose herself in…

                  Naasir had told her to find Badul. She knew Badul… Like Midora herself, Badul was a facet of the dreaming dragon who was exploring the many facets of itself in an intricate play, and it felt to her that Badul was stuck somewhere in the process and required some attention. In fact, she remembered that in all the versions of the stories that she had read about, Badul’s history was never ended. Each time, he was on his way to explore the new land he had discovered, and somehow, he just never get there.
                  When she was trying to get to the rest of the story, as much as she would search for it, there were only blank pages.
                  Perhaps it was for her to write them, like Indy did after she encountered that mummy decades ago, not necessarily to exorcise the experience, but rather to learn more about her connections.

                  What were her own connections? She wondered.
                  What did happen to Badul on his way to the clandestine traveling portal of Gralm Tur? And why did it matter? Did he found something about the network, and some link to the skulls which have been an obsession for quite some time for some of the major and most intriguing characters of this inter-dimensional sopoohpera?

                  Truth was, Badul felt a bit like an oddball to her. She didn’t know how to get close to him. Apparently, when she had read the early articles from her great-uncle Cuthbert, she had found out that he had connected quite well to the daunting character. As a matter of fact, most of his comments had helped flesh out the character, while most of the other participants in the books had been only remotely observing his deeds. However priceless these clues were, Midora knew by now that they were not absolute, and would rewrite differently if the story was asking for it. And in fact, perhaps her own addition would change whatever his fate would have been.

                  :fleuron2:

                  Midora could feel Badul differently now… a young boy, whom she is babysitting, in another life.
                  Bastian is baby Badul’s name and he’s a toddler, a toddler exploring an unknown world made of colourful toys.
                  Midora (her name’s Ada in that focus) likes to work for little Bastian’s family. The woman, his mother, looks a bit odd like Morticia Addams, or like a Cher just out of her bed, but Ada likes her. She’s busy traveling alot, and doesn’t have much time to care for the baby.

                  Midora thinks she has read about his woman somewhere in the books…
                  Could it be that? Yes,… there is little doubt about it.
                  It seems like she’s just run into young Carla

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