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  • in reply to: Synchronicity #1803
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster


      Yesterday sync: while watching a series, something popped in in relation to the crystal skulls.

      The thing is, Roslin, the woman character on the screenshot, is a president dying from a cancer, and is wearing a black wig. We had been discussing black wig with Finn previously.

      Later that night, Tracy shared about an experience that she and her friends just had during the afternoon, which was interpreted by Arkandin as a bleedthrough from a dying focus of her friend’s husband. He said that this focus would be in Chile.
      Tracy inquired if there was a Chile thread already in the story, to which I told her there was

      And I was quite impressed to see there was a connection not only to crystal skulls and Chile, but also with dying person, and wig…

      L-)

      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #895

      The woman’s voice raised softly in the dark, like a velvet caress, or the sound of a purring cat.

      Life was long before I met Georges. Not unbearable, but so long and lifeless. Days would pass, and nothing new would happen but the same matter the previous days were made of.
      Though I no longer align to these limitations, I was once human, born to Earth, as Georges was, in a not so distant past. Like most of my people, I was not feeling special. But my will was strong and my desire to survive too. I survived poverty, lust and violence. In the crucible of these emotions I’ve melted my fears, and it was there I found Georges too.

      A curtain raises in the dark. A palace in an exotic tropical place. Brunei? Al doesn’t know this place…
      A young dark haired woman in a small room, around sixteen, perhaps a bit less, disheveled. She looks wildly around her, her rags stained with dust and dirt.

      Enters a tall woman. She doesn’t seem local. British perhaps. She’s elegantly dressed, thin mouth, high cheekbones, apparently in charge. A maid follows her. She can speak the girl’s language.

      Where is my mother? Let me out of here! she starts to cry
      I’m afraid this is not possible, Salome. For your safety,…
      What do you care about my safety!
      For your safety, Salome, hear me, try to behave. The Sultan is not a man without a heart. He loves beautiful women, and that is what probably saved your neck, considering what all what your mother did wrong to him refusing to pay taxes and her obstinate and bare-faced smuggling. Listen Salome, this might save you, and might save your mother as well.

      The curtain falls on the scene, where Salome hopes to have found a friend of captivity with this woman.

      A few years later, still in the golden cage of the harem, occasionally asked to service the lustful and violent Sultan, I start to go explore the depths of my misery. My inner world was a safe sanctuary, a haven from the pit of hell where I was now living, after my childhood years of hard work in the forest. There, where no one was given the key to enter, I became aware of him. I first thought he was an imaginary friend, a messenger from the other world, greeting me to a sure death. But he was real. He started to talk to me. About what I could do, like him, be a Traveler, if I wanted to.

      The curtain raises again. Young Salome is lying on her straw mat, in a seeming delirium. She moans, whispers, weeps, laughs. No one in the harem seem to care any longer. She is probably possessed, but the Sultan still find her suitable, she can’t be touched.

      A roar can be heard in the palace. The big black-bearded Sultan Ojylam the Second, ogre look on his face, summons his guard.

      — Don’t worry Salome, the voice of Georges whispers in the dark. The Sultan is mad at Madame Chesterhope. She has just fled with his precious crystal skull, but he won’t find her. She’s a skilled Traveler too, as soon you will be dear Salome, once you have learnt my last tricks, and we soon will be united.
      — Why that stupid crystal skull?
      — Don’t worry about it… This one is the Birds Skull. It carries lots of information and magic in relation to the Birds Realm, but it should be the least of your concerns. We’ll find Madame Chesterhope even if she’s clever at hiding between dimensions. Only concern for you must be to get out of here.
      — The Sultan will know I told her about it… I should have known, he was so proud of this object, and so protective too… And she was so curious…
      — That’s why we must hurry now.

      And so we were united for the first time. Lots of other lives have occurred afterwards, different paths at times, but always we have found each other again. Eternally bound, in a most sacred bound…

      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #894

      Master Tfark , I am pleased to hear that this mission will soon bring me what I requested.
      — We are here to serve, Madam, answered obsequiously the chief of the magpies gang. As long as, of course, the promised payment is ready.
      — Wasn’t the first part of the payment satisfactory? snapped the woman with an aggressiveness so subtle that no one could have said that there was even a single trace of rudeness in her voice.
      — Yes Madam, the device you provided worked perfectly. We are eager to continue our little arrangements.
      — Very well. Bring the Arachnid Skull quickly now.

      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #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…

      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #892
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Al took another pleased look at the animated stereographic pictures of himself he had been pleased to see in a special feature of Wisp. Oddly enough, he usually didn’t care to appear in such an outlet of officially held beliefs (now that most people were indeed living those previously-considered-odd concepts described issue after issue, it wasn’t like it was unofficial experiences any longer), but considering the amount of readers, he couldn’t have just turned down such a proposition of coverage.

        After putting the magazine into the drawer, Al voiced the cyputer on. An expensive acquisition this cyputer, but Tina and him had agreed that this new artificial-consciousness device would be worth more than a try, and probably would help them with putting some order in the entangled threads of their story submissions. Well, of course Tina had been slightly reluctant at first, as she had felt her taxonomy skills being rebuked, but Al had tenderly reminded her with a wink that they would be soon more equipped than sooo last-century Becky Pooh.
        Tina had bit her sensual glossy crimson lips when she almost spilled the beans about Becky’s expected kid who would probably teach her a trick or two on the new technology. Little did she know that Al knew a few things about this adventure

        The suave voice of the cyputer asked if he cared to read the new additions on the story.
        Oh good… Al rubbed his hand with expectation, and started to carefully listen to Tina’s last additions.

        :fleuron:

        Al had felt quite stimulated by what he had just had the cyputer read aloud with Tina’s sampled voice, and had to refrain himself from writing another long comment just after that. Essentially for Sam’s sake who would complain about Al being a pooper of big comments… ;))

        in reply to: Synchronicity #1800
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Another unexpected babies sync…
          Thinking of a Travis song this morning (Sing) I stumble upon this clip

          in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #882
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Ms Beryl?
            — Yes.
            — Tell me more about this whole sneezing… You can’t be serious about that deposition. You have sworn on the Book of Flove, and perjury is a grave offense.
            — I know that, Sir.
            — Perfect. And notwithstanding, you maintain your deposition.
            — Notwithstandingly, I do Sir.
            — That will be all.

            :fleuron2:

            A few days later, the case on what happened of the time-travelling goats was close owing to blatant lack of evidence.
            Some later said that the judge fondness for the annual Fainting Goat Fair won his leniency, but that would be another story…

            in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #881

            Aum Geog spent a long time seating motionless before the piece of parchment which had just been delivered by a specially trained fincheon.
            Fincheons were not particularly elegant, (not to say downright ugly) one had to admit, but they were very convenient, once you noticed that their feathers were a special shining tint of grey which almost made them invisible. They always knew how to fly back, and this one had made no exception.
            But it was a bearer of annoying news for the newly appointed Elder of the Monastery who was trying to curb his irateness by staying still.

            This… he was at a loss for words. Breathe, breathe he exhorted himself.

            A few months ago, when he was appointed Elder, his patient work of diligence seemed to have just paid off. He had thought he would be given the keys, and more importantly, the chalice.
            But that sly dog of Hrih had decided otherwise. He had transmitted the chalice to that irresponsible and naïve novice Franiel, while giving him a bunch of rusted keys he didn’t give two poohs about.
            Of course, it was only a matter of time before he could get it back, all he had to do was to make Franiel uncomfortable enough that he willingly relinquish the ownership to someone… someone like himself of course!
            The annoying thing about this damn chalice you see, is that it won’t properly function with anyone else than the rightful owner (except for small uninteresting tricks). Obviously, Hrih didn’t want him to have access to its powers, but that old monkey was now gone, and there wasn’t much he could do about what was going on.

            In fact, the plan was nearly perfect. Two birds, one stone. Bring Franiel to have some appropriate spell modifications carved onto that chalice, and have him give it back to the Elder, Aum Geog himself.
            Obviously, he couldn’t just let go such a precious artifact in the nature without appropriate stealthy surveillance. Thanks to one of his faithful servants, Brother Derwish, he was kept informed of the progresses. A former master of disguises that a other-Worldly experience had him join the orders, Brother Derwish was no short of brains nor tricks in his bag, and that parchment was another proof of it.
            If he had renounced to contact Elder Aum Geog directly through the glowing balls, and take the risks of unexpected delays, it was because they were most probably watched and their communication monitored.

            So here went the news:

            SPARFLY HAS MADE CONTACT WITH BIRD OF PREY. EGG DISAPPEARED.
            NESTING CHANGED TREE. GNAT STICKS TO THE POOH.

            Brother Derwish imaginative poetry could mean but one thing. Or two perhaps.

            The little twit had been watched by someone else who had showed him some of the powers of the egg… err, the chalice. It would have partly activated the chalice, and make it disappear unless its owner needs it enough to have it appear again. Obviously, without chalice, or thinking it was lost, he had changed his course to another place.
            Hopefully, Brother Derwish was following his trail closely.

            If more disastrous news had to come, Elder Aum Geog would have to summon his char of marmoths (big toothed hibernating woolliphants) and go there by himself.

            :fleuron:

            Leonard was content. It had not happened exactly as he had thought, but as he had explained to Malvina, the only wise thing to do was to teach the boy about the powers of the chalice. That would active its self-protective cloaking power, and have the boy temporarily relieved of this burden.
            For if he had been entrusted the chalice by the old Abbot, that was surely for a good reason.

            As Franiel had been moving, Leonard had had Moufle watch over him. Apparently, Leonard and his dog weren’t the only ones on his trail… The wiry gangly tonsured guy clothed in a potatoes sack didn’t seem to be here by chance either…

            in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #878

            Old Narani is becoming too soft.
            While the attraction of the hole was intensely beckoning, Phurt had been appointed by a strange twist of fate to the guard of the prisoners by the Old Mother.

            Bugger Narani whisspered Phurt, why not just kill them, these stupid two-legged animals. Why the pain of keeping them alive? Good thing the daily dose of sedative venom had them quiet now. They would only scare the mooing preys. Stupid, stupid.
            Of course, it would be easy to just sink a little more than usual her sharp tooth into their neck so fragile. A regrettable accident…
            Phurt couldn’t help but smile a grin as wide as her hairy eight-eyed face. But she wasn’t known as the Doctor of Breath for nothing. Her mere breath could be as sweet as a jasmine scent or terribly deadly. She had never missed a target, never could have.
            She was no mere Spinner; how could the Mother have put her to such a slighting task. Degrading. For her, the most promising Hunter of her generation to be doing this while they all were securing the hole perimeter.

            She would have to go. Something was nudging her to move, something like a fluid water sound, that whispered that nothing could happen to those prisoners. No one would be fool enough to dare to enter the Nest.
            Ahaha, why would she care? Nobody would know. And the little ones would alert her in any case.

            With a prodigious jump, she sprung to the forest in the direction of the hole. She couldn’t be denied her destiny.

            :fleuron:

            Is it gone now? a voice whispered under a pile of giant ferns
            I think it is growled Araili’s voice Thanks to the Snoot’s power of suggestion, I suppose… The Snoot might find spiders eggs delicacy enough to help us in our rescue operation.
            Shall we go there now? Kay? Ready to go and report back if everything’s clear?
            Ready.

            :fleuron:

            Rafaela was not finding it very difficult to jump on the rocky slopes. It was only difficult for her to remember to stay physically focused so that Anita wouldn’t fall to a certain death. And of course, even more difficult to resist to the attraction of nibbling a few crunchy thistles and brambles that grew here and there.
            But Yuki’s attention was here to remind her, and so far, their progression had been smooth and easy.

            But all of a sudden, the small pink nose of Yuki raised in quicker spasms sniffing the air intently.
            What? What? asked Rafaela who almost forgot her focusing. What?! Did I fart or something?

            Anu who was having the time of her life jumping on the coarse back of the goat giggled at her clueless question.

            — I think the spiders are moving too. We’ll be reaching the hole before them, and the Snoot tells me they won’t be moving close to it. But they won’t let anything or anyone get out of it. Let’s hope dear Armelle will spot a path for our friends.
            — Not to worry, Rafaela said matter-of-factly, Army is good at spoohtting. She’s the best I know at that.
            — OK, let’s move on…

            :fleuron:

            Claude was finally seeing a pinhole of light, at a close distance. He could just continue to crawl out his way to the light, and he would soon be release. And to cheer him up, he reminded himself that no man nor beast he feared, with his phenomenal strength agility and speed he now had. Too bad he didn’t have any time to get a proper super-hero attire he smiled to himself.

            :fleuron:

            On Tikfijikoo, the Magpie’s energy maze-cloak was now lift. The fury of the cyclone was now in its full power, and the Magpies were starting their swift deployment.
            The item was left unguarded in the operation room, as far as they could tell, and in the chaos of the elements, surely a few magpies would be unnoticed.

            They had to move quick now. The portal would be opened soon too. They couldn’t come back without bringing “it” back with them.

            in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #868
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              In another probability, Becky was in fact sterile, and was glad to hear her friend Tina propose her to be a surrogate mother to give her the joy to have little rugrats err… children… [¹]

              With a few embryos implanted to make sure one would grow, it came as a surprise that all of them did in fact became healthy babies…

              :face-surprise:

              Good thing Sean and her could afford a few surrogate nannies too… had thought probable Becky when she’d heard the news.

              [¹] This was in fact a cluster of probabilities, in which forks equally disastrous had her in turn

              • adopt a baby, but an administrative mishap has her end up, again, with a dozen of them
              • get custody of long-lost family member’s children that her lovely maternal heart couldn’t bear to leave to the social services
              • finding a few babies brought by mischievous storks at her doorstep
              • ad libitum
              in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #865

              Dr Bronkelhampton was eager to come back to the fridge to see if one of his patients had taken the bait.
              So far, his new discoveries have been promising. The use of honeycomb was a clever move, that would drastically lessen the need for expensive and cumbersome machineries. All he had to work out was the dosage.
              He was not sure the induced mutations wouldn’t be deadly…
              After all, that was what guinea pigs were meant for.

              MWAHAHAAHaaahAHha… cough cough… His Machiavellian manic laugh died in a raucous fit of coughing.
              That had almost ruined his eyeliner.
              Bugger it

              in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #861

              Finally catching up with the fluid communication of the Snoot, Yuki realized that they had to move swiftly.

              — I think it’s our chance to move to another place. Well, of course we can do it already Rafaela, please don’t interrupt. I mean, Anu, you have a chance to leave this place and get back to your dimension…
              — And what about my parents, Anu asked preoccupied.
              — Mmm, that’s another thing I had not yet thought about…

              There, Akita interrupted.

              — I know where those beasts gather, me and Kay could do a raid to their place, we can have a chance to free your parents when the spiders go for hunting.
              — I could help too, Araili said menacingly, baring its sharp teeth.

              — Oh fine then, Yuki said… A rabbit won’t probably be of much use to you then…
              — And of course, you have forgotten how to shapeshift, almost said Armelle, but she only rolled her eyes twice while bitting her beck. (quite a feat to witness, the narrator thinks)
              — I’ll follow the Snoot’s indication and lead the way to the pinhole, Yuki continued. Rafaela will come with us, to take Anu on her back, so that she doesn’t get hurt in the rocky cliffs.
              — Beh, said Rafaela, with a wisp of fresh herb tinted drool on her chin
              — No “but”, please. Armelle, I count on you to show our rescue team where the pinhole is located. No we have to move quickly. The pinhole is getting bigger by now, and though time lasts usually longer here than in Anu’s dimension, there are fluctuations we can’t forecast.

              And the two groups parted.

              :fleuron:

              Meanwhile, Claude was finding his progress inside the tree (but was it really a tree?) more and more difficult, as though the conduit was getting smaller and smaller. He paused for a moment.
              A deep cracking sound seemed to be heard in the distance. He had to continue…

              in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #860
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Leah was strolling on Marseille harbor, going to the fish market to buy some seafood for her guest’s arrival.
                She smiles when she sees that behind the swarm of noisy people, her big black-bearded fish-smelling friend Sarkandin is there as usual, regaling people of his antics and provoking exaggerations.

                “Hear, hear! It’s fresh, and only 5.7€ a pound… Yes Madam, can you believe it, 5.7 euros!”

                in reply to: Synchronicity #1798
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  Some interesting syncs:

                  Discussing the comment on Franiel and Vincentius with Francie, some things of interest:

                  F: hahaha i laughed at the egg bit :egg_wink:
                  E: bit silly I reckon :)) but somehow it synch’ed with two movies we’ve been watching yesterday
                  F: yes, good to have a bit of silly in our otherwise serious story :|
                  E: In one, there is that :ghost: ghost girl who stalks her husband new love affair, and ends up speaking through a parrot
                  And the other, there is this shaman old woman who remote-views her people went on a quest, and ends up dying in stead of a girl, so that the young one lives…

                  F: oh that is like your plants in the courtyard dream too —just had a recollection of you saying one gave up its pot for the other one
                  E: Oh yes, true… Perhaps it’s just like a layering, like you do for strawberries, you use parts of the roots to do new plants…
                  “Layering is more complicated than taking cuttings, but has the advantage that the propagated portion can continue to receive water and nutrients from the parent plant while it is forming roots.”

                  E: “In air layering (or marcotting), the target region is wounded and then surrounded in a moisture-retaining wrapper such as sphagnum moss ;))

                  Peat moss is also a critical element for growing mushrooms” that’ll make Tracy happy :))
                  In New Zealand, care is taken during the harvesting of sphagnum moss=))

                  F: “it can also be used as a substrate for tarantulas as it is easy to burrow into:spider:

                  E: “Such Sphagnum bogs can also preserve human hair and clothing, one of the most noteworthy examples being Egtved Girl , Denmark”. Egg and B.C. sync :))

                  F: cool name, Egtved. Oh thats interesting about the Egtved girl: due to be public this month
                  E: oh, well spotted!
                  F: shall we all pop over and check it out
                  E: Ahahaha sure :world:

                  in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #858
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Sam looked puzzled at the flurry of new comments that had appeared like a cluster of ripe “groiselles”.
                    Having been plugged on the Reality Play Channel, he had been enjoying the activity like a buzzing hive of frantic bees in the background, but decided to get back to his forging of a Jedi light saber.
                    The recent didjeridoo adventures had given him some particular insights on how sounds could be manipulated to model matter, and he had decided to adapt a tutorial he had found on the network on how to craft a light saber from carton wraps and glowing sticks. Except that he would do it almost from scratch, starting with a jar of vegemoth…

                    As for Al, as he couldn’t resist a peek, he started to wonder what this red currant frenzy was all about. He knew well enough “groseilles”, as his aunt would make delicious red currant jelly in the bayou. But “groiselles”, he checked quickly seemed to be an ancient variation of the word… How odd… Becky’s clue-sowing (a bit Cluseau-ing, indeed :detective: ) talent was really shining in her typos…

                    in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #854

                    Of course I will introduce you, said Phoebe calmly, Franiel, meet Vincentius.

                    That’s funny you say that, said Franiel recovering his marbles after a bit of an aghast moment. This name sounds oddly familiar… Is… he a talking parrot?
                    Oh, yes of course, said Phoebe Chesterhope, though that’s not the least of its particularities she added with an eerie smile on her thin wrinkled mouth.
                    The others, you said she snapped back, her gaze suddenly sharp as a sword. I suppose you’ll meet them, unless you’ve got already.
                    I’m not sure to know what you’re talking about, Milady said Franiel slightly perplexed.
                    Oh well, I can see from the clothes you are wearing that you’re coming from a place of peace and sainthood. This place is a haven too, in many ways. This place has been kept as such since a few centuries, and I intend it to stay that way. Though the Others are devising ploys always more clever to have a hand on this place. For that, I know how to keep a keen eye on what’s happening, she said with a troubling wink to her parrot.
                    The valley is surely a nice place, said Franiel not sure of what he should say.
                    To the contrary. It’s full of marauders if you ask me, but for good reason. Uleÿa’s valley is a place not easily reached, and there are not many portals around here. No official ones at least… So in a sense, it’s an exchange of good will between me and them.

                    Franiel was not sure he wanted to delve more into all this intricate political web of alliances and plots, no more than he wanted to be involved in religious beliefs and fanaticisms…

                    I can see you are a little troubled, but you’ll find your place in all these events, assuredly, Phoebe said gently. But be certain that whenever you are wanting yourself out of them, you sure will find yourself right in the midst of them, without you even knowing it.
                    I only want to be a good man, and do the least evil in this World, I suppose finally answered Franiel after an awkward moment.
                    This, I am sure is true… You know, I’m a little bit of a witch, I mean, intuitive person, and I can pick up images from yourself. I’m not sure about some of them, but most of them are as clear as the waters of Uleÿa. Take your time to feel at home around here. Vincentius will answer you if you need anything, in any case better than Lydia or Derwent.
                    But… I mean no offense here, dear Lady,… Vincentius is but a parrot, isn’t it?

                    Phoebe sighed for a moment then took Franiel by the arm, so quickly and firmly he didn’t see it coming, and couldn’t move, hypnotised by the firm grip of the woman.

                    Listen carefully, my friend. I can see you can be trusted, as much as your mind is thirsty for the truth, so I will tell you. Vincentius is no mere creature. He’s the result of a little experiment I had once with a former guest of mine. Another divine being, as pure and innocent as you, going by the same very name of this creature. I captured a spark of his radiant aura, and mixed it with an egg I had kept for the occasion. And so it was born. A perfect spy, as well as a faithful friend.

                    Franiel recoiled in horror… What have you done?!

                    Oh, don’t be so dramatic, my young friend Phoebe said with a little giggle. No one has been harmed, and even if at times, there seem to be some side-effect when my former guest seems to see or speak through my parrot, it all has gone very well… And no, I don’t intend to do it to you… Don’t give me silly ideas, ahahah.

                    in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #851
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “Wow, it was starting to become a hell of a smoky place place in there!” Al was thinking. “Better bugger off before I get asphyxiated” as a tornado of numbers and probable numbers of plans started to whirl in a tornado coming in his direction.

                      Poof he was back home.

                      “At least, Becky was home…” he said to apparently no one. “So I suppose everything is alright now.”

                      You should have listened to me Al sweetie, Tina answered, while brushing her luscious hair in the bathroom. I’ve told you Becky was fine. Though I wonder where that strange reindeer-legs-addicted chaperon of hers disappeared…

                      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #849

                      Al had just inadvertently telepathically overheard Becky’s long monologue, and was rather amused at the situation that he decided to stay quiet and refrain from intervening.
                      It was a sort of interesting experience, to see how it would develop…

                      A voice was starting to make itself heard through Becky’s neuronal pathways though… A feminine voice first… Then a male…
                      He could even sense a third presence too…

                      Al was surprised, as he apparently didn’t really care about what kind of probability would express itself. It seemed it was all valid, and yet, there was something that wanted to make itself heard.

                      Becky was quiet now. She seemed to have finally seen that nothing would happen as intensely and quickly as in her swift imagination.

                      But Al was intrigued… Who were those presence, they felt lively, very humorous too. But they were concerned about Becky’s changes of mood. They were considering probabilities too, as though Becky’s choices were important to them.

                      We are the first-borns of Becky answered the feminine voice who had keep still.
                      Potential first sniggered the male voice.
                      Oh, shut up, Oliver the third one said you know well enough we are creating our realities, so better give her some time… No need to freak her out… After all, it’s like for Dory’s nine dogs, they only came gradually, and she just accepted them…

                      Dory? Al was wondering… He had heard that name recently… At the wedding party perhaps?

                      Dory’s a past overlapping focus of Becky and her step-mother too… answered Léan, the quiet one.

                      Al was befuddled. He had first thought these voices were only Becky’s playing games with herself.

                      Oh sure it was, answered Oliver, we’ve just be using that wave of thoughts to bring us through. It’s very multi-layered.
                      See, take the dogs which Illana talked about right now. You know some of these dogs Dory had (or has, or will have), they have “flecks” of people close to Dory, other essences’ energies. Some are very clearly noticeable, other are more mingled. These voices are multiplexes of voices, more or less subtle energies being expressed. Some are very deep. We were riding the surface of them.

                      So, Illana, Lean and Oliver? That’s it?… Nice to meet you… Al was still thinking aloud (like in big characters printed on a silent kaleidoscopic screen)
                      And that will be your focus names? Oh, yes… probable ones.
                      It’s funny you know, it’s like you are becoming more real now. I can feel some associations coming that help bring you into form. Like Oliver, I associate him with a black dog of Dory. A little grumpy one with funny black eyes.

                      The two female laughters mingled into one delightful chorus. Ahaha, we will give you a point for accurate connection!

                      “And Léan,” Al continued, “you feel like a young blond woman, friend of Dory ready to get married… Yet, I can see you have a black complexion in this probable focus, unlike your siblings… Sounds a bit confusing…”

                      Ahaha, another point!

                      “Let me see, Illana now… I got you connected with another friend of Dory… An paleontologist or geologist, living in the US, blond lively woman with painted nails, and… the image is just gone now…”

                      — Hehehe, that’s close enough, said Illana’s voice. I can see we’ll meet soon Al

                      And the moment after, the wisps of light were gone.

                      in reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories #844

                      Hey, I’ve found a brownies carton wrap in the trash Yann!
                      Mmm, and you really think it’ll be enough? a doubtful Yann answered to Yurick
                      Oh, don’t worry, there’s also a couscous one, and an Ureu biscuit one, answered Yurick with a wide grin
                      Well, if you say so then, smiled Yann, contemplatively rolling his eyes à la Finn.

                      A few hours later, their patch-ckage solidly wrapped up, they had it sent to their friends.
                      When, in the post-office, the big black lady with piercing eyes (drôlely resembling Rita, a friend of Dory Yann had seen in a dream who went wedding dress shopping recently) asked them if there was anything of value in the package, they almost burst out laughing.
                      Yann had the mind to answer, only some stuff… as if of no consequence.

                      in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #2024
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        Within window, lady angels wonder
                        Pink show kept egg focused
                        Funny smile Tracy moose
                        Food focus
                        Dreams given starting hope
                        Word

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