Tracy

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  • in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7966

    Ricardo!” Amy said with a raised eyebrow and a note of surprise in her voice. “All I’ve ever seen you do so far is lurk in bushes sending secret messages. But I admire your bold assertiveness, I can see you are on a sudden quest to discover your true potential.”   Amy smiled encouragingingly and patted his shoulder.  “The sooner we get the gazebo back the better, The Padre is recovering and anxious to host The Character Building Party.”

    His chest swelling with pride, Ricardo replied that he was very grateful for her support and attention, and would do his best to restore both the gazebo and his independence, but that he was in a quandary about the conflict of interests between his role in the story, and his value fulfilment as a developing character.

    “Yeah that’s a tough one,” Amy said, “But it’s a good question to ask at the party in the gazebo. Hurry and get the gazebo back!”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7963

    “Well, I think that proves my point,” remarked Carob with a smirk.

    “What do you mean”, Thiram said crossly, which sounded more like a resigned sigh than a question.

    “Remember what I said? You can’t order a synchronicity, or expect one. They always just happen when you don’t expect it.”

    “She’s right,” Any piped up.  “We can’t just sit here waiting for a coincidence. We have to just carry on regardless until one appears.”

    “Aunt Amy?” Kit asked, “How do we carry on regardless if we don’t know what our story is yet?”

    “What I want to know is this,” Chico said with a twirl of his worry beads, “Who’s coming with me to fetch the gazebo back?” Chico squared his shoulders proudly, glad that his new colourful beads had replaced the urge to spit. He felt in control, a new man. A man to be respected. A leader.

    With an elaborate triple reverse double flip of the worry beads, Chico turned and strode purposefully into the sunset, in the direction of the gazebo.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7961

    Amy rushed over to Kit when she saw what had happened and said, “Kit, give me your hat!”

    Tentatively Kit put his hand on his head and sure enough he felt a hat upon it. Carefully he removed it and wonderingly gazed at the cowboy hat.  He loved it! Just looking at the hat was already giving him ideas for his character,  newly baked memories were starting to slide in like a tray of chocolate chip cookies on a baking sheet, pulled out of the oven at the perfect golden melting moment.

    But Amy wants it! I can’t say no to her, but I want to keep it. It’s my first hat! Kit was close to tears.

    “Oh poppet,” Amy said kindly when she noticed his face.  Giving him a quick hug she explained.   “I only want to borrow it, just to keep the Padre happy. He keeps asking where his hat is.  I’ll bring it back as soon as we’ve settled him back at home.”

    The releif was immense, and he graciously surrendered the hat to Aunt Amy. “Did you call me Poppet?” he asked. “Because Thiram just called me Trevor.”

    “To me, you’ll always be Kit,” Amy said as she rushed back to her father. “See you later, Poppet!” she called over her shoulder.

    “What does that mean?” asked Kit, but Amy had gone.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7959

    “Buns and tarts!” called a street vendor from the street outside the Gazebar.  “Freshly baked Memory Pies! Nostalgia Rolls! Selling like Hot Cakes! Come and get ’em before they run out!”

    Chico realised he’d hardly eaten a thing since becoming a new character.  Maybe this is how character building works.

    “I’ll take one of each,” Chico said to the smiling round faced vendor. I need to stock up on memories.

    “Are they all for you, sir?” the vendor asked.  Chico couldn’t help thinking he looked like a frog.  Nodding, Chico said, “Yeah, I’m hungry for a past.”

    “We normally suggest just one at a time,” the frog said (for he had indeed turned into a frog), “But you look like a man with a capacity for multiple memories.  Are you with friends?”

    “Er, yeah, yes I’m with friends,” Chico replied.  Are the other new characters my friends?  “Yes, of course, I have lots of friends.”  He didn’t want the frog vendor to think he was friendless.

    “Then we suggest you share each cake with the friends you want to share the memory with.”

    “Oh right. But how do I know what the memory is before I eat  the cake?”

    “Let me ask you this,” said the frog with a big smile, “Do real people choose who to share their memories with? Or know in advance what the memories will be?”

    “How the hell would I know!” Chico said, roughly grabbing the paper bag of buns. “I’m new here!”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7956

    “Solar kettle, my ass,” Chico muttered, failing to resist the urge to spit. After wiping his chin on his tattood forearm, he spoke up loudly, “That was no solar kettle in the gazebo. That was the Sabulmantium!”

    An audible gasp echoed around the gathering, with some slight reeling and clutching here and there, dropping jaws, and in the case of young Kit, profoundly confused trembling.

    Kit desperately wanted to ask someone what a Sabulmantium was, but chose to remain silent.

    Amy was frowning, trying to remember. Sure, she knew about it, but what the hell did it DO?

    A sly grin spread across Thiram’s face when he noticed Amy’s perplexed expression. It was a perfect example of a golden opportunity to replace a memory with a new one.

    Reading Thiram’s mind, Carob said, “Never mind that now, there’s a typhoon coming and the gazebo has vanished over the top of those trees. I can’t for the life of me imagine how you can be thinking about tinkering with memories at a time like this! And where is the Sabulmantium now?”

    “Please don’t distress yourself further, dear lady, ” Sir Humphrey gallantly came to Carob’s aid, much to her annoyance. “Fret not your pretty frizzy oh so tall head.”

    Carob elbowed him in the eye goodnaturedly, causing him to stumble and fall.  Carob was even more annoyed when the fall rendered Sir Humphrey unconscious, and she found herself trying to explain that she’d meant to elbow him in the ribs with a sporting chuckle and had not intentionally assaulted him.

    Kit had been just about to ask Aunt Amy what a Sabulmantium was, but the moment was lost as Amy rushed to her fathers side.

    After a few moments of varying degrees of anguish with all eyes on the prone figure of the Padre, Sir Humphrey sat up, asking where his Viking hat was.

    And so it went on, at every mention of the Sabulmantium, an incident occured, occasioning a diversion on the memory lanes.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7954

    Another one!  A random distant memory wafted into Amy’s mind.  Uncle Jack always used to say GATZ e bo.  Amy could picture his smile when he said it, and how his wife always smiled back at him and chuckled. Amy wondered if she’d even known the story behind that or if it had always been a private joke between them.

    “What’s been going on with my gazebo?” Amy’s father rushed into the scene. So that’s what he looks like. Amy couldn’t take her eyes off him, until Carob elbowed her in the neck.

    “Sorry, I meant to elbow you in the ribs, but I’m so tall,” Carob said pointlessly, in an attempt to stop Amy staring at her father as if she’d never seen him before.

    Thiram started to explain the situation with the gazebo to Amy’s father, after first introducing him to Kit, the new arrival.  “Humphrey, meet Kit, our new LBGYEQCXOJMFKHHVZ story character. Kit, this is Amy’s father who we sometimes refer to as The Padre.”

    “Pleased to meet you, ” Kit said politely, quaking a little at the stern glare from the old man. What on earth is he wearing?  A tweed suit and a deerstalker, in this heat!  How do I know that’s what they’re called?  Kit wondered, quaking a little more at the strangeness of it all.

    “Never mind all that now!” Humphrey interrupted Thiram’s explanation.

    Still as rude as ever! Amy thought.

    “I’ve too much to think about, but I’ll tell you this: I’ve planned a character building meeting in the gazebo, and you are all invited. As a matter of fact,” Humphrey continued, “You are all obliged to attend.  If you choose not to ~ well, you know what happened last time!”

    “What happened last time?” asked Carob, leaning forward in anticipation of an elucidating response, but Humphrey merely glared at her.

    Amy sniggered, and Humphrey shot her a lopsided smile.  “YOU know what happened in Jack’s GATZ e bo, don’t you, my girl?”

    Where were those random memories when you wanted them? Amy had no idea what he was talking about.

    “Who else is invited, Humph? asked Chico, resisting the urge to spit.

    “My good man,” Humphrey said with a withering look. “Sir Humphrey’s the name to you.”

    Sir? what’s he on about now?  wondered Amy.  Does that make me a Lady?

    “Who else is invited, Padre?” Amy echoed.

    Humphrey pulled a scroll tied with a purple ribbon out of his waistcoat pocket and unfurled it.    Clearing his throat importantly, he read the list to all assembled.

    Juan and Dolores Valdez.
    Godric, the Swedish barman
    Malathion and Glyphosate, Thiram’s triplet brothers.  Mal and Glyph for short.
    Liz Tattler
    Miss Bossy Pants
    Goat Horned Draugaskald

    “Did I forget anyone?” Humphrey asked, peering over his spectacles as he looked at each of the characters.  “You lot,” he said, “Amy, Carob, Thiram, Chico, Kit and Ricardo: you will be expected to play hosts, so you might want to start thinking about refreshments. And not,” he said with a strong authoritarian air, “Not just coffee!  A good range of beverages. And snacks.”

    Thiram, leaning against a tree, started whistling the theme tune to Gone With The Wind. Tossing an irritated glance in his direction, Carob roughly gathered up her mass of frizzy curls and tethered it all in a tight pony tail.  I still don’t know what happened before, she fumed silently.  The latest developments where making her nervous. Would they find out her secret?

    “You guys,” called Chico, who had wandered over to the gazebo. “It’s full of ants.”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7951

    Disgruntled and bored with the fruitless wait for the other characters to reveal more of themselves, Amy started staying in her room all day reading books, glad that she’d had an urge to grab a bag full of used paperbacks from a chance encounter with a street vendor in Bogota.

    A strange book about peculiar children lingered in her mind, and mingled  somehow with the vestiges of the mental images of the writhing Uriah in the book Amy had read prior to this one.

    Aunt Amy?  a childs voice came unbidden to Amys ear.  Well, why not? Amy thought, Some peculiar children is what the story needs. Nephews and neices though, no actual children, god forbid. 

    “Aunt Amy!”  A gentle knocking sounded on the bedroom door.  “Are you in there, Aunt Amy?”

    “Is that at neice or nephew at my actual door? Already?” Amy cried in amazement.

    “Can I come in, please?” the little voice sounded close to tears.  Amy bounded off the bed to unloock leaving that right there the door to let the little instant ramen rellie in.

    The little human creature appeared to be ten years old or so, as near as Amy could tell, with a rather androgenous look: a grown out short haircut in a nondescript dark colour, thin gangling limbs robed in neutral shapelessness, and a pale pinched face.

    “I’ve never done this before, can you help me?” the child said.

    “Never been a story character before, eh?” Amy said kindly. “Do you know your name? Not to worry if you don’t!” she added quickly, seeing the child’s look of alarm. “No?  Well then you can choose what ever you like!”

    The child promptly burst into tears, and Amy wanted to kick herself for being such a tactless blundering fool.  God knows it wasn’t that easy to choose, even when you knew the choice was yours.

    Amy wanted to ask the child if it was a boy or a girl, but hesitated, and decided against it. I’ll have to give it a name though, I can’t keep calling it the child.

    “Would you mind very much if I called you Kit, for now?” asked Amy.

    “Thanks, Aunt Amy,” Kit said with a tear streaked smile. “Kit’s fine.”

    in reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg #7950

    “Well would you believe it!” Olga said in amazement.  “Obadiah already left! And without saying goodbye!”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7949

    One too many cups of coffee and I should know better by now, Amy realised after tossing and turning in her crumpled bed through the strange dark hours of the night, wondering if someone had spiked her wine with cocaine or if she was having a heart attack or a nervous breakdown.  They all say to just breathe, she thought, But that is the last thing you should focus on when you’re hyperventilating.  You should forget your breathing entirely when you can’t control it.  After several hours of imagining herself in the death throes of some dire terminal physical malfunction, she fell asleep, only to be woken up by a strong need to piss like a racehorse.  Don’t open your eyes more than you need to, don’t wake up too much, she told herself as she lurched blindly to the privy.

    Latte! Fucking Latte! what a stupid word for coffee with milk.  Amy hated the word latte, it was so pretentious and stupid. Revolting anyway, putting milk in coffee, made inexpressibly worse by calling the bloody thing JUST MILK in another language. Why not call it Milch or Leche or молоко or γάλα or 牛奶 or sữa or दूध….

    Amy flushed the toilet, wide awake and irritated, but never the less grateful for the realisation that her discomfort was nothing more than an ooverdoose of cafoone.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7934

    Feeling somewhat disgruntled at revealing so much of her raw new floundering character and yet learning so very little about the mysterious Thiram, Amy undertook a little side project and attempted to find out who THira I think I’ll leave that typo there  was by the conventional means of a simple search.

    There were a number of exciting possibilities:

    Thiram, directeur de Gelec Energy, gère avec sérénité la “ruée” sur ses groupes électrogènes…

    Thiram, developer and PSC member of many OsGeo projects: OpenLayers; GeoExt….

    Thiram,  Director of the Systems Engineering Division at the Canadian Nuclear….

    Thiram, Actor: Origami. Known for Origami (2017), The Snip (2024) and Catharsis (2011).

    Thiram, Managing Director, Kidou, tel. +33 & 73 %9 9$ 41, e-mail e.lmroine @ cosmoledo. comachamelean

    So many likely possibilities, but what was the connection to port?

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7933

    Where did that come from? Amy wondered. The random memories, if that’s what they were, were coming more frequently.  Suddenly, out of nowhere and with no discernable correlation to the present moment in the life of the newly hatched character, a sudden mirage in her minds eye appeared, enticing and utterly fascinating.

    I’m just a story character with no back story, where are these memories coming from?

    “You should see some of the memories I’m starting to see, and I’m even less developed as a character than you are,” Chico said, manfully resisting the urge to spit. He didn’t want to be a spitting character, not all the time, anyway.

    Amy was startled. I didn’t say that out loud. Did I say it out loud?

    “Confusing at times, isn’t it?” Chico said kindly.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7932

    Distracted by an ants nest of unusual dimensions and Carob’s attention being thus diverted allowed Amy a moment of reflection.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7931

    Carob wrinkled her nose in distaste and languidly remarked, “Amy, that goaty odour seems to be emanating from your clothing. Does it perchance require laundering?”

    Chico laughed loudly, spitting equally audibly. “Hi,” he said, “The name’s Chico,” emerging from behind the tulip tree.

    Carob winced at the spitting, and Amy writhed a little at being humiliated in front of the man. They both ignored him, and he regretted not staying hidden.

    “I’ve just pegged out two loads of washing, for your information, not that it will dry in this rain,” Amy said, quickly tying her hair back in annoyance. Does this move the story forward? she wondered. Why do I have a smelly character anyway? I’m sweaty, goaty and insecure, how did it happen?

    “Never mind that anyway, have you seen what’s on todays news?” Carob asked, feeling sorry for making Amy uncomfortable.

    “I have,” remarked Chico, with a hopeful expression, but the women ignored him.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7917

    Chico noticed the inching bush from his hidden vantage point behind the tulip tree. For a moment he wished he wasn’t quite so solitary, and regretted that there was nobody to say look at that bush inching along over there to.

     

    ~~~

     

    “Sssh!” whispered Carob, holding a hand up to silence Amy. “Did you hear that? Listen! There it is again!”

    “Sounds like someone spitting behind that tulip tree.  But look over there!” Amy cried, “I never saw such a thing, that bush is moving.”

    “And it’s heading towards the tulip tree spitter,” Carob replied grimly. “This could get serious.”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7915

    Amy supposed everyone was blaming her, for what she couldn’t say, but they had clearly been avoiding her. There was plenty of coffee here anyway, even if the rest of the world was suffering. Don’t even think it, she told herself sternly. We don’t want people flocking here in droves once they realise.

    So, do I want people or not? she asked herself. One minute I’m wondering where everyone is, and then next minute I’m wanting everyone to stay away.

    “You on the spectrum too, are you?” asked Carob, reading her mind.  “It’s ok,” she added, seeing the look of alarm cross Amy’s face, “Your secret’s safe with me. I mean about being on the spectrum. But be careful, they’re rounding people like us up and sending them to a correctional facility.  We’re quite lucky to be here, out of the way.”

    “Have you been avoiding me?” Amy asked, which was more immediately concerning than the concentration camps.  “Because I’ve been here all alone for ages, nothing to do but read my book,  draw in my sketch pad, and work on my needlepoint cushion covers. And where are the others? And don’t read my mind, it’s so rude.”

    “Needlepoint cushion covers? Are you serious?” Carob was avoiding the questions, but was genuinely curious about the cushion covers.

    Amy blushed.  “No, I made that up. In fact, I don’t know what made me say that. I haven’t started any sketching either, but I have thought about starting sketching. And I’ve been reading. It’s an old Liz Tattler; the old ones were the best. Real old school Lizzie Tattie, if you know what I mean. Risque romps with potting sheds and stuff.  None of that ghastly sci fi she started writing recently.”

    “Which one?” Carob asked, and laughed when Amy held it up.  “I read that years ago, T’Eggy Gets a Good Rogering, can I borrow it after you? God knows we could all do with a laugh.”

    “How do you know the others need a good laugh?” Amy asked, peering at Carob with an attentive squint in order to catch any clues. “You’ve seen then, then?”

    Carob smiled sadly and replied, “Only by remote viewing them.”

    Amy asked where they had been and what they were doing when they were viewed remotely. Has she been remote viewing me? What if they ask her if she’s been remote viewing me, and she tells them?  “Oh never mind,” Amy said quickly, “No need to answer that.”

    Carob snorted, and what a strangely welcome sound it was. “I didn’t really remote view them, I made  that up.  It never works if I try to spy on people. Fat lot of good it is really, it never works when I really really need to see  something. Or maybe it works, but I never believe it properly until later when I find out it was right.”

    “Yeah,” Amy said, “It’s fun though, I haven’t done it in ages.”

    “You should, it would give you something to do when everyone’s avoiding you.”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7913

    Amy wondered afterwards if she should have said “Why is it always my fault” and hoped nobody would think el gran apagón was her fault too.  Another one of the issues with typecasting too soon.

    The rumours and hoaxes were rife even before the electricity came back on.  The crisis of the lack of coffee beans was coming to a head: morning riots were breaking out in the places most affected by the shortage. As soon as the blackouts started, improvised statistics and numbers were cobbled together into snappy psychological colour combination images and plastered everywhere suggesting that the lack of electricity was saving an incomprehensible number of cups of coffee per day, but without causing any coffee related social disorder events.

    Amy had heard that el gran apagón was foretold to occur when the pope died, that it was extraterrestrials, that it was el naranjo and his sidekick effin muck, and all manner of things, but the concerns with the coffee shortage happening at the same time as the blackouts were manifold.

    The population was looking for scapegoats. Oh dear god, what did I say that for.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7911

    To say that Amy was shocked when she looked up the word thiram would be an understatement. Who would name a baby after a toxic fungicide?

    “Oh, guess what!” Thiram announced, entirely coincidentally. “My brothers are coming to join us, Malathion and Glyphosate.  We’re triplets,” he added.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7910

    “Well, I’ll give you a point for that, Thiram,” Amy said, wondering, not for the first time, about his unusual name. Was it a play on the word theorem? I must ask him about it.  “But if Florida doesn’t exist anymore, which I am willing to admit it does not, then what is it doing on that map?”

    “What was the population of Florida before it was submerged? Twenty four million or so?” asked Chico, appearing from behind a trumpet tree. “That’s 24 million less people drinking coffee, anyway, 144 million cups saved per day (assuming they drank 6 cups per day), which is a whopping 54.5 billion cups a year.”

    “Chico! How long have you been hiding behind that trumpet tree?” asked Amy, but Chico ignored her.  Nettled, Amy continued, “That would be true if all the people in Florida were submerged along with the land, but most of them were resettled in Alabama.  There was plenty of room in Alabama, because the population of Alabama was relocated.”

    “Yes but the people of Alabama were relocated to a holding camp in Rwanda, and they’re not allowed any coffee,” replied Chico crossly, making it up on the spot.

    “Yeah I heard about that,” said Carob, which made Chico wonder if he had actually made it up on the spot, or perhaps he’d heard it somewhere too.

    “I’m going back behind the trumpet tree,” announced Chico, flouncing off in high dudgeon.

    “Now look what you’ve done!” exclaimed Carob.

    “Why is it always my fault?” Amy was exasperated.

    “Maybe because it usually is,” Carob replied, “But not to worry, at least we know where to find Chico now.”

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7908

    “Look, don’t get upset, ok?” Amy felt she had to nip this in the bud.  “There’s something glaringly wrong with the map.  I mean, yes, it does make a nice picture. A very nice picture,” she added, and then stopped.  Does it really matter? she asked herself. Am I always causing trouble?

    Amy sighed. Would life be easier for everyone if she stopped pointing things out and just went along with things?  Was there any stopping it anyway? It’s like a runaway train.

    “You were saying?” Ricardo asked.

    “Pray, continue,” added Carob with a mischeivous gleam in her eye.  She knew where this was leading.

    “Who is he?” Amy whispered to Carob. “Well never mind that now, you can tell me later.”

    Amy cleared her throat and faced Ricardo (noting that he was dark complexioned and and of medium height and wiry build, dressed  in a crumpled off white linen suit and a battered Panama hat, and likely to be of Latino heritage)  noticing out of the corner of her eye a smirk on Thiram’s face who was leaning against a tree with his arms folded, looking as if he might start whistling Yankee Doodle any moment.

    “According to your map, my good man, nice map that it is, in fact it’s so nice one could make a flag out of it, the colours are great and….”   Amy realised she was waffling.  She cleared her throat and braced her shoulders, glaring at Carob over her shoulder who had started to titter.

    Speak your mind even if your voice shakes, and keep the waffling to a minimum.

    “My dear Ricardo,” Amy began again, pushing her long light brown hair out of her sweaty hazel eyes, and pushing the sleeves of her old grey sweatshirt up over her elbows and glancing down at her short thin but shapely denim clad legs. “My dear man, as you can see I’m a slightly underweight middle aged woman eminently capable of trudging up and down coffee growing mountains, with a particular flair for maps, and this map of yours begs a few questions.”

    “Coffee beans don’t grow in Florida,” Carob interjected, in an attempt to move the discourse along.

    “Nor in Morocco,” added Amy quickly, shooting a grateful glance at Carob.

    in reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers) #7902

    To Whom It May Concern

     

    I am the new character called Amy, and my physical characteristics, which once bestowed are largely irreversible, are in the hands of impetuous maniacs. In the unseemly headlong rush, dangers abound. 

    Let it be known that I the character called Amy, given the opportunity to choose, hereby select a height considerably less imposing than Carob.

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