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Becky, Tina, Al and Sam, in New Venice

So the Story goes...

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  • in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #190

    YaWn!!

    in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #225

    Becky and Sam were chatting on the phone. I want a day off from shifting, Becky sighed.
    I was saying that yesterday, Sam said, bugger off the shift.

    Becky was reading the rough notes for the new dimensional reality play they were working on with some friends from the create-your-own-drama group

    “You eat with me? Come on, sit down and tell me how you got there?” who is saying this, Georges or Dory? Becky asked Sam. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was finding the plot increasingly hard to follow.

    Dory, Sam replied, and then added, In my perception.

    Becky sighed, and then giggled, making a mental note to review the criteria for Day Off Shifting Day… It could be an awful lot of fun, too, this shifting, maybe Focus on Fun Day instead…

    … She needs to be like a host, Sam was saying. Becky hadn’t been listening properly and wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

    Ok, so pretend I am Dory right now and I say: How did you get here Georges?

    Hahahahh I won’t spoil you! Sam laughed, and Dory harumphed a bit to herself, wondering how to deal with the unexpected appearance of Georges. Not that she wasn’t delighted at the surprise visit, and quite charmed by him.

    ‘Enchanté’ he’d said, and she giggled again.

    To Sam she said Oh I thought that would be an easy help. Then she had an idea.

    I will write Georges smiled a big toothy grin, and said ‘I won’t spoil you’

    in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #232

    A few days after Sam and Becky’s conversation on the phone, they were having a rehearsal.

    Just at the moment when they felt stuck again, despite Sam’s moves, Al and Tina, a couple of friends came crashing into the small theater room, and were greeted by an icy cold silence. “Icy” is an exaggeration of course, said Tina, “it just meant I had to put a jacket on again today”.

    Sorry for being late! said Al a bit uneasy.
    — Oh you and your uneasiness! said Tina. And I’m sure we’re arriving at the perfect time.
    — Oh, well, I’m not sure of anything today, said Becky. I’m sick of being force-fed coleslaw, and rigging down holes for myself.

    A silence was on the scene.

    :fleuron:

    At the same time, somewhere on the deck of his ship, Bådul was remembered of the landscapes of his land. He had not really appreciated them before, but now, he was finding them dear to him. They were for the most part a mixture of sandy dunes, from which at times peaks of icy rocky mountains would stick out. Lately he had felt like one of these peaks sticking out of the sands. The sands were shifting.

    :fleuron:

    Somewhere in Malvina’s cave.

    Malvina had been polishing the last dry eggs that she had found and that would not hatch. One of them had some interesting perfect round shape, and a very transparent shell, and it gave her an idea.

    She asked Leörmn to come.

    :fleuron:

    Quintin’s bedroom.

    [1:01] The clock was saying. Quintin had just awoken from a dream about an elderly woman who was showing him some drawings. These were not actually drawings, but in fact, they were called by the lady “glassart”. It was made, she said, of coloured sands, and would be vitrified by some flame. Quintin in that dream had thought the designs rather crude, but had found the idea interesting, and with great potential.

    :fleuron:

    Leörmn came almost instantly, appearing in a puff of teal smoke.

    Oh, I see… he said, reading Malvina’s mind. And I think I have the perfect sands to go with it.

    :fleuron:

    — Why hasn’t that pirate, Badass…
    Badul, corected Al
    — Whatever, Becky pursued imperturbably, that pirate Baddock used traveling portals to go and look for the eggs? Why the seas? Sounds a bit complicated and with lots of dangers too.
    — Good question, answered Al. Well, don’t want to answer for everyone, but in my perception…
    — Oh, get lost with your “in my perception” thing, that’s becoming tiring… sighed Tina
    — OK. So, for me, they have forgotten much about magic in his land.
    — Makes sense… added Sam dreamily… In fact, I’m not sure after all that Badul is only after gold. I think he has found some old desert dragon egg in a cave lost in his country and hopes to revive it, with the help of the people who still know about magic.
    — Which would explain the quest… said Al
    — Yeah, and he would have hidden that to the rest of the crew, probably… said Tina

    :fleuron:

    Leörmn had now finished assembling the magical artifact.

    — That’s one of our most beautiful magical artifact I’d say, Malvina gleamed
    — Oh yes it is. And how would you call it?
    — Let’s see…

    :fleuron:

    sabulmantium !

    Everyone cracked up at the word that Al had just blurted out. They had decided to have some distraction to alleviate the stress on the play, and they had a fun improvisation game, saying stupid things that went through their minds.

    — Hey! Don’t laugh like that, it’s something very serious actually, said Al tongue-in-cheek. Let me see…
    — Hahahaha, the others continued
    — Well, it’s a divination device, or a sort of compass in a way. I see it as a globe made of glass, with coloured sands in it, and when you focus on it, the sands take all sorts of three dimensional shapes, and become alive…
    — Wow! Tina couldn’t help but say.

    :fleuron:

    Leörmn, as Malvina had been telling him (or vice versa), had put the sabulmantium in one of the tunnels, to a place where he knew Arona would find it, and probably put it to good use for her future adventures.

    in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #233

    Dory was secretly delighted Georges had drugged the coleslaw, despite appearing to be angry. She loved the way different things altered her perception, and even though she knew how to alter her perception without using a drug now, she also knew she was creating the drug and its effects, and that it didn’t much matter whether she did or she didn’t.

    (Becky wondered if that principle applied to pain relieving drugs too, and decided that indeed it must. She wondered though if she really really believed it enough to trust herself to create pain relief WITHOUT actually swallowing a little ball of physical matter)

    Dory was reluctant to admit it at first, but she’d also known all along that she’d created Georges appearing out of nowhere like that, and that she had in fact invited him. Sometimes it seemed easier to forget that and just grumble, which of course was acceptable too. Grumbling was fun sometimes, but it got awfully boring if she carried it on for too long.

    The coleslaw was delicious.

    Have some more, offered Geroges

    (Becky made a note to change Georges name to Geroges. It was no accident that she kept typing it like that, and she was beginning to think correcting it all the time was futile, and that she was somehow missing the clue)

    Dory munched the crunchy coleslaw.

    (Without a moments appreciation for her lovely strong full set of teeth, Becky noticed)

    Dory unexpectedly felt a moment of appreciation for her teeth. Wow, she thought, I never even think about that, but teeth are cool. She shuddered when she remembered an awful dentist dream she’d recently had.

    Dory looked up at Geroges and smiled.

    Got any chocolate?

    in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #234
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Becky noticed the round jars of coloured sand on the shelf as she went to look for some chocolate. She hadn’t known why at the time, but she’d followed the impulse to bring a little sand home with her from special places, usually scooped up quickly and a bit furtively in the clear plastic wrapper of a cigarette packet. They were all lined up in little round jars from a disused yogurt making machine in front of her unused cookbooks on the kitchen shelf.

      in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #248

      New York, October, 4 th 2033

      Albert had opened the newspaper, scanning distractedly through the various pages of text that would read aloud automatically when he was running his fingers through it. He was about to close it, when he noticed that article in the Life Focus section.

      (click for article)

      :fleuron:

      Dublin, October 5 th 2033

      Sean Doran Wrick had received tons of phone calls, emails and voice mails of condolences since the past few weeks, but he had not found the strength to answer any of them. Especially those coming from his father.

      That morning, he had received some letters that he would have left on top of the others, had he not recognized the round and cheerful calligraphy of Becky on one of them.

      He had known Becky when they had traveled together in Syria, and had enjoyed so much the lively young woman that they had kept in touch during all those years.

      He was pleased to read from her, and wanted to enjoy it fully.

      So he took his time to put to bed Guinevere and Peregrine before. Guinevere was the eldest, very mature for her barely 11 year old. She took great care of her younger brother, who was more dreamy and foolish. Peregrine would turn 10 next March… but he was hardly as responsible as his sister when she was his age…

      Dear Sean, Becky was writing

      I would have liked to finally take the time to write to you in better conditions, but I could not delay any longer. I saw the obituary in the newspaper, and wanted you to know that I share your grief and loss, and extend much love and support to you and to your dear little ones.

      I know you’re not the kind of person to be satisfied with banalities, so I will not dwell on this tragedy, and will remember the best moments we shared together.

      I still continue my studies and practices on dramatherapy, and till now it has proved very beneficial, in many ways. I have learned so many things. It’s quite rewarding. We are a close-knit group of fools (or drôles as Al loves to say, as some of his ancestors come from the bayous!), and that is very much enjoyable when things that tragic come to one’s reality.

      In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.

      Love,

      Becky.

      :fleuron:

      Orkney Islands, October 4 th, 2057

      This year again, Sean Doran had not answered his father’s calls.

      This September 23 th was the twenty fourth anniversary of the disengagement of Lord Wrick’s daughter-in-law, and this was always a very somber period for the family.

      Hopefully, the twins were here to enliven the old mansion, for as long as their parents, Lord Wrick’s grand-children, would be traveling. And of course, there had been the unexpected return of the books, which had been comforting too.

      Nonetheless, Hilarion Wrick was sad, and Bill the painter was uneasy as to how he could not quite put right the portrait of the old dragon…

      in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #252
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Becky lay back and closed her eyes, and started to drift. Suddenly she felt a snap on the left side of her neck which seemed to alter her perception. After some moments, she felt as though she was an entire country, or even a whole continent, a huge expanded feeling, weightless and timeless.

        BRRRINNNGGGG! Becky fumbled for the alarm clock. Surely not time to get up already!

        ‘Coastal parking on any of the gardens of the self’. What? ‘Coastal parking on any of the gardens of the self’. Becky wrote it down on a piece of paper, and put it in her Clue Box, wondering what on earth it meant. She was getting used to the strange cryptic clues and riddles appearing, and wondered if they would ever make any kind of sense.

        She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, and the headlines in the Reality Times newspaper on the table caught her eye:

        ‘Mysterious Carved Rock Faces Appear in Yorkshire Villages.’

        in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #257

        When Cuthbert came back to bed after having had his cup of cocoa, India Louise was awake too.

        — I saw him too, she said to her brother.
        — I don’t want to see him again, these books are scarey.
        — It’s intriguing, I want to know more, India Louise said, egging on him.
        — When I close my eyes, I got all these roots and webs crawling, it’s mad… I can’t…
        — He has found a friend to help him cross the Dark Forest to the traveling portal.
        — A friend?
        — Yes, a friend. She’s special.
        — Tell me more…
        — She’s a white unicorn, only him can see her.
        — Wow…
        — She’s named Mirÿnda. She’s glowing white, and he hears her speak in his mind, she shows him the way through the forest…

        :fleuron:

        — Mirÿnda?! A fool in saffron robe gallivanting in the forest with a unicorn now? That’s all you could find?

        Tina was taken aback…

        — Well, I could have used a grizzly bear too, now I think of it… Al answered flippantly.
        — Tsk tsk, replied Tina a bit annoyed. And why not a humpback whale, or an arctic lemming, or even… why, a leopard gecko for that matter?… And who’s that Mÿrinda anyway?

        :fleuron:

        — I don’t know any Amanda, Fiona said to Quintin that night. Don’t really know many of Michaela & Elias’ students. She’s Yann friend, right?

        Quintin had answered distractedly, as he was engrossed by his last painting…

        Later that night, he couldn’t find sleep, as the dragon he was painting was still expanding his web of roots and branches in his mind’s eye. He opened his computer to see that Malika was online.

        She told him something that night, something Quintin found abysmally profound and perplexing about his dragon…

        Dragons can shape shift, into anything they want to. There are several doorways/portals that they use for travel into this dimension. Malika said
        — Yes, said Quintin, this drawing has something to do with these portals initially, but I struggle a bit to represent them…
        Yes, so you can just depict it to be flowing, liquid-like energy in the center, when the portal is active.
        There are some that are being shone to me on the bottom of the ocean floor.
        What is being shown to me, is a dragon with a tail much like a mermaid, and hands with webs, big yellow eyes…

        Wow he had thought, she can really see.

        :fleuron:

        Jadra, guided by Mirÿnda, had been moving quite easily through the Dark Forest. Of course, he wouldn’t have dared touch the holy creature, and so he was walking hesitantly behind, taking care of where his bare feet were touching the ground.

        The Dark Forest was bordering the Marshes of Doom, and at times the limits between the two were almost indiscernible. It was said that every foul, err… fool… damn,…

        — Will you stop being so buffoonish! raved Tina again.
        — Perhaps I should let someone else continue then? said Albert.
        — Well, that’s entertaining, replied Becky mechanically.
        — OK. I’ll jump in, said Samuel, with a wide grin.

        It was said that every full moon, the Mighty Shrimp would come from the shores of the Southern Seas and haunt the Marshes in search for souls to be turned into krill, so that he could be the WALRUS (Wrathful Almighty Lord Ruler of Undersea Souls).

        Well, at least, that’s what Jadra had heard in his youth, when you tend to believe everything… So he was weary of the hiki-hiki sounds in the night that might have been the dreaded call of the Mighty Shrimp.

        :fleuron:

        Quintin was having a strange dream. He was a huge whale, along with another one he knew was Yann, swimming powerfully in the vast ocean, passing by strange creatures that could have been mermaids or improbable fishes, when his gaze was attracted by a stream of glittering particles of light.

        The lights were enticing, he would have said even “mouth-watering”, had he not had the baleens full of water already…

        :fleuron:

        Salome was moving through layers of consciousness, something humans focused in physical dimensions would have found difficult to grasp, as it was nothing that could be easily conceptualized. She was, as best as she could put, like a huge cloud of lightness coalescing into a form, when she decided to project her aspect.

        Taking form into a dimension required no effort in actuality, the consensus reality created by all the essences focused into the reality making quite a strong pull. She only needed to move her attention to what she wanted to manifest. Altering her reality slowly around her, to move closer to the desired effect.

        She was not only traveling through time and space, but also through multitudinous layers of dimensions unnoticed to many humans —in fact, she was not really moving, but that was a convenient way of telling things for humans…

        She said “humans”, because she was fond of this particular dimension, where she’d had lots of experiences.

        When moving through the dimensions, it had her projected focus of attention constantly and naturally adapt its form to the psychological environment.

        Here, she had just moved through a honey-drops dimension, where focuses were drops of golden honey-like substance, and as she moved through it, her own aspect had changed to that of a sand-glass shaped drop of honey.

        This was great fun for her to see the ease with which she could focus into this infinite variety of adventures, but for now, her pull was to some more complex physical dimensions.

        She started to move again, de-focusing, past the lazy honey drops.

        The honey drops were now shape-shifting to a whole immense field of snake-like strings of light, and they all started to converge to a direction. She knew the feeling. She followed the strong pull.

        in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #272

        Sanso was finding it hard to stop laughing at Arona’s funny wooping hoots of laughter. He snorted and gasped until his side ached.

        Mandrake? Mandrake! Arona came to her senses. Where has he gone? Mandrake!

        He’s taken that glass sand thing, too! All that laughing had jumbled up Sanso’s memories, and he couldn’t recall the name of that Glass sand thing

        (that glass sand thing, Becky made a note to look it up and correct the script later)

        That creature’s made off with it!

        Oh, bugger off, Sanso, Mandrake wouldn’t do that! Arona spoke sharply, forgetting her manners in her panic. What would a Mandrake want with a glass sand thing? Arona almost stamped in frustration at not remembering the name of that thing, and in front of Sanso, too.

        Sanso didn’t hear her anyway, he was striding purposefully across the cavern towards the waterfall.

        Well wait for me! Arona ran to catch up with him. How do you know he went this way?

        I don’t, Sanso was honest, But when I gets an urge, I gets an urge, and I follows it.

        Arona couldn’t think of a better idea, so she followed him. Slow down, will you! Mandrake! MANDRAKE! Where are you, Mandrake!

        in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #290
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you Becky Pooh, but your script is getting awfully confusing… Al was saying swaying his head in dismay.
          — What?! Becky nearly spluttered her cappuccino on Tina who was munching marshmallows at the cafeteria of the rehearsal room.
          — Yes, you see… Al was once again lost in his thoughts… This Illi is driving me crazy, once she’s here, then she’s elsewhere. At one moment you said she was dead, and I went to great extents to try to clarify…
          — Muddle, interrupted Becky Pooh, Muddle…
          — … the whole thing, Al continued imperturbably, and made clear, or so I thought, that the Illi cat was alive, and the Illi human was indeed dead, but now Tina makes the Illi in the dream of little Chiara the cat again… Could you both explain what happens. I’m completely lost.
          AHAHAH, LOST! cried Becky so insanely, so that all of the others looked at her with eyes wide as saucers.
          — Well, there could be lots of explanations of course, interjected Sam, whose energy was always soothing to incorporate in the midst of heated discussions on the reality play they were all writing.
          — Yes, of course there are! It all makes perfect sense, said Becky.
          — Oh sure, said Tina, except that you don’t really make Illi do anything…
          — Do I?
          — Well, they were near the cave, but you won’t face the scaly stinky dragons anyway, said Al a bit disappointed.
          — Why can’t you imagine them all fluffy and pink if it’s easier for you? said Sam. Like Chinese dragons, why not? A bit dog-headed, wouldn’t that be easier for you?
          — Mmmm. Becky was pondering.

          — And what were your suggestions to explain that insane dream? asked Al to Sam.
          — Mmm, let me see… Perhaps it’s from another timeline. No one has said when that dream has occurred, so it may be before, or after the events happening right now.
          — And for the cat seen by Chiara, said Tina gently, that could just be her seeing the essence of Illi, and seeing other of her personalities…
          — Well, seems to make sense… acknowledged Al and Sam, all turning to Becky to see if she agreed.

          in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #291
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

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

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

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

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

            in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #292
            TracyTracy
            Participant

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

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

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

              in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #293
              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                Tina laughed good naturedly.

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #295

                Becky had decided to take her friends out for the day. Poor Al needed a break from scratching his head in confusion, and dear Tina needed a break from rubbing her aching temples. She knew Sam would enjoy a day out too.

                Becky was enjoying preparing the itinerary.

                Champagne breakfast at the Droles de Dames cafe in Le Touquet~Pu first, a table reserved under the gaily striped awning overlooking the sea. Fresh croissants and hot coffee, Bavarian cream donuts, tangy fresh squeezed Tesorillo orange and Tiki kiwi juice, scrambled dragon eggs on French toast, and Moroccan mint tea.

                The exhibit of Sand Sculpture was next, a pleasant stroll on the beach after breakfast would be just the ticket, Becky thought.

                Next, a little side trip to place a few hibiscus blooms on the grave of Oscar Wilde. He was buried at the Father Chase Memorial Garden on a mossy knoll overlooking the sand sculptures, a short stroll from the beach.

                A golden coach and six dappled grey horses would meet them at Father Chase gardens and take them to the lawns of Sandlebright Hall, for the hot air balloon ride. The big red balloon would land on Isla de los Perdidos, a magical island in the Rift Straits, for a picnic lunch under the coconut trees and a relaxing swim in the deliciously warm lagoon. Balti had agreed to provide head massages for the little party of day trippers, and had suggested a big iced jug of crop juice as the perfect accompaniament.

                A paddle steamer would arrive to take them back to the mainland after the sojourn on the magical isle. There were comfortable whicker steamer chairs on the deck with cosy tartan blankets for those wishing to snooze a little, or raucous poker games inside the red plush interior for those who chose to exercise their creating skills on the green baize tables.

                The Cirque de Paradoxia matinee was on the agenda for the afternoons entertainment, with the new sonic stone juggling as one of the highlights.

                A theatre supper in Covent Garden, Becky had decided, and the Orient Express was the perfect way to get there. Hercule Poirot had kindly agreed to serve drinks and nibbles on the journey. Becky perused the entertainment section of The Reality Times, wondering which play to take her freinds to. Aha! Salome, of course!

                Becky considerately booked rooms at the Hogwarts Hotel on Queen Street for her friends to freshen up and change, ready for the evenings festivities. A hot pink stretch limosine would call for them and escort them to the Blue Man Group show, and then on to the party at the Dragondrome Stadium.

                Becky booked rooms at the Taj Mc Fal Hotel for her friends to retire to after the party, whenever they so wished…the pink limo would be available all night.

                There, said Becky in satisfaction, they will love it.

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #296

                Al had always hated amusement parks.
                Funny, he noticed as he was always the one telling “be playful”…

                Anyway, Becky had insisted to bring them all in that new big traveling amusement park that had settled in Central Park, NY this year.
                Hopefully, Heavens know how, resourceful Becky Pooh had obtained VIP tickets for the opening, and it would be a very private visit, without too many people.

                Now, that could perhaps be interesting… After all, the whole entertainment park had been sponsored by Becky’s friends, the Wrick family, and Al and the others were dying of curiosity to meet the top of the crop, so to speak…

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #297

                ……In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.

                Love,

                Becky.

                PS, Becky added as an afterthought in her letter to dear old Wrick, Al’s so looking forward to meeting you in the ‘Amusement Park’ in Central Park, I hope you will disillusion him gently as to the nature of projecting and out-of body excursions……I will leave it to you, Wrick old boy, to decide how best to handle it. Ah, you wise old buffoon, I can hear you saying it now: Al’s choices are perfect, as are yours. Becky smiled fondly and added to the postscript: Wrick, you’re a brick, old stick.

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #298

                The City, year 2257

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

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

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

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

                ~~~

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

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

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

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

                ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #299

                she giggled with amusement… :bounce:

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #303

                Becky woke up in a sweat. Her bedclothes were tangled and what remained of her pillow was on the floor. The room was full of downy feathers.

                Sheesh, said Becky, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes and reaching for her cigarettes.

                What a dream! Wow, I wonder what that witch did to deserve that! Becky couldn’t quite believe she’d had such a violently aggressive dream. All she could really remember was attacking a witch, and slapping her repeatedly, and punching her, screaming all the while DON’T…EVER….DO THAT AGAIN Wangwangawanga…… DON’T DO IT wangawanga… then the witch had turned into a goose, but still Becky kept punching her, causing the poor gooses feathers to fly everywhere, and all the while Becky kept shouting WANGAWANGAWANGA……

                I can’t believe I did that, even in a dream! Becky hated violence so much that she walked out of the room if a violent scene was showing on the television, and she loved witches and geese.

                That poor goose! Becky decided to go back into the dream, to smooth what was left of the gooses ruffled feathers, and apologize.

                She stubbed out her cigarette, and settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Now the goose was looking at her reproachfully, in between straightening her plumage, and huffing and tutting a bit.

                I’m awfully sorry about that! I don’t know why I did it. Becky hoped it was a forgiving kind of goose, and not a vengeful one.

                It matters not, I suppose, grumbled the goose, I must have created being slapped around by a sweaty madwoman, though gawd knows why.

                Were you a witch in another focus? Becky asked. Because I was angry with a witch initially, not a big white goose and I don’t know how I came to be pummeling you. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I was attacking the witch either. The witch did look unpleasant though, but you look nice enough….

                Well I don’t look very blimmen nice with my feathers in this state, dearie! And don’t remind me of that dratted witch focus, gawd, I was horrid. Not surprised you lashed out at that one!

                Becky started to relax. Things were looking promising. The goose was turning out to be rather sweet.

                But as you can see, continued the goose, I am not a witch, I am a big white goose now, a rather sweet one too, even if I do say so myself, so let’s hear no more about it.

                Becky smiled broadly at the goose. I appreciate that very much! Oh by the way…what’s your name?

                Angela, answered the goose, Angela Wing.

                REALLY? Becky said, rather rudely, and then caught herself and said: Angela! What a lovely name! Angela Wing, would you like to be in our play?

                in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #309
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  Wow that is so kind of Becky to organise an outing for us all. What a sweetie pooh she is! To be honest, I have been a bit worried about her, she has been acting so weird lately, almost scarey violent at times and yesterday she was going on about needing to get ahead, and not being heard, or that she was head, or something…. actually I could not really follow. Al, maybe you could try sounding a bit more grateful for all her hard work organising this fun outing, said Tina, sweetly.

                  in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #311
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Becky sat there horrified. Her computer had crashed before she could save her lengthy entry to the plays script.

                    in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #313
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Becky wasn’t taking any chances.

                      in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #315
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Becky hit send again, and chuckled to herself. This will boost the comments tally at any rate.

                        in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #319
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          “…..waves of nostalgia and familiarity and deja vu” typed Becky for the third time. PPfft, deja vu indeed.

                          in Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories #320
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

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

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

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

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