📚 › Time Dragglers

Follow the intrepid drag queens who have gone through rigorous training to be sent on missions time-travelling through the Time Sewers in order to save humanity from queerlessness.

Would-be drag queens stars and friends join a contest on a private cable network that could change their lives, and throw them into unexpected growth as they explore past and future under the tutelage of reluctant chaperone Sadie Merrie.

  • Part 1 – The Queens’ Versailles Party
    Maurana Banana, Terry Bubble and Consuela Winny participate in Linda Pol’s Drag Race. Against all odds they win and become part of the Screaming Queens. Their first mission, under the tutelage of Sadie Merrie, is to get to 1757 Versailles to retrieve the famous ferrets of the Queen.
  • Part 2 – French Maids and Time Travel Shenanigans
  • Part 3 – The Mythical Karmalott

 

So the Story goes...

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  • Jack and Lisa sat in dark silence at the kitchen table drinking their coffee, Lisa struggling to recall the dream that had seemed so important, so joyful. Was it something to do with Fanella? But what? Well, maybe there would be some synchronicity later that would remind her, jog her memory.
    “I think I might go for a jog down by the river” said Jack.
    “Suit yourself” replied Lisa waspishly. “How is Igor doing, by the way?” she added, reminded of the poor fellows bee stings.
    “Oh he’s fine, but he’s pretending he isn’t. I think he’s enjoying Mirabelle’s nursing actually. The cucumber treatment seems to have worked, anyway.”
    “And what exactly is that girl doing with a cucumber, in Igor’s bed?”
    “Flove knows, but it’s doing the trick.” As Jack started to push his chair back and get up from the table, a gust of displaced air hit the table with such force it knocked the coffee cups over, and cigarette butts in the ashtray flew across the room.
    “You clumsy oaf, Jack! Steady on!”
    “It wasn’t me! Look!” he exclaimed, pointing up at the ceiling.
    “Fanella! What on earth are you doing up there, hanging from that beam!” cried Lisa in astonishment. “And where did you get that unusual map print scarf?”

    “What the… Poof?” Sanso noticed his young travelling companion had disappeared from the rag, almost knocking him off his trajectory.
    “Blimey! Steady on Sanso!” he said to himself

    I’ve been such a fool! Running away like that! Fanella admonished herself, biting her nails and pacing up and down in her room. I wasn’t paying attention! I should have stayed with that funny man, now I feel sure he would have taken me to that island in 2121 if I had just been patient instead of running off like that!
    Fanella heard a man laughing, and spun around, but there was nobody there. Dear god, I’m hearing things now, she thought.
    “I’m coming to get you, you daft bint, just hang on and don’t go anywhere!” Sanso told her via telepathic means. “We have a few other calls to make as well, but I will come and fetch you first, even if I have to use every shoehorning trick in the book. Now stop sniveling and I suggest you dress appropriately.”
    Fanella started sobbing, unsure whether it was relief or apprehension.
    “There, there,” Sanso said kindly. “You have a good cry, it will do you good.”

    “Is that… a flying drone?” the woman asked, pointing at the buzzing monster that just flew past them
    “Nope, it’s a cicada. The ones around here are huge”
    “No way! That thing was carrying a cat!”
    “Yep. They tend to get hungry that time of year. The mating and all…”

    She gasped for air, unconsciously voicing her thoughts “How come those things became so enormous?”

    The guy replied calmly “There’s a theory… That gaping hole…
    “The one that appeared in the ground a few weeks ago, the size of a football field?”
    “Yeah, that one…”
    “I thought it was the reason why they called the Surge Team, although it’s a bit late, now. What about it? “
    “It’s not really the reason why we called you. The hole was benign, the region was inhabited for years. But it released cubic tons worth of oxygen in the atmosphere.”
    “So what?” she was puzzled.
    “Well, that theory states that insects size is proportional to the amount of oxygen in the air… Supposedly the reason why there were giant insects in the prehistoric ages…”
    WTF?”
    “Yep,… wait till you see the size of the mosquitoes”, he said handing her a shotgun.

    “I don’t know!” Jeremy shouted at the guy with the round spectacles and the Chinese traditional garments full of intricate Chinese button knots.

    The guy showed no sign of losing patience although they’d asked him the question whole morning long.
    “That is unfortunate, Jeremy” the guy in charge said slowly. He was stroking Max in long broad stokes, flattening the ears with his palms, while the cat was purring like an engine oblivious to the danger in the room. “As you know, there are many ways to skin a cat…”

    “Don’t you dare harm Max!”

    “So let us recap from the start” the Chinese man said. “You told us you don’t know the man, or his companion. That they appeared and disappeared in a rag, to destination unknown.”
    Jeremy nodded, trembling of rage at the way the man was holding his cat.

    The Chinese man gave a brush of hand, which all the goons in the apartments took as a cue to leave them two alone.
    When they were all gone, he tightened his grip around the cat’s soft neck, and leaned closer to Jeremy:

    “My friend, the trace we left in our fugitive’s stomach led us to your place, so there is no doubt he was there. How he disappeared again is a mystery you will help us solve, whether you want it or not.”

    Jeremy looked at him quizzically “so why don’t you use your trace to locate him again?”

    “The problem is, by now, either he’s digested and dumped it somewhere in a hot steaming pile of shit, or he’s managed to cloak the signal. Those things were to be expected. I guess he went to you for a reason. He wasn’t able to locate our thief’s location without your help. So now, you will help us do the same.”

    Jeremy protested “But we tried it already, with the cucumber and all, but it didn’t work!”
    Somehow, a thought came with brief and intense clarity to him. The Chinese man noticed the glimmer in Jeremy’s eye and smiled thinly.
    “What is it?”
    “The map was working for him, as well as the cucumber, for some unexplainable reason. But not for you or me, it doesn’t mean anything! Of course! We have to try something different, focus on finding the person or thing you want, and let me draw another map.”

    Cheung Lok was starting to feel closer than he had been in months. He untied Jeremy, and gave him the cat. “Do it, do it now.”

    Jeremy lifted Max, tenderly wrapping the cat’s soft body like a scarf on his shoulders. He reached for the wall and took a coloured pin off the cork-board.

    While the Chinese guy was busy calling back his goons, Jeremy quickly started to draw on the skin of his arm a symbol with swirly lines, and going in a trance, started to dance into a swirling vortex.

    “He’s escaping!” Cheung Lok shouted in Chinese to the others, “Catch him!” he said, striving, but only too late, to catch the youngster who had just disappeared with his cat inside the vortex which was already rapidly closing around them.

    King Artie yawned, sitting in a slumped posture in the throne room, where the mother-of-pearl columns were shining with the morning light’s long shadows.
    As usual it was empty at this early hour of the day, and he was supposed to have a his weekly review with the castle’s chamberlain.

    The chamberlain was a little stunted man, with some missing knuckles on his left hand and a broad unwavering smile firmly planted on a big round head with large ears, no matter the topic of discussion.

    “Shall we commence, your Majesty?”
    “Whatever…” The King was still hungover from the last night’s party and the voice was ringing unpleasantly in his ears.
    “To make it short, I’ve narrowed down the topics to a few.
    “Very well…”
    “Firstly, shall we talk of the new comers on our lovely island of Abalone?”
    “yes, how come I haven’t met them already?”
    “Well, they are still adjusting, you know how Abalone’s magic works… Power of positive anticipation, etc. it takes a while to adjust and discover the city, a lot of people never get around it without some help actually, depending on how permeable their current worldview’s beliefs are…”
    “Well, keep me posted when they get there.”
    “Very well, Sire. And… on the topic of finding you a Queen…?”

    Fanella took Sanso’s advice and sobbed heartily. It released vast misty clouds of yellow and green energy that she had been bottling up during the recent traumatic experiences with teleporting. The coloured mist filled the room and poured out of the open window, tinting the sea mist pea green and bile yellow. Fanella was still hiccuping and blowing her nose when Sanso arrived, displacing the yellow green mist with a gust of orange red, and a foul odour.
    “Excuse me for a moment dear” he gasped, doubled over clutching his abdomen. “One can only cloak a signal for so long before it goes into spasm.”
    Fanella forgot her crying bout at the sight of Sanso on the floor imitating a sagging cow, but was glad she had a tissue handy to cover her nose with when the room suddenly filled with noxious orange gas, expelled with a trumpeting sound equal to the horns of Gabriel.
    AHHHHH” he said, smiling broadly. “I think we should get out of here now.”
    “Yes, let’s!” replied Fanella, trying not to choke.
    “What a relief! I wasn’t feeling my usual self, trying to digest that signal. Now I feel back to my usual stalwart and trustworthy self.”
    “Thank Flove for that!” responded Fanella, also feeling very much better, and ready for the next adventure.

    “He’s escaping!” Cheung Lok shouted in Chinese to the others.

    It seemed the scene had already played thousands of times in his mind, with various outcomes and different potential scenarios.

    Cheung Lok was struggling to understand why his choice of potential had finally left him in that New York apartment littered with maps, instead of following Jeremy and his strange cat to wherever they had disappeared.
    Somehow, it felt as if he’d been there, but had rewinded the action and chosen a different outcome.

    Not afraid of a good Chinese puzzle, he’d decided to meditate on it. He’d sent his henchmen back to the Corporation, so there was no distraction in the apartment. The summer heat was receding slowly with the sun setting, and a soft breeze made the paper blinds rustle to an irregular tempo.

    There was no point focusing on the tracking bug’s signal which he’d served in the sea cucumber dish to his guest, as its signal was now gone, and not even reliable. He even started to wonder if following such a fickle and capricious man was his way to the lost robot prototype.

    The meditation was soothing, if anything else, and his mind felt at peace for a while. Gone was the pressure of performance and success, gone were the merciless and faceless bosses to whom he reported. He was at peace. With the world, with himself, his choices, and even his vanished adversaries.

    When he opened his eyes, only a small ray of sunlight was left in the room, falling on a piece of lintel that seemed off.
    He sprung to his feet with the agility of a leopard, and with a swift and precise movement of his hand, removed the piece of sky blue panel. Under it, well hidden in a dusty corner, he found a crumpled bit of green paper that was probably hastily placed here before his team rammed the door open.

    Unfolding the paper, he smiled as it revealed a wonderfully drawn moving map.

    “I think we should get out of here now,” said Sanso, opening Fanella’s bedroom door.
    “Where are you going?” she asked in surprise, not expecting such a mundane exit. “Aren’t we teleporting?”
    “My dear child!” laughed Sanso, “Why teleport for coffee when there’s a kitchen just down the hall?”
    Fanella accompanied Sanso to Lisa’s kitchen, wondering how she would explain his presence, but she need not have worried. As soon as Lisa saw him her previously disgruntled countenance shifted, and beamed in welcome recognition. “Sanso! How marvelous to see you again!”
    It wasn’t until later that Lisa realized that she had never met Sanso in person, not until that moment.

    Drawn magnetically towards the mannequin stretched out on Lisas’s kitchen table, Sanso forgot all about coffee ~ or indeed polite small talk. As Lisa prattled on, disjointed snippets interspersed with snorts and raucous laughter, Sanso inspected the map covered body before him, and the sea of torn maps underfoot. He circled the table, examining the body and scattered detritus from all angles and perspectives, his mind firing (and sending sparks to relevant departments) at all the connecting routes that caught his attention of particular or potential interest to the current thread of events.

    “And Fanella! How marvelous to see you again too!” Lisa’s beam grew even bigger, if that were indeed possible.
    Fanetta rolled her eyes and reminded Lisa, for the umpteenth time, of the correct pronunciation of her name.

    “Shall I call you Fanny instead then, dear? It seems to be stuck in my head now to call you Fanella (which I do think sounds much nicer actually) but I think I can manage to remember Fanny,” suggested Lisa.
    “Call me what you like, I won’t be here much longer” replied Fanella under her breath.
    “What was that you said?”
    “Coffee, Lisa, would you like a refill?”
    Lisa’s reply was interrupted by an exclamation from Sanso, and they both turned their attention to him.
    “Here it is!” he was saying. “Look! The island!” He pointed to an area of map collage on the mannequins left buttock, and stroked it gently while explaining. “It’s named Abalone ~ by some of its inhabitants, not by everyone, but more on that later. The fascinating thing about it is it’s mysterious properties ~ and I don’t mean real estate, although there are some VERY peculiar properties on the island! But properties that allow it to appear on the Earth only at certain times and places.”
    “Times such as 2121?” asked Fanella.
    “Yes indeed, and also times such as years 111, 222, 333 ~ in fact any number that has a particular significance really, it’s a very loose arrangement really, you know what some people are like about numbers, make up all kinds of nonsense about special numbers, but it serves a purpose as a sort of guideline, I suppose.”
    “You don’t need to tell me all that, Sanso. I’ve already read the book.”
    “Circle of Eights and Other Stories? Ahahahaha! But the stories in that book are forever changing, Lisa. You may have read the book but every time you read it, it’s different. You don’t know everything there is to know about that island just because you read one version of the book at one time!”
    “I didn’t say I knew EVERY thing, Sanso” Lisa replied huffily.
    “That’s where we’re going next” Fanella interjected. “Sanso is taking me.”
    “Really? How exciting!” Lisa’s eyes lit up. “What a trip! I’ve been thinking about a holiday ever since we got back from Portugal. Hey, can I come too?”
    Sanso stole a glance at Fanella, who shrugged helplessly. He winked at her and whispered “trust me”.
    To Lisa he said “I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Is there anyone you’d like to bring with you?”
    “Why yes, there is, how funny you should ask. I’ll ask Mirabelle if she wants to come.”
    Fanella rolled her eyes.

    Adeline was pleased to see that her fervent prayers to the statue of The Holy Mother of Plastic had been answered, and that Igor had made a full recovery from the bee stings. Mirabelle, meanwhile credited herself with her tender love and nursing and the cucumber cure, while Igor credited himself with his self healing abilities and healthy resilient young body.
    When Adeline found out that Igor was going to accompany Mirabelle, who was going with Lisa, who was joining Fanella and Sanso, on a trip to a mysterious island, she was in a quandary. Should she go with the other two maids? Was it important that they stick together? But what about Boris? Should Boris and Ivan come too?

    “That bloke is sure talkin’ some bloody nonsense if you tell me, hope you know what you’re doin’” Jack knew that it was no point arguing with Lisa, and had always been anything but supportive of her fads, including her new and strange attraction to the young girl.
    “I s’pose I’ll be takin’ care of them dogs, then. When you comin’ back?”

    When he arrived at the office, it seemed empty at first. It was late, people usually left at around 6PM, and at 7, it looked like the last one to go home had forgotten to turn all the lights off.
    That’s when he arrived at his boss’ office which was the only one without any lights on, that he realized his boss was still there.

    “Oh, Sir, I didn’t realize you were still here, in the dark.”
    “In the shadows.” corrected Leon Fat Ngoi, a short portly man in his early fifties although he appeared younger.

    Cheung Lok realized there was a double message here, and caught his boss’ meaning. In the Corporation, you were expected to know your boss’ intention with the subtlest of indications. Cheung Lok was the one in the dark, but somehow felt his boss knew more, although he wouldn’t tell without being asked. The three words he’d said were the closest he’d get as an invitation.

    “Sir, we found this map, and I believe our target went into hiding there. But…”
    “Indeed. We know this island. It was purposely chosen to elude us. As you know the People’s Government has laid claims upon various lands and islands over the years, and have believed this particular island to be part of it.”
    “So it shouldn’t be difficult to get there and extradite them?”
    “You’re missing the point, son. The reason why our Government’s leaders in their immense wisdom claimed this peace of land is because it is documented to have appeared near the coast of China around a series of years —year 999 in particular.”
    Cheung Lok pondered, no wonder they liked the idea, saying 999 was like saying forever in Chinese “What do you mean appeared?”
    “This island is appearing and disappearing, only to reappear at certain points of time, and always in different places. Owning this island would have provided our Leaders with great tactical advantage…”
    Cheung Lok didn’t know how to interpret the silence.
    Fat Ngoi continued “I’ve arranged for a flight for you and a small squad to be parachuted over it. You may not see it before you land.”
    Cheung Lok took the last sentence as a cue to leave, and bowed out, moving towards the door.
    Fat Ngoi exhaled loudly and before Cheung Lok left, added ominously “You better get prepared for anything, even if you get the robot, you may never get away of the place before the next hundred years or so…”

    When Irina, with Mr R and Greenie in tow, approached the spot where the robot had detected activity, she had a lurching sense in her stomach that something strange was about to happen.

    Some buzzing seemed to approach and leave, like a wobbling effect in the air around them, although she could see nothing.
    Mr R, with its caterpillar boots seemed to have to trouble moving ahead, but with a silent sign of her hand, had him slow the pace down and move more silently.

    A cracking sound, and she turned around.
    A woman with a shotgun pointed at her was there, and a guy with handsome features. Caught unaware, Irina froze, and closed her eyes, trying to reach some inner peace before the imminent gunshot.

    “Madam? Are you alright?” came Mr R’s soothing voice. Next to her, Greenie was drawing on her pants, with a concerned look on her face.

    She opened her eyes, confused and relieved. The odd couple of hunters seemed to have vanished. Yet, she could have sworn hearing a gunshot and the blood of a giant mosquito splatter all around.
    She could as well have dreamt all awake, as there were not a single trace around to back her vision.

    “That’s what it is then…” Irina started to realize something. “Mr R, if you will, what about those presence you detected earlier?”
    “Gone Madam, it seemed to have been a glitch.”
    “A glitch, yes…” she said pensively. “Or something else…”

    The things she’d just experience reminded Irina about some of the things she’d read in the past about the Bardo state of the Buddhists. She wasn’t a Buddhist, more a Realist ascendant Romantic. Yet, they made some interesting points about the nature of reality.
    Usually, Irina was the kind of girl who liked to work up to her goals’ achievements. Building the little place for herself, even if mostly the work of Mr R, was a good example. Give her enough time, and she would always find resources to make a better life for herself. But here, it seemed beside the point. It could well be an endless loop.

    She wanted to pierce the veil that surrounded the place, instead of erring in the fog of her own projections. She looked at Greenie and Mr R. She wasn’t sure they were real any longer, even if she had sure grown fond of them. She would see…

    Now, how to get this island to reveal its secrets… As much as she found it boring, prayer or meditation seemed to be the only solution she could come up with for now. Less fond of the first solution, she chose the second and sat cross-legged on a mossy patch of the bog, where the sound of water seemed to have the right qualities.

    King Artie was walking in the gardens along with the Chamberlain, on his way for a cooling bath in the rainwater tanks carved below the castle.

    They stopped on the edge of the main courtyard, from which a large part of the land nearby could be seen. Plumes of steam where raising around the areas where the river’s water fell onto the land below. For the palace and the land were built high in the sky, believed to be latched upon an immense lump of earth, raised from the island by the roots of a giant beanstalk.

    King Artie had never ventured outside of the castle. “Tell me Downson, is it true what they say, about that giant beanstalk? I’d like to see it sometime.”
    The Chamberlain replied shaking his knuckle-less hand in the air. “Oh well, Majesty, a trip can be arranged, for certain. It would require some magi to guide us, but it can certainly be done. And of course, yes, it is true. Might not have been the case before, but you know, matter and reality sinks their roots deep into beliefs. Whatever the good people believes is, in fact,… actually true.”

    But King Artie’s mind was already quickly gone to another topic, not being too fond on dwelling on the metaphysical.
    “Any word from Parsifal? Seems to have a unusual high activity of lost souls in the fog down below…”
    “No, your Highness, no word yet from the Royal Sentries. Indeed, there has been unusual activity. Some people, I believe with a very active mind and quite an imagination. We had to ask our Priests to conduct a mass to repair a huge hole that appeared a few days ago.”
    “Good. You should ask them to have the good people pray for some rain too. That damn heat is unbearable.”
    “Of course, Sire. But you know, the good people’s beliefs are fickle, and apart from the farmers, a lot of the townsmen would prefer endless sun and no clouds. Hopefully our dear P’hope Jube the Brave will pray some sense into them.”
    “Indeed. Otherwise, a good fall down the Fog Abyss will sure clean up our mass beliefs of those heretics, I expect.”

    Jube the Brave was mistifying the waterbees’ hives in the P’hopery’s garden. The p’hopolis harvest looked promising.

    Dressed in his usual black robe and wearing a silver zucchetto, the P’hope liked to think of himself as a simple man when he was alone. Although, simple he was not. His main function was to keep balance in the mass belief clouds around Karmalott, the city in the sky of Abalone. It had been decided long ago that in order to keep this balance, the P’hope should be male and female in equal measure. Since it was hard to find hermaphrodites in Abalone’s population, the P’hope had to be male during half of the year and female the other half.

    As a man, his motto was “Only imbeciles never change their mind”. Which he zealously applied to keep people in line with his purpose.

    Beside being a casino, the 888 pavilion had a particularity. It was one of those reverse buildings with a ground floor and all the other stories underground. Since the Great Reform of Feng Shui in 2088 by Feng Shui master Jeorge Huhu, who discovered that dead people weren’t actually living six feet under, it wasn’t considered bad Feng Shui any more to dig your home.

    Obviously, for practical reasons, such building could not go too deep in a volcanic island. A column of light in the center assured the lighting of the eight floors by an expensive network of optical crystals. The opacity of the end crystals could be adjusted using polarized filters to create a dark atmosphere similar to the old-time prohibition casinos, or simulate daylight as in the volcanic pool on the bottom floor, which was affectionately referred to as Hell by the 888 pavilion’s employees.

    Jib
    Participant

      The bellboy, whose name was Kevinlol, as Linda Pol had found out thanks to her e-zapper, had led the Queen of drags to the fifth floor.

      The short trip down with the main elevator had been most interesting. It was designed to look like a richly decorated wooden door opening to the temple of games. The usual mirror on the walls of the cabin had been replaced by a huge screen which showed hosts or hostesses in sumptuous attires welcoming you like Ulysses sirens. Nobody coming out of the elevator, you were fully submerged by promising images of luxury and endless pleasures, endless wins. Looking at the blush on the customers faces and their fidgeting, it seemed to work well.
      The use of Feng Shui seems to have evolved through time, she thought amused, from simple well being philosophy to overt mental and emotional manipulation.

      A particular scent, she had already smelled in Las Vegas, made her realized that there were also chemicals released to create in anticipation that fleeting euphoria people would desperately try to recreate through the excitement of the games. Knowing it, could help you stay centered, but her heartbeat became faster and she felt the compulsion to get more, she realized it was hard to resist the temptation.

      When the doors actually opened to the second floor below earth, more than half the contingent of people got out towards the casino. The sirens were here to drag you down with their smiles. Linda Pol looked at the customers, they were more than willingly sucked into the gaming world of cards and chips, ready to open their pockets and their souls to the conniving croupier.
      Beware of the number you choose, she thought, the bank may not like them.

      A quick look at Kevinlol showed he was totally oblivious to the sirens. His poker face was as smooth and young as ever, his pupils looked normal, and his skin tone hadn’t changed despite the chemicals.
      Robot? She couldn’t help the thought.
      The third floor was restaurants and bars, huge spiraling automatic stairs seemed to connect it directly with the casino, certainly to help people find their way up when they were finished refueling. The dozing effect of digestion was certainly good for business.

      Then they arrived at the fifth floor. She wondered briefly what had happened to the first and fourth floors. But the doors opened to another kind of sirens, her attention shifted completely, more surely than any substance could have done. It was the kind of butts she couldn’t resist, promising firmness and endurance, set into a Imperio Dareme pair of jeans. Linda Pol had always thought that braces had the same effect on a man’s butt as a wonderbra on a woman’s breast. She blushed like a young girl discovering boys were interested in her mythical virginity.

      The butt turned around and, mother f*ck*r, the face was gorgeous. Two days beard on a square jaw, the adventurer.

      The Time Seam Bar, as they renamed it, for all the efforts put in it had a slow start, but after a few weeks started to do extremely well.

      Admittedly there was a bit of a public relationship boost offered (not quite completely out of generosity obviously) by the cable network. They’d been alerted of the re-purposing of the Time Sewer facility by the Queens after a routine control of their presence on cleaning duty. The report wasn’t glowing, but somehow a business-oriented member of the Board managed to get the Cable Network to lend some money and advertisement to bring the little venture to the next level.

      Props got a major overhaul and interior designers helped rearrange the space. They even got the Queens an impersonator of St Germain, an old has-been forgotten star who was still on the Network’s payroll and whom they didn’t know what to do with. He was actually doing a brilliant St Germain.

      Amar was in the room at the back, doing some accounting while Reginald was at the bar and Cedric was managing the fat dancers and, of course, St Germain’s shows. So far, the arrangement worked well, and they were quite proud of their success. Cedric’s mother couldn’t stop her praises and rants on the website’s page, so they had to moderate it a bit, but that was basically the most trouble they were in.

      “Another day gone well…” Reginald was removing his wig and make-up, with Amar still counting the last cash made for the day.
      “Reg’, I’ve started to remember things from our visit at the techromancer’s hut, I still don’t know what to do of it.”
      “I’ve been remembering stuff too… Some scary shit.”

      Jib
      Participant

        “Miss Pol ?” asked the man. His voice was full of testosterone. Linda Pol considered a moment using her doe eyes on him. Her lips parted slightly under an untimely warmth coming from her groin.
        “Yes.” She swallowed. She realized she was holding her breath. “Actually, it’s Linda Pol, this is my…”, she wanted to keep it simple this time, “stage name. You can call me Linda”, she offered him a wide smiled, which he ignored.
        “Who’s that ?” he asked glaring suspiciously inside the elevator.

        “Who ?” Linda, unsettled by her conflicting feelings towards the man’s beauty and his brusqueness, looked back. She had completely forgotten about Kevinlol who seemed oblivious to the conversation, politely waiting for his customer to get out of his elevator.
        “Oh! Him ? He’s the bellboy who brought me Amber’s message”, she said with a tone she hoped casual. “Is that a gun in your pants ?” The words had escaped her mouth as if all her inhibitions had been put to sleep. Bloody sirens! More potent than I expected, she’d had to be careful.

        The man put his hand on his gun and grunted. “Follow me”, he said, and, without waiting, he turned around and strode into the corridor. Linda Pol gathered her wig and heels, and followed his butt.

        Jib
        Participant

          The room numbers were framed in a golden disc carved with what looked like zodiac animals and a circle of eights.

          Linda observed the man walking in front of her. As soon as the effects of the lust gas had dissipated, she had been able to focus on something else than his butt. He’d been watching over his shoulder, and it was not to see if she was keeping with his pace. He had been frowning ever since she’d met him, and you could say his whole attitude exuded wariness. Despite her Happiness Training and the meditation practice at night with Sadie, she was beginning to feel some bowel tension. Not good for her digestion.

          He stopped in front of room 57. He knocked, didn’t wait for an answer, instead used his magnetic key to open it, and entered. She followed. He looked one last time on both sides of the corridor, then locked the door.

          They were in a big yellow lounge. Linda addressed a silent prayer to the Good Taste Goddess, sympathizing with the pain She must have endured each time an interior designer had expressed such lack of sobriety. It wasn’t just the color. The furniture seemed to come from Hart to Hart, except the sofa was in a dark yellow leather, and the cushions in a bright magenta.

          “Wait here ‘till I call you”, he said. He left through a door on the right, taking his frown with him.
          Linda heard him talk to someone in the other room, certainly a bedroom. A feminine voice answered him. They argued for some time. The woman was the last to speak. Then the silence.

          Linda hesitated to seat on a jumping armchair with yellow and brown stripes. It was as if every cell of her body, and even the molecules of her clothes were repelled by the choices of the interior designer. She would have sworn her platform shoes were trying to levitate from the carpet.

          The man’s head appeared at the door.
          “Come in, she’s ready to see you.”

          Linda could see emotions struggle on his face.

          “But I warn you”, he said, his fists clenched, “she’s been sick since we have arrived. If my wife is tired, I’ll ask you to leave.”

          “Oh!” Linda said.

          “I’m rubbish at meditation!” Irina said, opening her eyes after her tenth session in a row.

          Mr R, who’d been waiting for her to come back from her inner trip, was, as usual, quick to dispense soothing encouragements
          “Madam doesn’t give herself enough credit. After all, you have managed to… shall I say… appear this quaint bird.”

          What? Irina looked at the direction Mr R was pointing at. That darn parrot again?!
          Indeed, looking quite puzzled to be on one of the bog’s shrubs, Huhu was tilting, or rather bobbing his heard from left to right in a pendulous and rhythmical fashion, while Greenie was jumping around the shrub eager to catch the colourful beast.

          “Then, that only confirms my suspicions…” she said. She had briefly connected to the bird, just about when she was processing the bleedthrough shotgun attack to bring her thoughts back to clarity. You wish… Sometimes the minds works in endless mysteries; she couldn’t tell why the bird came up in her thoughts, but it was apparently all it needed to appear there.

          Irina turned to little Greenie, who had so far only communicated in body langage, and little more than grunts.

          “Dearie,” she took the little face in her hand to look her in the eyes. There was slight resistance in the girl’s, but she was compliant enough that the feedback encouraged Irina to continue. “I believe, you know how to talk, this grunting telepathic business is getting tedious, and Mr R isn’t telepathic, you see…”
          “But Madam…” Mr R’s beginning to protest was quickly hushed by Irina.
          “You understand, don’t you?… Yes you do. Communicate with me, okay? You’ve been there longer than I am, and we probably can help each other.”

          Greenie’s eyes were showing clear signs of intelligence, and yet, there was some trauma still at the surface that she seemed to process, which made interaction tricky.

          Greenie pointed at the place were Irina had tried to meditate for the past hours.
          “Oh no, not again…” she sighed. She sat again cross-legged, but this time Greenie wasn’t finished.
          “What is? What are you trying to tell me?” Irina was confused. She hoped it was not about praying, but then realized that Greenie wanted to join.

          So they sat in front of each other, with Greenie’s small palms pressed to hers, and again started to meditate.
          “Mr R, some music of the angels, if you will”

          After a while, Mr R’s lulling music managed to appeased even the confused Huhu, and Irina started to feel a difference, as though she had broken out of her mind, and could connect to the teen girl in their light bodies.

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