A lurker appears
jo...@uncmed.med.unc.edu
into a trance.....
From: "Steven S.B. Glover" <BPH...@cms1.ucs.leeds.ac.uk>
Phone: 791264 // 333039
Before the door _quite_ swings closed behind Joanela, a slightly grimy pair set
of fingers slips into the gap and virtually wrenches it off its hinges in their
owner's haste to be in.
Obviously this virtual character hasn't had a (virtual) drink in virtual ages
because he pauses only briefly to look round before joining the queue at the
bar.
Whee!! And I thought the 'ton was bad [oblig. sf-fandom reference for the
few brit sf fans here]
"Hi, Mike, It's not that I'm greedy or anything, but can you give me a
British pint of Irish guiness, please?"
While Mike pours the ebony nectar (a slow job even in VR), Steve walks over
to the lunch counter and picks up a handful of finger food.
Having eaten the food (paying, OF COURSE -- academic cash isn't QUITE that
bad in britain), he exchanges a dollar bill for an excellent pint of stout
with barely a centimetre of froth, but that fraction almost solid.
He checks all 18 pockets of his chinese army surplus imitation banana republic
photojournalists jacket (or waistcoat of holding), and then the voluminous
shoulder bag (or purple pantechnicon), before pulling a glass rod from a
trouser pocket (DON'T try this at home kids!) and draws a shape in the foam.
Taking hold of the pint glass in both hands, he walks to the chalk line and
says "I've just realised why I couldn't get here before... I've been
posting stuff to EDU.BERKELY.UCBVAX... No wonder it has all been bouncing!
The only good old anglo saxon expression for someone this stoopid has *got*
to be 'What a berk!' ..."
"Anyway, a toast. To Goals, fulfilled or not, major or minor..."
So saying, he raises the glass and, tapping to his pulsebeat with his right
foot, knocks back the lot, liberally spattering his beard, hair and glasses.
In one movement, he pulls back the glass and lets fly at the fireplace...
The glass shatters, and the pattern drawn in the top of the guinness
appears briefly in the flames. It's nothing much, just two dots (one slightly
curved) a vertical line and a horizontal arc .... ;-)
----------
Steve Glover
Leeds University
BPH...@UK.AC.LEEDS.UCS.CMS1 (work)
kur...@uk.ac.ed.cs.tardis
Phyllis Rostykus
Liralen is looking tired, a little grim, a little pained. Her eyes are
dark, and are sunken a bit by her lack of sleep. She look drained, not
angry, simply tired and sore and a little depressed. She is wearing a
Big Dogs T-shirt and jeans and a wool jacket. The jacket is hung on a
chair, but it drops, and, uncharacteristically, she swears at it, softly.
So, when she takes her glass to the line, a lot of the patrons are
expecting something terrible. Instead, she just lobs the glass, underhand,
into the fireplace.
"To Laughter. May it help heal..." >> CRASH <<
She grins through her tiredness. "Now, while I have your captive
attention I have three stories to tell. All of which are completely
unrelated to each other and unrelated to anything that is being said at
this moment... Perhaps I should be playing Story Poker with 'em, but they
aren't really stories of my life, either... they're just... punny..."
"One. A photographer, somewhat down on his luck, was bound and
determined to get the picture of a ghost which was supposed to only
appear once in a hundred years. He trekked into the haunted area, with
all his equipment, and set it up, and, not wanting to scare the ghost off,
he sat in the dark until midnight.
"At midnight, the ghost became visible. It turned out to be quite
friendly, actually, and consented to pose for one snapshot. The happy
photographer popped a bulb into his camera and took the picture.
"After dashing into his studio, the photographer developed the negative
and groaned. It was underexposed and completely blank. The spirit was
willing but the flash was weak."
Remarkably, Liralen manages to stay on the line, and still dodge a
number of the peanuts thrown at her...
"Two. A magician who specialized in pulling rabbits out of a hat was
talking with his agent.
"'If you don't mind playing a split week,' the agent said, 'I can book
you for three days in Chicago and four days in Detroit.'
"'That's not for me,' the magician replied, 'because I don't believe in
splitting hares.'"
Not quite as many peanuts, this time. Too many moans...
"Three. A distant cousin of Syngman Rhee from Korea got a job on _Life_
magazine. He came to work one day, and on the second day failed to show up.
A week went by, and he didn't show. Fellow workers phoned his hotel,
checked all possible points where he could be visiting. Finally, they
organized posses and began combing the city block by block.
"One sercher entered a certain bar, and there, on a stool, was his man.
Overcome with joy and relief, the sercher rushed up and exclaimed:
"'Ah, sweet Mr. Rhee of _Life_, at last I found you!!'"
And, gently, she falls under the avalanche. And those who finally
unearth her from under the ground nuts, pulling her from the dust of her
own downfall, find that she's trembling and crying softly.
One of the patrons gently picks her up. And looks around for Blammor,
but Blammor has faded away to no one knows where. So, gently, he takes
her over to an extra large easy chair, and simply holds her while she
cries.
--
Liralen Li | "Looking down on empty streets, all she can see are
aka Phyllis Rostykus | the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real."
phy...@eld.amc.com | - "Mercy Street" by Peter Gabriel
Ross TenEyck
> One of the patrons gently picks her up. And looks around for Blammor,
>but Blammor has faded away to no one knows where. So, gently, he takes
>her over to an extra large easy chair, and simply holds her while she
>cries.
Sir Papillon, for it was he who picked her up, holds Liralen in his arms,
letting her cry into his shoulder, gently running his hand up and down her
back. Finding knots of tension, he rubs them, slowly and firmly, until they
start to relax, to ease a little. "Shh..." he murmers, "shh... " And holds
her, until she stops crying, holds her while she sniffles a little, holds
her for a time without words, only caring and strength passing back and forth.
A cold nose snuffles the knight's hand; he looks down, slightly startled,
and sees Fezzik, looking worriedly up at his mistress, who manages a weak
smile at the sight of a woebegone puppy. The knight ruffles Fezzik's head,
and the dog whuffes, decides that matters seem to be in hand, and lies down
on Sir Papillon's feet.
The knight hugs Liralen tightly, and murmers to her, "Are you all right
now?" And continues to hold her, waiting for her response.
--
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sir Papillon, a.k.a. \ "Think as I think," said a man. "Or you are
Ross TenEyck \ abominably wicked, you are a toad." And when I had
ten...@tybalt.caltech.edu \ thought of it, I said, "I will, then, be a toad."
Steve Savitzky
above the chair in which Liralen is crying softly. It parachutes down
to her lap, and gives her as much of a hug as a teddybear is capable
of. (Actually teddybears are better at virtual hugs than real ones,
since their arms are so short.)
[Darnit, there's a quote from Cordwainer Smith's story "Mark Elf"
about the warm, comfortable feeling of being inside a bear's mind, but
all my books are at home, and I'm here at work. Grump. I'll post it
this evening.]
Liralen seems to be falling asleep, so the bear spreads its parachute
over her (it's bigger than it looked at first, and surprisingly warm)
and tucks itself in beside her.
--
\ --Steve Savitzky-- \ ADVANsoft Research Corp \ REAL hackers use an AXE! \
\ st...@advansoft.COM \ 4301 Great America Pkwy \ #include<disclaimer.h> \
\ arc!st...@apple.COM \ Santa Clara, CA 95954 \ 408-727-3357 \
\__ st...@arc.UUCP _________________________________________________________
John D. Palmer
hair comes over to the two.
"I have felt much pain in my life, and the only constancy is this:
Pain exposed to those who love you is pain already healing." He hugs her
warmly, hoping only to wash some of the sting away and wondering eternally
why humans can do so little. . . but what he can do, he will, and the love
he can offer is given freely. . .
"You have given us joy with your stories; I hope the joy returns to you
soon."
Raphael
Steve Savitzky
It hasn't exactly been asleep, but its mind has been walking strange
paths, and new things have become accessible to it. In its squeaky
voice it says, "I mentioned a passage from Cordwainer Smith's story
"Mark Elf". Here it is. It's in the collection _The Instrumentality
of Mankind_ from Del Rey, 1979, original copyright on the story 1957."
[The story so far: Carlotta vom Acht has awakened from 16,000 years
of suspended animation, and has spent several days wandering around
in the wilderness that Earth has become. At the end of the story
she encounters the Middle-Sized Bear.]
Carlotta was angry, confused, frightened, and sick again. She
started to run.
Something as solid as a blow hit her.
She knew without being told that it was the bear's mind reaching out
and encompassing hers.
It hit--boom!--and that was all.
She had never before stopped to think of how comfortable a bear's
mind was. It was like lying in a great big bed and having mother
take care of one when one was a very little girl, glad to be petted
and sure of getting well.
The anger poured out of her. The fear left her. The sickness began
to lighten. The morning seemed beautiful.
She herself felt beautiful as she turned--
"Good night, all."
who's that?
The lines around Enigma's eyes crinkle gently as he smiles at
Liralen's puns. He looks conceredly in her direction as she cries.
He realizes that she is in good hands here, and steps in to fill the
pun vacuum that she has left behind.
"I was going to save this," he begins in his odd British-Bronx
accent, "but I couldn't resist the challenge. This is one of the best
of things, a true story pun."
He settles comfortably into story-telling mode, a Rolling Rock
in one hand.
"So friends, my spouse and I we snuggling in bed last evening
- snuggling out of affection on my part, but lack of heat of the part
of my partner. I mentioned that a good covering of fur on the arms
would keep a person comfortable, regardless of the temperature or the
condition of the rest of their body. I get a quizzical look, and
answer..."
Enigma pauses gleefully.
"'Surely you know the old saying: Fur-armed is fur-warmed!'"
Enigma pulls his slouch bowler over his face. It provides
little shelter from the barrage of peanuts.
--enigma
--
"It reminds me of the time," he said softly, "in Calcutta, when I went
six months without hearing the sound of a human voice..."
Obadiah walked over to the pallet and sat down, smiling. "I
don't recall you ever mentioned that experience to me, Dr. Silk."
Phyllis Rostykus
Liralen stirs, softly, within Sir Papillon's arms. The covers are warm,
and the teddy Bear is soft and comfortably close. Her tears have stopped,
and, while the nap has been very good, her tiredness is still evident.
"Thank you." she says, and gives the Bear and the man a solid squeeze.
And she hiccoughs, suddenly, and chuckles with no edge of hysteria to it.
Those who are so concerned for her, relax.
And, softly, almost inaudibly, she says, "It's so hard..." she swallows,
and speaks a little more loudly. "It's always been very, very hard for me
to be hated or even disliked. Hard for me to know that I'm wrong. Hard
because it undermines all the self-confidence I've built, because so much
of it is built on what I've DONE... not so much on what I am..."
"When people start yelling at me, start telling me that I'm a fool, that
I've done not only Wrong, but Flammable Wrong, when someone puts me down so
far as to abuse me, there's a part of me that still says 'You deserved
it. Because you were Wrong.' It's a part that takes all the abuse to
heart, the same heart that's wide open, here, in order for me to care
about others. That it comes from people hidden behinds screens doesn't
make it any easier... in fact, with the way that I interact with text,
Names hurt me worse that sticks or stones..."
"It's the main reason I left the Net, so many years ago..."
"I really appreciated all the notes from people, all the caring, all the
shoulders to cry on, the warm, virtual hugs, the virtual backrubs, and the
phone calls..." she smiles, "The phone calls have been amazing... to hear
real people on the other end, people who care about me." She sighs, "That
meant a lot. And, with the way that I interact with text, it FELT
wonderful. And it helped so much to dam back the Lagoon."
"Because ALL of you said that you believed in me. In what I am, in what
I've been, here. And with that emphatic mirroring, John and I have been
able to beat some of that into my skull and say, yes, they're right. And
it's actually been loud enough to get through."
"Chris," she says, loud enough to make him hear her, "I'll be here.
Li's the only one that's gone away. I'll stay for as long as there are
any people who care."
"Thank you." and she looks up at Sir Papillon, "Thank YOU for all the
shelter that your arms have given me, for the care you've shown. It always
helps knowing that there are those in the world who would give care, who
can give their time to helping instead of hurting. Thank you for the care."
"Thank you," she says to the Bear, "for your belief in what I saw, for
your interest and your efforts on the behalf of what I hoped to see. That
meant much when I had so little belief in what I'd done."
And, slowly, a little awkwardly, for different parts of her body have
gone numb or asleep with her position, she gets up, onto her own feet.
And, seeing P'relan, hovering there on the edge of the crowd around her,
she smiles, and steps into a terrific hug with the tall man. "Blueberry
pizza." she says chuckling. "Of all things... blueberry pizza..."
Karl Heuer
then joins the Medium-sized teddy bear in giving her a hug. "You look like
you have too much pain for one bear to bear", he says, and giggles at his own
joke.
Taking a cue from one of her signatures, he decides to try a song to cheer her
up.
"Suna bril',
Kia sennubigil'!
Jen amikoj el cxiu naci';
Al la sezam-strato nun
Kune iru vi kaj mi..."