(3rd Annual!!!) Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown! (round robin)
ann
Rec.Arts.Drwho. Edited, HMTL versions of these wild and wacky round robins can
be found at: http://www.ucc.gu.uwa.edu.au/~pandinac/profun/ and
http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/ (behind the pop-up) respectively.
Feel free to join in -- and good luck! ;-)
---
You're driving down the highway on a warm July evening, the car radio barely
audible above the drone of the engine and the hum of air conditioning.
You had gone out for an errand, but for some inexplicable reason cannot
remember what it was: To get a quart of ice cream? No. Milk? That's not it,
either Return a video rental? Perhaps.
Whatever the reason, you are unconcerned by your failing memory... It's a nice
night for a drive. Even though the highway is lined on either side by
high-powered street lights, the stars are still visible, dusting the sky before
you like sequins on a Las Vegas jumpsuit.
Just then, the sound of laughter and friendly chatter break into your reverie,
and you discover that you've driven past the shopping center with the
supermarket and video store, and ended up instead in a rather peculiar
cul-de-sac. The houses in this place all seem normal enough: single family
homes with two door garages and manicured lawns, and the cars that go *into*
those garages are also quite normal.
But it's obvious that this is *not* a normal neighborhood. For neatly "parked"
around the circle of asphalt is the strangest collection objects you have ever
seen: Several old-fashioned British police boxes, free standing doors (that's
free-*standing* -- not leaning against anything), grandfather clocks,
Italianate wardrobes, black metallic cubes, and (could it be?) a submarine on
wheels?!!
At the epicenter of all this weirdness, at the very center of the cul-de-sac's
arc is the smallest and least assuming of the houses. Small, with gray siding,
and slate blue fake shutters, it is the only one storey house on the lot. Only
two things set it apart from its neighbors: the bushes planted at the
foundation are not as neatly trimmed, at on the lamppost at the bottom of its
driveway is taped the following sign (In purple and pink lettering, with gold
and silver foil stars pasted around the edge):
Third Annual Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown! **All** Welcome!
"Pro-Fun Troll ?!?" you think, "What the -- ??"
In any case, this is definitely the source of the laughter and music you heard.
Though (as curiosity overrides your natural born common sense and you get out
of the car to investigate), it now strikes you as very odd indeed that you
heard anything at all, considering that your own car radio was barely audible.
What's more, the neighbors seem completely oblivious to the strangeness going
on just outside their doors?
Still, whatever's going on, it sounds like fun, and the sign does say "**All**
Welcome!"
So you add your car to the odd assemblage, cautiously go up to the front door,
and peek inside.
What you see is impossible. For what appears to be a simple suburban ranch on
the outside is a massive barn, inside (One that, for sheer size, would give an
industrial dairy barn a decent run for its money, but that seems, by
construction technique, to belong to the 19th century).
Nearly every inch of the massive oak timbers is festooned with balloons and
streamers. Large tables made from planks laid across sawhorses are scattered
throughout the space, each one laden with platters of every kind of food, from
sweet to spicy, vegan to carnivore.
And it is clear to see why. This is the most diverse group of partygoers you
have ever seen. A great number of them don't even seem human, but rather,
short creatures with pot bellies, long noses, huge feet, big ears, and skin
colors that seem to have come right out of a box of crayons. And all of them
are wearing birthday hats.
Suddenly, the crowd begins to coalesce and the chatter stops. All eyes now
turn to a small circular stage in the center of the floor.
One of the odd creatures, with avacado green skin, and dressed in a fishing
vest, hops up before the microphone, opens her arms wide, and announces simply:
"Welcome!" Her broad grin lingers awhile, then she continues: "This party
started a little bit later than we expected this year, but that just may mean
it'll be better than ever. We will try our darnednest to make sure you get
home tonight without risking life or limb, but... Based on precedent set by
our earlier hoedowns, I can not make any guarantees. But come hell or high
water, we *will* have fun!"
She then pulls a full-sized fiddle out from one of the fishing vest's pockets,
and begins to play as she sings:
"Pro-fun trolls, won't you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight?
Pro-fun trolls, won't you come out tonight,
And dance by the light of the mo-o-on?
"Yes, fanboys, we'll come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight!
Yes, fanboys, we'll come out tonight,
And dance by the light of the mo-o-on!
"As I was walking down the street
Down the street, down the street,
A 'Doctor Who' fan I chanced to meet
Under the silvery mo-o-on.
"I danced with a companion with a hole in her stockin',
And her knees kept a-knockin', a her toes kept a rockin',
I danced with a companion with a hole in her stockin',
And we danced by the light of the mo-o-on!"
"Pro-fun trolls, won't you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight?
Pro-fun trolls, won't you come out tonight,
And dance by the light of the mo-o-on?"
In answer to this last question, as if on cue, the crowd answers: "Yes! Let's!"
And a wild cheer goes up.
The roar dies away, and you consider heading to the door, before risk to life
or limb comes to *you*, when you feel a tug on your pant leg.
Looking down, you see a little tourquoise colored troll (for such she must be).
She's wearing a child's play cowboy costume, complete with a deputy's big
silver star, and she's holding up a bag of sweets in your direction.
"Would you like a jelly-baby?" she asks.
Not wanting to offend, you reach in and take one. It just happens to be your
favorite flavor. Popping into your mouth, you think: "This could be a very
interesting night."
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
news:20020730220511...@mb-fa.aol.com...
---
A mobile pile of boxes staggers in through the door, and over to one of the
tables.
This table is slightly different from most of the others: where they're laden
with various types of food, this one has bottles, cartons, containers, teapots,
caffienators, soda cans... virtually every type of drink container imaginable.
Set behind the table, for no readily apparent reason, is a bubbling cauldron.
Sitting next to the cauldron is a young woman, her long brown hair framing an
oval face, with her large grey eyes and small mouth and nose combining with a
slim build and slight stature to give her the appearance of a cute anime girl.
The dress she wears, though, is /not/ standard anime - a deep maroon velvet,
with a low-cut bodice and shoulder straps, something that wouldn't look out of
place at an Edwardian debutante ball - or here, for that matter.
She looks up at the pile, grins and waves. "Hey, Imran!"
A muffled voice from the boxes grumbles "Allie... A little /help/ here?"
Allie stifles her smile, gets up, and lifts some of the boxes off the pile,
setting them down by the cauldron.
Revealed underneath, once the boxes have been set down, is a young man in his
mid-twenties, with short, straight black hair, somewhat bloodshot brown eyes,
with the left eye offset, and pale brown, almost sallow, skin, in casual
trousers and a T-shirt which says 'I Visited The Underworld, And All I Got Was
This Lousy T-shirt'.
"That the last of it?" Allie asks.
Imran nods. "Yep, that's it. All ready for Gordon's party."
He looks around, an apprehensive look crossing his features. "Er... Allie,
where're Xeffy and Ayna?"
Allie scans the barn. "Can't see them... can't see the typo gremlins, either."
Imran covers his eyes. "Oh... /wonderful/. And I promised Eloise they wouldn't
cause _too_ much damage..."
Allie raises an eyebrow. "You /do/ know who you're talking about, right?"
Imran nods. "I know. I /know/..."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere amidst the tables...
...two young girls are casting about, apparently looking for something.
One of them is a gawky teenager, short - about five foot high - but still taller
than most of the trolls bustling around. Her blue-grey eyes are twinkling with a
sense of mischief - and with the sight of all this food. Some of her long brown
hair is tied in a braid, letting the rest of it flow free.
She's apparently decided to go for the "casual teenager" look - jeans, blouse,
sunglasses and trainers - but even with the differences in age and dress sense,
the family resemblance to Allie is marked.
The other girl is also a rather gangly teen, about the same height as her
partner, sharing her slim build. She's in a T-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots.
There are certain differences, though.
Her skin is grey, and her eyes are a slitted white. Her brown hair trails down
her back, and under her T-shirt - a mane of hair, following her spine.
After all that, the two great wings, not quite birdlike or batlike, that run
nearly the whole length of her body, are almost ridiculously easy to accept.
Somehow, though, her T-shirt manages to fit over them snugly.
#See them yet?# she trills - and it /is/ a musical trill. Her voice is
sing-song, musical - she seems to sing every word she says.
The other girl shakes her head. "Uh-uh. They're around here somewhere..."
The winged girl looks around, makes sure her partner isn't looking, and snaffles
several chocolate chip cookies off the nearest table.
The troll behind the table chuckles, and nods her head in understanding.
The winged girl blushes, puts up her hand in thanks, and skitters after the
other girl.
#Xeffy?# she asks.
"They're here somewhere..." Xeffy mutters.
#Why don't we just... well, /call/ them?#
Xeffy sighs. "'Cause that's no _fun_. I mean, we can hardly have a food fight if
the other side's trapped by our voices, can we? It'd be more of a food
massacre."
#I suppose...#
"Hey, don't worry, Ayna. How hard can it be?"
Behind them, /just/ out of earshot, a chorus of giggles can be heard...
---
We're baaaaaaack... :)
(I think Sandra and Dominic are looking around at the moment. They'll probably
pop up later.)
Imran
Cameron Mason
ann <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
news:20020730220511...@mb-fa.aol.com...
> Looking down, you see a little tourquoise colored troll (for such she must
be).
> She's wearing a child's play cowboy costume, complete with a deputy's big
> silver star, and she's holding up a bag of sweets in your direction.
>
> "Would you like a jelly-baby?" she asks.
>
> Not wanting to offend, you reach in and take one. It just happens to be
your
> favorite flavor. Popping into your mouth, you think: "This could be a
very
> interesting night."
Cameron enters the barn, followed by a woman.
There are a few remarkable things about this woman. Firstly, she is asleep;
secondly, she is floating off the ground vertically.
Cameron speaks: "This is my muse, Cassie. This is the most aware she's been
in a long while"
Cassie murmers in her sleep: "Today was one of those nice days, where there
was enough cloud cover to diffuse the light from Etros Major and Etros
Minor, but not enough to cause any worry about rain."
"I've been working on a story for Mag's summer challenge, which is good for
a muse; but now that I have no time to write, the snatches of prose I think
of writing she murmers in her sleep." Cameron explains.
"A figure approaches, their past an enigma..."
"That's not a part of my story..."
A shadow enters the doorway, and its owner walks into the barn.
"But that sounds like mine..."
Cameron
--
"Timelash is an anagram of 'lame shit'."
http://members.fortunecity.com/masomika/
http://members.fortunecity.com/jpcovers/
ann
[>They're here somewhere..." Xeffy mutters.
>
>#Why don't we just... well, /call/ them?#
>
>Xeffy sighs. "'Cause that's no _fun_. I mean, we can hardly have a food fight
>if
>the other side's trapped by our voices, can we? It'd be more of a food
>massacre."
>
>#I suppose...#
>
>"Hey, don't worry, Ayna. How hard can it be?"
>
>Behind them, /just/ out of earshot, a chorus of giggles can be heard...
>
>---
>
>We're baaaaaaack... :)]
Ruthie, the little tourquoise troll, bustled among the guests, handing out
jelly babies to the new arrivals to entice them to stay.
This particular bag was the contribution of Walter Duncun, her cousin. He was
older and wilder than she, and was less shy about using troll magic to cause
mischief, and this made Ruthie just a little nervous. But Walter had a good
heart, and he was an excellent cook... and whatever magic he put on them, the
jelly babies were a big hit.
Just then she heard a tapping sound from the stage, Our Hostess Eloise, their
fishing-vested leader, was perched high on a stool, surveying the action on
the floor (though Ruthie was certain she'd be in the thick of things any
moment). She was tapping her violin bow against the edge of her seat to get
Ruthie's attention.
Ruthie stood up on tiptoe and craned her neck to try and see where Eloise was
indicating. All she could see was a dwarm of typo gremlins jovering in the
air, and giggling maniacally...
Uh-oh... That could only mean...
She bounded over there as quickly as she could (luckily, the crowd parted
around her... or was it luck? Walter said something about "crowd control" when
he handed her the jelly babies).
"Ladies, Gentlemen!" she said a little breathlessly, "s-so glad you could make
it." She grinned broadly as she gazed at the more-human looking of the two
teens. "I remember you!" she said. "You came in the middle of the circus,
last year." She turned to Xephy's companion... "You must be Ayna," she said.
"... Our Hostess mentioned you might be coming... Anyway, follow me. We have
something very special set up for you... *all* of you," she added, eyeing the
typo gremlins sharply. And she led them away from the main room and down a
hallway.
At the end of that hallway was a large room, entirely draped in clear plastic
tarps, and set up like a playing field -- a strange mix of baseball and
football, perhaps, and a little basketball thrown in. Goal posts and hoops
were scattered around the large space, as were bases marked "Home" "Start"
"Penalty" and "Free Zone", without any apparent order. At either end of the
large room were two electronic scoreboards, with the teams "Gremlins" and
"Sirens" spelled out in grids of lights.
Most important, however, were the tables under each scoreboard -- each piled
high with a wide variety of messy, sticky, gooey foods, from mashed potatos and
ketchup to the classic--banana cream pie.
"Have fun," Ruthie said. "Make up your own rules.... But *please* try your
best to keep in this room." She motioned to Xephy to bend down so she could
whisper in her ear. "Be careful," she warned. You know how easy it is to turn
a banana cream pie into a banana cream pit."
And she returned to her duties as deputy hostess for the party.
---
[Aside to Imran: I assume there is an introductory story for Ayna... where can
I find it?]
ann
>Cameron enters the barn, followed by a woman.
>
>There are a few remarkable things about this woman. Firstly, she is asleep;
>secondly, she is floating off the ground vertically.
>Cameron speaks: "This is my muse, Cassie
<snip>
>"I've been working on a story for Mag's summer challenge, which is good for
>a muse; but now that I have no time to write, the snatches of prose I think
>of writing she murmers in her sleep."
Ruthie was busy taking Xephy, Ayna and the typo gremlins to the "Food Fight
Zone", so it was Eloise who greeted Cameron with a hearty handshake.
"Cameron!" she exclaimed. "So glad you could make it! And what a pleasure it
is to meet your muse!" She considered shaking the sleeper's hand, but as
Cassie seemed engaged with a story detail at the moment, thought better of it.
Best not to distract a working muse.
---
What it means to be a Joyful Troll: To fill the Internet with messages of
mirth and thoughtfulness; to entice lurkers into the sunlight, and to host the
occasional hoedown.
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
capr...@aol.commonSense (ann) wrote:
> Small, with gray siding, and slate blue fake shutters, it is the
> only one storey house on the lot.
[Outside, two figures looked at the place.]
Varne " You are sure this is the place?"
Magnus " Well it is the address Ken gave us, and the sign is there."
[ Magnus produced a silver hip flask and was about to drink, when
Varne tripped and knocked it out of his hand.]
Varne " Sorry Lord."
Magnus " Not to worry, it does have a non spill device, now shall we
go in?"
[ Magnus picked up the flask on the way to the door and this time
managed a swig.]
Ken Young
ken...@cix.co.uk
Maternity is a matter of fact
Paternity is a matter of opinion
gordon
>Prefatory Note: The first and second annual hoedowns were held over in
>Rec.Arts.Drwho. Edited, HMTL versions of these wild and wacky round robins can
>be found at: http://www.ucc.gu.uwa.edu.au/~pandinac/profun/ and
>http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/ (behind the pop-up) respectively.
>
>Feel free to join in -- and good luck! ;-)
>---
"We're gonna be *laaaaaaaaaaaaate*!"
"I know that Yokoi, but the last thing I expected was for the shop to
fall through a transtemporaltranferencethingy when I pressed that big,
shiny, red button on the till I'd never pressed before. One minute I'm
serving a customer, the next "Oooooh, *dinosaurs!*"
"Mrs. Smith was a bit surprised."
"Yeah, but she just poked that velociraptor with her brolly..."
"And you looked lke you were enjoying yourself..."
"Er, yes, well..."
"Especially when those cavewomen said you were their god come back to
save them from the lizardmen."
"Well..."
Gordon blushed in the darkness of the car. He and Yokoi were driving
along through the sadly typical Scottish summer weather (rain, wind,
thunder and lightning) in a small, blue Mini Cooper.
Gordon was, well, average looking. about 5' 11", untidy, short hair a
goatee and glasses. As was usual, he wore his travelling coat, the big
black one with the shiny buttons.
Yokoi sat in the passenger seat, still with her wayward,
dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards hair and dark, technicoloured
patchwork coat. She had a small brown, calico kitten curled up in her
lap, snoozing. This was Oscar. She didn't know where Gordon and Yokoi
were off to, but her natural curiosity got the better of her and she had
followed them into the car along with Rory. Rory sat in the backseat,
looking out the front window with interest, a cuddly golden retriever
who's mission in life was to make friends with the entire universe.
Jones (who was sadly, no longer with them) had told him about last
year's hoedown, and he'd decided he wanted to see this one.
Finally, the rain and clouds and wind and thnder and lightning
faded, and they found themselves on a familiar road, entering
a familiar car-park. Gordon smiled as he saw the Pro-Fun U-boat
on its monster truck wheels parked there. Igor had obviously
made it here before them.
Gordon neatly parked the car and he and Yokoi got out, Oscar now perched
on Yokoi's shoulder and Rory trotting along beside them. "You go on
ahead," Gordon said, "I've something to do first."
Gordon walked up to the stalls, where a few tributes went up last year.
He saw tributes for Chuck Jones and Spike Milligan, two founding fathers
of pro-fun. He smiled sadly. He put his own little plaque up beside the
others. The writing was small, but somehow easily readable by anyone.
It read...
"On the 16th of May this year, my best friend Jones went to sleep for
the last time. It was a short, sudden illness and thankfully he didn't
suffer, but that doesn't really make it any better.
"I'll miss him. He'd been my friend for twelve years. I'll miss the
snuggly headbutts. the fights with pens. The way if you skritched the
side of his head the right way he'd lean over and lean over until
eventually he'd fall over and just lie there purring contentedly. I'll
miss the way he pounced on empty Pepperami wrappers, the way he'd
suddenly turn up at my window wanting back in, the uncanny ability he
had of avoiding being captured on camera (which failed at times, see
www.bhfh.fsnet.co.uk/jones1.jpg for what can only be captioned "Bwa-hah!
Chair is mine!"), the way he used to chase the dogs around, the way
you'd sometimes, not often, but sometimes, find Jones and Rory or Bobby
snuggled up together. I'll miss the way he used to always try and make
off with my spectacles whenever I put them down somewhere, the way he
used to walk over/on my hands and keyboard when I was trying to type. Or
when he'd snuggle into my hands whne trying to play videogames.
But most of all, I'll miss not having someone I can just go up to, sit
beside and skritch or stroke or cuddle whenever things were bad and I'd
always feel better.
He was a small cat, but he thought big. We always expected he'd go out
one day and not come back, being the daft, fearless little bugger he
was. But in the end, it was something from inside that got him. It was
so sudden, a matter of days.
Goodbye old friend, wherever you are now,I hope your having fun..."
Gordon bowed his head and slowly walked back.
He entered the main barn, just in time to catch Eloise's introductory
song. He cheered and applauded with everyone else and gladly
took the jelly baby a small troll in a cowboy outfit offered him.
He trotted up to ELoise. "Hiyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"
*hugs*
"Do you mind if i take the stage for a bit? I actually have a song of my
own this year."
"Of course! As if you needed to *ask*" she smiled.
He walked meekly onto the stage, followed by Igor, Yokoi and a few
random U-Boat crewmen. With musical instruments.
"I have a little song of my own this time, adapted from a piece of
work by the late, great, Ian Dury. Hopefully he won't mind. :)"
As the band started playing some very funky riffs, Gordon started to,
well, not sing as much, but talk.
"Reasons to be cheerful, part 3.
"Watching Horns Of Nimon, my younger brother Simon,
pretending to be firemen, a McGann named Paul.
Dancing round the room, the leg drop of doom,
making things go boom, and Johnny Ball.
Drinking Pepsi Max, wearing silly hats,
cuddly dogs and cats, a mystery tour.
Big'n'bouncy castles, brightly coloured parcels,
a day with no hassles and Patrick Moore.
Cartoons by Chuck Jones, tickled funny bones,
wearing traffic cones, happy faces.
A big bag of Maltesers, pizzas with four cheeses,
chirpy cockney geezers and Wacky Races.
Getting down and funky, being a cheeky money,
a sweater that is chunky, Wile E. Coyote.
A sausage inna bun, hoedowns full of fun,
History 101 and Ian Dury.
"Reasons to be cheerful, part 3.
"Reasons to be cheerful. 1. 2. 3.
"A cute wiccan called Willow, fighting friends with pillows,
ninja armadillos...
What colour is his coat? We'll need a bigger boat.
He's jumped into the moat...
Exploring great cities, playing with some kitties,
composing silly ditties...
A supper from the chippy, being rather silly,
Bungle, George and Zippy...
A bunny called Bugs, a singer named Suggs,
snuggly, cuddly hugs...
Bongos you can bash, cheddar cheese'n'Smash,
Burt Reynold's 'tache...
Tunes that you can hum, food inside my tum,
Jeri Ryan's Bum...
A giant cuddly toy, Nintendo GameBoy,
my groovy muse Yokoi...
"Reasons to be cheerful, part 3.
"Reasons to be cheerful, part 3.
"Reasons to be cheerful, part 3.
"Reasons to be cheerful. 1. 2. 3.
Gordon bowed and leaped off the stage. Time to see who *else* is
here this year.
--
gordon "It's not the winning, it's the arsing around along the way."
Dedicated to Chuck Jones, Spike Milligan and most of all, Jones.
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
"*There* you are!"
Ayna and Xeffy froze.
Slowly, the two of them turned around.
Standing behind them was a young woman who could almost be Allie's twin.
The fact she was translucent and floating a few inches off the ground did
nothing to dispel the impression. Neither did the clothes she wore, which looked
like Calamity Jane's handmedowns.
"Err... Hi, Sandra." Xeffy finally settled on. "Err... what're you doing here?"
"Watching you two. The Steel Cage Food Fight of the Year. Two teams enter, only
one leaves... ungooped." Sandra's grin was broad enough to use as a bridge.
"Hey, where's the fun in a food fight without spectators?"
"Oh, Zeus..." Xeffy moaned.
"Now..." Sandra concentrated, levitating a pie into the air, "who wants to call
the toss? Tin or splat?"
---
Allie nudges Imran. "Hey, check out who's on stage."
A slow grin spreads across Imran's face as he watches Gordon finish his
performance. "Finally made it, I see..."
"Yokoi, too." Allie says, pointing out a familiar face in the backing band. Her
eyes widen as she sees Cameron and Cassie enter.
Imran glances at her. "Another university friend?"
Allie shakes her head. "Cassie's a dreamer. A dreaming Muse. The more Cameron
works on a story, the closer she comes to consciousness. I didn't think it
happened anymore..."
"It does."
Allie jumps. "Dad? Where've you been?"
The short, bearded man who's just arrived by the table takes a seat. "Looking
around. This Ship's fascinating, isn't she?"
Allie and Imran double-take. "You /know/?!"
"I can... feel her presence, perhaps? Yes. I'm... attuned to her presence."
Dominic smiles quietly, almost sadly. "I think it's something to do with her
nature as a time ship. History muses are usually more susceptible to things like
that. /Her/ history remains her own... it's the history she's /seen/, and shares
with our hostess there... _that_ is what I sense.
"As I was saying, though: Dreamer muses do happen. It usually tends to happen
more among Urania's or Clio's... but it does still happen."
---
>"A figure approaches, their past an enigma..."
>
>"That's not a part of my story..."
>
>A shadow enters the doorway, and its owner walks into the barn.
>
>"But that sounds like mine...
"Greetings. I take it the lovely lady levitating beside you is your muse?"
Cameron nods.
Magnus smiles, and bows. "A pleasure to meet you. You will, I hope, forgive the
melodrama..."
"Some of us can't," the redhaired woman next to him observes. "Hello there. This
is Lord Magnus-"
Magnus sighs. "Just Magnus here, please, Varne."
"And, as my Lord has graciously pointed out, I am his associate Varne." Varne
finishes. "A pleasure to be here."
---
Allie raises an eyebrow when she notices Varne shoot a glance at them. "Oops.
Looks like I've been found out..."
"Found out?" Dominic inquires, mirroring Allie's eyebrow.
"Shapeshifters tend to recognise each other for what they are." Allie explains.
"Varne's a shapeshifter - and a seer. Her associate, Magnus..." She hesitates.
"is something other. Something very, very dangerous. Something he does /not/
want to return to. In their stories, they usually work as mercenaries."
"They're both adwc characters," Imran explains to Dominic's questioning look.
"That's how we know them."
"Hmm..." Dominic considers this.
Allie and Imran, meanwhile, share a mischievous look.
"Gordon." Allie says.
"Yokoi." Imran says. "Ready?"
"As ever." Allie replies. "Let's do it."
---
> [Aside to Imran: I assume there is an introductory story for Ayna... where
can
> I find it?]
http://narm00.tripod.com/as8.html
http://narm00.tripod.com/as10.html
Covering what Ayna is, where she came from - and a small hint as to why she
left.
I /think/ I know how she came to be what she is, but it still needs working on.
Imran
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
"*There* you are!"
Ayna and Xeffy froze.
"Oh, Zeus..." Xeffy moaned.
---
"It does."
---
Cameron nods.
---
"They're not here on business, though, not if I guess them right." She chuckles
dryly. "Everyone needs fun sometimes..."
"They're both adwc characters," Imran explains to Dominic's questioning look.
"That's how we know them."
"Hmm..." Dominic considers this.
Allie and Imran, meanwhile, share a mischievous look.
"Gordon." Allie says.
"Yokoi." Imran says. "Ready?"
"As ever." Allie replies. "Let's do it."
---
> [Aside to Imran: I assume there is an introductory story for Ayna... where
> can I find it?]
http://narm00.tripod.com/as8.html
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
Inayat) wrote:
> "They're not here on business, though, not if I guess them right."
> She chuckles dryly. "Everyone needs fun sometimes..."
Magnus " Well, Ken said take some time off and gave me the tickets."
Varne " Oh and the address, he does not get out much."
ann
>Gordon neatly parked the car and he and Yokoi got out, Oscar now perched
>on Yokoi's shoulder and Rory trotting along beside them. "You go on
>ahead," Gordon said, "I've something to do first."
Just as she was finishing her greeting of Cameron and Cassie, Eloise saw Gordon
and Yokoi (and their fur-people friends) enter.
Gordon hung back at the memorial table, a placed a plaque of his own there,
while Yokoi, the golden retriever, and the kitten went into the crowd to
mingle.
High Five, the dog-who-used-to-be-a-robot in The Gods' of Ragnarok Circus (and
who had been with Eloise for a little over a year) tore her attention away
from the container of Pringles on the dip table when she heard the sound of
nails clicking on the barn floor.
In a flash, she and the golden retriever were dancing around each other,
sniffing and wagging tails, while the little brown calico kitten jumped off
Yokoi's shoulder, and tried to get some attention in sideways... Then, like
the consummate hostess she was, led her two new friends down the hall to
Sweetheart's[*] garden -- where they could run, and chase and play hide and
seek in the bushes.
>"Do you mind if i take the stage for a bit? I actually have a song of my
>own this year."
>
>"Of course! As if you needed to *ask*" she smiled.
>
>He walked meekly onto the stage, followed by Igor, Yokoi and a few
>random U-Boat crewmen. With musical instruments.
>
>"I have a little song of my own this time, adapted from a piece of
>work by the late, great, Ian Dury. Hopefully he won't mind. :)"
>
>As the band started playing some very funky riffs, Gordon started to,
>well, not sing as much, but talk.
>
<snip song>
>
>Gordon bowed and leaped off the stage. Time to see who *else* is
>here this year.
Eloise applauded loudly.... So nice to be in the audience, sometimes, instead
of having to be "on" -- especially when the talent is as good as this...
She beamed at Gordon as he stepped down from the stage. "So what will it be
first? Vanilla Ice cream, or the mega delux bouncy castle?"
Danel
In one of the quiet(relatively speaking) corners, a young man -
perhaps in
his mid-teens - ... well, he lurks. Which was unfortunate, because
he'd
chosen the Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown as his chance to stop doing that. A
sort of
de-lurking party, if you will. Which was why his continued insistence
on
doing just that was unfortunate, as has already been mentioned. For
the
record, he was dressed simply, in a white T-shirt, and trousers of
some odd
colour. It was supposedly the same material that made 8Doc's coat -
and
indeed, the colour did seem uncertain (the salesman mentioned quantam
spectral uncertainty, or something) - but seemed to hover more between
mud
brown and putrid green than anything more aesthetic. Still...
Finally deciding to do something, this young man starts to walk
towards the
drinks table - and is intercepted by the turquoise deputy.
"Jelly baby?" she offers. Somewhat taken aback, the young man
automatically
asks-
"Do you have orange?"
After eating the delicious treat, the young man decides to take the
plunge,
and cordially introduces himself to the joyful troll (Note: Did you
ever
actually get a definite name, for the deputy and for the happy
trolls?).
"The name's Danel - lurker, multiple fan and Museless Writer."
Puzzled and slightly bemused, the reply is "How can you write without
a
Muse?"
Danel grimaces. "Exactly."
The sour expression is somewhere out of place in the Hoedown, but the
Deputy
senses that there is nothing she can do here and slips away. The young
man
continues onto the drinks table unimpeded. Or almost unimpeded - a few
paces
away, he is brought to a halt by a grey-eyed anime girl - possibly
Allie,
though he isn't sure.
"How old are you?"
The sour expression becomes worse. "I'll get a lemonade."
"Fine."
He contents himself to do this, and Grey Eyes is about to slip away
when;-
"Are there any lemons here? Oranges?"
"No lemons - there are children here!"
What follows is best described as a look of death - albeit one carried
out
by someone who is somewhat unscary. More a look of minor twinge of
slight
fear. Grey Eyes quickly passes the fruit, but before he can add them
to the
drink, she asks him-
"Are you the Museless Writer?"
"I am indeed. I'm hoping I may even find one here. I need one - my
fixs lie
unfinished, inspiration departed, as I continue, becoming more
downhearted..." An attempt at poetry by a man with no muse is often
dangerous, especially so with typo gremlins in the area. Fortunately,
at
this point Danel completes the drink and takes a long sip, an
expression of
bliss crossing his features - to be replaced by one of appalled horror
as he splutters wildly.
"That wasn't orange - that was a bloody satsuma!"
--
Danel
-----------
"For once I wasn't in a meddling mood.
For once I was happy to leave these
idiots to their stupid paranoia, their
stupid rhetoric, and their
stupid apostrophes..."
The Doctor, Uroboros Part Two, DWM
BKWillis
>Eloise applauded loudly.... So nice to be in the audience, sometimes,
>instead
>of having to be "on" -- especially when the talent is as good as this...
>
>She beamed at Gordon as he stepped down from the stage. "So what will it be
>first? Vanilla Ice cream, or the mega delux bouncy castle?"
>
A brisk tapping sounded from the door, which puzzled Eloise a
bit. Hadn't she invited everyone to just come right in? With a
puzzled trolly shrug, she excused herself and headed for the door.
"No need to be so formal!" she announced as she swung back
the door. "Everyone's invited!"
"A matter of procedure, ma'am," said the taller of the two
policewomen who stood just outside, taller being an extremely
relative term. She was about five feet tall, with curly brown
hair tied into a slightly sloppy braid. Her partner was a few
inches shorter, her bright red locks pinned up in a bun under
her hat. Both wore what would have looked like slightly martial
police uniforms, had there been more to them. In reality, they
looked more like Strip-O-Gram outfits than real police uniforms.
However, the badges on their caps and breast pockets were
shiny and authoritative-looking, the letters 'ADWCMP'
emblazoned across a shield and star.
Eloise eyed the two with a bit of unease. Whoever they were,
the guns and handcuffs on their belts looked entirely real. "Is
there a problem, officers?" she asked. "I hope no one has
complained about the noise or parking." As she spoke, she
looked past the two, to where an ancient Dodge Challenger sat
idling at the curb. It looked as if it had seen better days, but
the gumball light on top and the emblems on the side seemed
new. 'Alt.DrWho.Creative Muse Patrol', the emblem read.
"There've been no complaints, ma'am," the brunette officer
reassured, her tones clipped and professional and British. She
glanced at her partner. "We're with the Muse Patrol. I'm Officer
Nyssaias and this is Officer Embericles."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," the redhead said, nodding. Her
own voice carried a distinctive Deep South twang. "Do you mind
if I take a look around, please?"
"Everybody's welcome!" Eloise answered with a big grin. "Make
yourself at home! Have a drink!"
"Thank you ma'am, but we're on duty. If you'll excuse me." So
saying, the short Musecop slipped off into the crowd, giving each
partygoer a short looking-over.
"May I ask what this is all about?" the Joy Troll asked the
remaining officer.
Officer Nyssaias pulled a police-lineup photo out of her pocket
and handed it to Eloise. The picture showed a sullen, vicious-
looking man of indeterminate age, his head shaven and with an
odd sort of robe or cassock on. A strange symbol that resembled
an eight-armed cross was stitched on the front of the garment and
a similarly-shaped pendant was around his neck.
"Have you seen this man?"
"Can't say that I have, officer. I think I'd remember somebody
that... that..."
"Repulsive?" Nyssaias offered.
"Well, I was going to be nicer, but yes." She handed the photo
back. "Who is he?"
"You're new around ADWC, aren't you?" the Musecop asked.
"This man we're seeking is an acolyte of the Order of the Cross-
Post. He's been spotted roaming around the group and we're
trying to alert the public to be on the lookout to help us nab
him."
"Oh my. Is he dangerous?"
"Him? By himself, no, not really. It's what he might do that
worries us."
"I don't quite understand."
"Well, you see, he's part of a cult that's dedicated to disrupting
every online community they come across. They do this by
performing a certain ritual that summons hordes of creatures
called Spamites, vicious, mindless, soulless brutes from the depths
of Hell, which then wander about and terrorize the good
citizenry."
"I think I see," the Joy Troll said musingly. "They sound quite
a bit like the Nasty Trolls we left RADW to escape."
"They're similar in intent, but a bit different in nature. Nasty
Trolls are bad, but they're still people. Of a very pathetic sort.
You can sometimes reason with them, even rehabilitate.
Spamites, though, you can only handle one way..."
"And how's that?"
At that moment, a huge shape detached itself from the shadows
at the edge of the yard and rushed forward, shrieking in rage. It
was a tall, slouch-shouldered beast, pink and greasy of skin and
with a single bloodshot red eye that glared out over a maw filled
with teeth that came straight from an HR Giger painting. Its arms
wriggled sinuously, bony hooks on the ends in place of hands.
"MAKE MONEY FAST!!!" it screamed as it lunged for the two.
Any curiosity about the nature of the pistol on the Musecop's
hip was dispelled as Nyssaias drew and calmly fired a single shot,
dropping the creature in its tracks. "Make money fast," it slavered
as it died, dissolving instantly into a pool of pink corruption.
"That's how," Officer Nyssaias explained to the wide-eyed Joy
Troll as she holstered her weapon.
Officer Embericles rejoined them just then. "No problems here,"
she reported to her partner. "These're all good folks. Locals, Joy
Trolls, a few harmless Typo Gremlins. Oh, and Allie says 'Hi'."
"HEY, ALLIE!" Nyssaias hollered at the crowd, waving. And to
Allie's mortification, adding, "You're looking hot tonight, kid! If
I weren't spoken for--"
"Ahem," ahemmed the other Musecop, scowling and giving her
a nudge in the ribs.
"Ah, right. Sorry, dear." Nyssaias grinned cutely, then abruptly
turned serious again. "I took down a Spamite just now. That
means our fugitive's already begun causing trouble."
The redhead looked chagrinned. "Aw, hellfire. Gonna be a long
night, sweetie." She turned back to Eloise and offered a courteous
nod. "Y'all folks have a good time and enjoy your party. C'mon
Nyss, let's go bag this nutball."
As the two young women waved and politely made their way back
to their squad car, Eloise eased the door shut, wondering a bit just
what sort of neighborhood they'd moved the Hoedown into.
BKWillis
--
"He was after all only a man, and therefore, implicitly, a fool."
--Patrick Woodroffe, 'Mons Veritatis'
I. Inayat
"Danel" <da...@fanfiction.net> wrote in message
news:62f25418.02073...@posting.google.com...
> capr...@aol.commonSense (ann) wrote in message
news:<20020730220511...@mb-fa.aol.com>...
> > Prefatory Note: The first and second annual hoedowns were held over in
> > Rec.Arts.Drwho. Edited, HMTL versions of these wild and wacky round robins
can
> > be found at: http://www.ucc.gu.uwa.edu.au/~pandinac/profun/ and
> > http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/ (behind the pop-up) respectively.
> >
> > Feel free to join in -- and good luck! ;-)
> In one of the quiet(relatively speaking) corners, a young man -
> perhaps in his mid-teens - ... well, he lurks. Which was
> unfortunate, because he'd chosen the Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown
> as his chance to stop doing that. A sort of de-lurking party, if
> you will. Which was why his continued insistence on doing
> just that was unfortunate, as has already been mentioned. For
> the record, he was dressed simply, in a white T-shirt, and
> trousers of some odd colour. It was supposedly the same
> material that made 8Doc's coat - and indeed, the colour did
> seem uncertain (the salesman mentioned quantam spectral
> uncertainty, or something) - but seemed to hover more between
> mud brown and putrid green than anything more aesthetic. Still...
>
> Finally deciding to do something, this young man starts to walk
> towards the drinks table - and is intercepted by the turquoise deputy.
> "Jelly baby?" she offers. Somewhat taken aback, the young man
> automatically asks- "Do you have orange?"
>
> After eating the delicious treat, the young man decides to take the
> plunge, and cordially introduces himself to the joyful troll (Note:
> Did you ever actually get a definite name, for the deputy and for the
> happy trolls?).
[Aside: The deputy's called Ruthie, and I think Ann's settled on "Joyful
Trolls".]
---
"Ahem." Allie said, seeing an unfamiliar writer head for the table. "Excuse me a
moment..."
Dominic chuckled as Nyssaias and Embericles left. "I knew there was a reason I
liked having those two around."
"Teenage mortification?" Imran suggested.
"You might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment."
---
Allie winced at Danel's outburst. "Oops, sorry. Let me get you another."
As she poured out another lemonade, Allie reached the conclusion that Murphy's
Law wanted to have it in for someone tonight - and it looked like it was her
turn.
She still hadn't seen where Xeffy and Ayna had disappeared to, which was
beginning to unnerve her. She /knew/ her sisters.
And as for Nyssaias and Embericles... Allie twitched as she reached for an
orange. Of all the Muses in all the realities, it had to be them.
As for Danel...
Allie winced again as she handed him the drink.
"Here you go. No satsuma."
The sour look returned to his face.
Many people *could* write without a Muse - they found their own paths to
inspiration.
If his poetry was anything to go by, however, Danel needed a Muse, and *pronto*.
"Perhaps we can help." Allie suggested.
"We?" Danel took in the two men sitting at the table.
"My dad, Dominic," Allie indicated the short, bearded man, his brown hair
balding on top. "He's a History Muse."
"A pleasure to meet you." Dominic said.
"And my writer, Imran."
"Hey." Imran said.
"So... what do we do first?"
"Well, we either go for the bouncy castle or the vanilla ice cream."
Danel blinked. "Say /what?/"
---
"Okay," Xeffy said. "You take the lemon meringues, and while they're distracted,
I'll run with the chocolate sauce and raspberry syrup. That should buy us enough
time..."
#Why don't we use the whipped cream?# Ayna suggested. #A whipped cream/tomato
sauce pincer movement's going to throw them off...#
Xeffy considered. "Nah. Let's save the divebombing until we need it. Treacle
sponge still in position?"
#Uh-huh.#
"Then let's do it!"
Ayna unfurled her wings - and leaped for a hoop.
As she leaped, Xeffy crouched down and ran for one of the sirens' goals - then
froze at the sight before her.
"Oh Hera. Oh Hera, you have /got/ to be kidding. _Moshed_ potatoes?"
Splat.
Xeffy wiped moshed potato off her face. "Laugh while you can, laughing boys..."
Ayna hung ten - and dropped the lemon meringue pie through the hoop.
Landing squarely on the typo gremlins below.
Ayna returned to ground level, and high-fived Xeffy. #Yes!#
"We /rock!/"
The scoreboards flickered to show 36 to the sirens, and 35 to the gremlins.
"TIME OUT!" Sandra yelled.
"Aw..." the typo gremlins said.
#Hmm.# Ayna said, considering the score. #Must be Australian Rules.#
"Time out, guys." Sandra said. "Time to get cleaned up. Looks like Gordon's
party's about to get started."
Xeffy grinned. "Then let's get moving..."
---
"It's Gordon's birthday party." Allie explained. "It's his thirtieth, and
well... we wanted to do something special for him."
"Which explains the boxes." Danel remarked.
"Kind of..." Imran said, noticing the movement over by the stage. "Looks like
he's finally decided..."
---
Imran
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
> She's wearing a child's play cowboy costume, complete with a deputy's big
> silver star, and she's holding up a bag of sweets in your direction.
>
> "Would you like a jelly-baby?" she asks.
>
> Not wanting to offend, you reach in and take one. It just happens to be your
> favorite flavor. Popping into your mouth, you think: "This could be a very
> interesting night."
"Hum!" said Merlin. "I didn't know they made cheese jelly babies."
"Vanilla," Nimue smiled.
Lancelot peered around for other forms of refreshment. "I wouldn't mind a
cup of something."
"Is there a pool?" Morgan wondered, but Calamity Jane had moved on to other
new arrivals.
"There's only one way to find out," Arthur suggested.
Guenevere hefted a package, about half the size of a breadbox, giftwrapped.
"Merlin, didn't you say it's someone's birthday?"
--
Paul Gadzikowski, scar...@iglou.com since 1995
http://members.iglou.com/scarfman
"If denial is a river in Egypt, then Buffy has always been an Amazon."
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
: "Thank you ma'am, but we're on duty. If you'll excuse me." So
: partygoer a short looking-over.
: "You're new around ADWC, aren't you?" Nyssaias the Musecop asked Eloise.
: "This man we're seeking is an acolyte of the Order of the Cross-
: Post."
Officer Embericles pulled up short. It wasn't the man she and Nyssaias were
looking for (Fancy them looking for a man!), but there was something about
the group of half a dozen people, observing the birthing food fight from its
edges, that smelled of crossposting.
As she approached them the redhead said to the tall, thin, morose-looking
man, "You're not going to join in, are you?" with no hope in her tone.
"I always join a tournament on the weaker side."
"Disguised," added the man with the short-cropped fair hair and beard.
"Someone could hit you in the face with a pie ..." suggested the petite woman
all in green.
"Excuse me," Embericles interrupted them, "but may I see some identification
please?"
"Never carry it!" asserted the old man. But the tall skinny blonde produced
one each for them both, if not issued by any authority Embericles had ever
heard of. The small woman had nothing, but the other three were Round Table
Space Fleet knights. That explained it; they had vibes like crossposters
because they visited alt.startrek.creative too. Harmless.
"Is there a problem, officer?" the fairheaded man asked.
"That would take too long to explain," she said reassuringly, and moved on.
Cameron Mason
ann <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "Cameron Mason"
>
> >Cameron enters the barn, followed by a woman.
> >
> >There are a few remarkable things about this woman. Firstly, she is
asleep;
> >secondly, she is floating off the ground vertically.
>
> >Cameron speaks: "This is my muse, Cassie
>
> <snip>
>
>
> >"I've been working on a story for Mag's summer challenge, which is good
for
> >a muse; but now that I have no time to write, the snatches of prose I
think
> >of writing she murmers in her sleep."
>
> Ruthie was busy taking Xephy, Ayna and the typo gremlins to the "Food
Fight
> Zone", so it was Eloise who greeted Cameron with a hearty handshake.
>
> "Cameron!" she exclaimed. "So glad you could make it! And what a
pleasure it
> is to meet your muse!" She considered shaking the sleeper's hand, but as
> Cassie seemed engaged with a story detail at the moment, thought better of
it.
> Best not to distract a working muse.
"Hello again Eloise. This time I shouldn't be turning into any animals."
Cameron chuckles at the memory of what happened at the last Hoedown.
Cassie stirs, and speaks: "The Doctor could feel the pressure building up in
his head again; another memory was about to reveal itself to him."
Cameron sighs. "I really need to find time to type this all up, otherwise
she'll give away the whole story..."
ann
>"Danel" <da...@fanfiction.net> wrote in message
>news:62f25418.02073...@posting.google.com...
OOps! Authorial crossover transference alert... I just wrote a *different*
reply to Danel, myself... I was going to post it last night, but I kept falling
alseep. I just finished it. Shall I post it?
Oh, what the heck... it's a little early for double plotlines, but maybe it's
early enough to get straightened out without too much entanglement...
---
From: da...@fanfiction.net
>(Note: Did you
>ever
>actually get a definite name, for the deputy and for the happy
>trolls?).
The leader of the pro-fun trolls -- (the avacado green, fishing vested,
fiddling one) is named Eloise... And that vest was a gift from the Doctor. Its
pockets are dimensionally transcendental (which is why she can carry a
full-sized violin in them)
My own Note on History: The idea of "Pro-Fun Troll" (and Eloise herself) was
born over in RADW, two years ago, where the trolls were and are in the habit of
putting themselves in various pro- and anti- troll camps. This seems to be a
habit unique to Usenet Doctor Who fandom, and so "Pro-Fun" troll doesn't have
much meaning in other realms of cyberspace. It is for these other realms that
Eloise and crew have adopted the title "joyful"... Here, We're still "Pro-fun".
Eloise took on the deputy (named Ruthie) last year, as a sort of an
apprentice/aide... and perhaps (but I'm not certain of this) ward.
The only other Pro-fun troll whose name I know is Walter Duncun -- he made a
cameo /comic relief appearance at the very end of last year's story... He's
just a visiter to this realm, and while he is more than willing to be friendly
with humans, he considers them to be a rather silly, naive, and baffling
species of alien... He, btw, is bright purple, and gangly -- all of 4 feet tall
and thin as a rail (by troll standards, anyway)...
We now return you to your regularly scheduled madness...
---
From Danel (again):
>Danel completes the drink and takes a long sip, an
>expression of
>bliss crossing his features - to be replaced by one of appalled horror
>as he splutters wildly.
>
>"That wasn't orange - that was a bloody satsuma!"
At that, a relatively thin-faced purple troll popped up across the table,
causing Danel to yelp and jump back at least six inches. He cocked his head to
one side, and eyed the young man with a look of deep concern.
Finally, he spoke: "You did not get what you wanted?" The troll's words were
a statement. His tone was a question.
"N-no..." Danel replied, once he found his voice.
"Odd, odd, very odd," the troll muttered to himself, as he sniffed each of the
items on the table with the speed and effeciency of a bloodhound searching for
a scent. "My magic has never failed before." He looked up at Danel once more
and his eyes narrowed. "Did you get the jelly-baby you wanted?" he asked.
"Y-yes... I think so. I mean: yes."
"You *think* so?" the purple troll answered. "Hm-hhm, hm-um," he went on,
sounding like a doctor looking over a chart. "I think I know what's wrong.
You see, I put a spell on all the food here tonight --"
(Danel nervously puts the class he was holding down on the table)
"--so that each guest would get exactly what he or she wants. The problem is,
young man," the troll continued, "that you don't know what you want, or if you
do know, you don't really believe that what you want is good enough."
As he spoke, the troll came around to Danel's side of the table, and sputtered
violently himself. "*What* are you wearing?!"
"Just a tee shirt and some trousers," Danel replied, baffled.
"Those trousers!" the troll said, crinkling up his long nose. "They reek of
spectral uncertainty! Do you even know what color they are?"
"Well, they're... um... Well, they're... er... No," the young man finally
admitted.
"Do you *like* them, anyway?"
"Not particularly."
"That settles it, then. Eloise!" the purple troll called out, "May we borrow
your wardrobe room? We have a bit of an emergency, and this young man needs to
change his trousers."
Danel turned beet red from the neck up. "Hey!" he protested (but quietly...
being a lurker, he was unused to raising his voice)
"Certainly, Walter," Our Hostess replied. "Take whatever you need.'
The troll turned to the young man who had come in under the pile of boxes,
which were now all unpacked, their contents arranged around the cauldron(aside:
but if they're prezzies for Gordon, I guess they're not -- scratch that). "Do
you have everything under control, Imran?" he asked.
Imran was rolling up his sleeves, rocking back on his heels, and looking very
pleased with himself. Mysteriosly, the cauldron was already bubbling and
hissing in a merry way, even with no fire underneath. "Yes, I think so.
Thanks for all your help, Walter."
"Don't mention it. I enjoy helping a fellow chef and magician." He took
Danel's hand, and pulled him down another hallway to the wardrobe room. "Come
with me," he said, and then: "Did I say something to offend?" just then
noticing that Danel was even more uncomfortable than befiore.
"Well, back there, when you were talking to the leader troll, you made it sound
like I ... oh, never mind." He paused. "And I don't *need* to change my
trousers just because *you* like theml!"
"It's not what *I* like or want that's the question," Walter answered. You
said yourself that you aren't particularly fond of them. And I can't say that
their quantum spectral uncertainty is *causing* your own doubts... but they're
definitely exaserbating it So let's get you into something more definite...If
you don't trust your own heart, you'll never recognize your muse even if she
blocks your path."
"You heard that?!" Danel asked.
"Of course I heard it! What do you think these big ears are good for if not
eavesdropping? Here we are!" the troll said, at the wardrobe door, pushing
Danel through. "I'll just wait out here 'til you're changed. Have fun. Go
wild. And don't worry about pleasing the tastes of others (The Doctor
certainly doesn't!)."
ann
>"Time out, guys." Sandra said. "Time to get cleaned up. Looks like Gordon's
>party's about to get started."
>
>Xeffy grinned. "Then let's get moving..."
[Just a reminder: the actual, 3d Gordon is getting ready for a trip to London
for a couple of days, so he may not reply here for a while... Doesn't mean we
can't have fun with the fictional Gordon, however ;-)]
ann
>Cameron sighs. "I really need to find time to type this all up, otherwise
>she'll give away the whole story..."
"What our guests need," Eloise said with a theatrical bow and a wink, "we
provide. The Writers' room is third door down the second hallway on the left.
There you will find everything from parchment and quill pens to 37th Century
Thought recorders (one of the advantages of traveling in a timeship)."
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "I. Inayat"
>
> >"Danel" <da...@fanfiction.net> wrote in message
> >news:62f25418.02073...@posting.google.com...
>
> OOps! Authorial crossover transference alert... I just wrote a *different*
> reply to Danel, myself... I was going to post it last night, but I kept
falling
> alseep. I just finished it. Shall I post it?
>
> Oh, what the heck... it's a little early for double plotlines, but maybe it's
> early enough to get straightened out without too much entanglement...
I think we can fit the two together with minimal editing.
If I rewrite it so that Allie's musing on Danel takes place /after/ Walter's
outburst... so strike my original version, and replace with:
(apologies for the repetition)
---
> The troll turned to the young man who had come in under the pile of boxes,
> which were now all unpacked, their contents arranged around the
cauldron(aside:
> but if they're prezzies for Gordon, I guess they're not -- scratch that).
Not /all/ of them. Some of them're prezzies - the rest are general magic stuff.
---
As she poured out another lemonade, Allie reached the conclusion that Murphy's
Law probably wanted to have it in for someone tonight - and it looked like it
was her
turn.
She still hadn't seen where Xeffy and Ayna had disappeared to, which was
beginning to unnerve her. She /knew/ her sisters, and one thing they were /not/
was quiet.
And as for Nyssaias and Embericles... Allie twitched as she reached for an
orange. Of all the Muses in all the realities, it had to be them.
As for Danel...
Allie winced again as she handed the drink to Danel, by now suitably outfitted
from Sweetheart's[*] wardrobe.
"Here you go. No satsuma."
The sour look returned to his face.
Many people *could* write without a Muse - they found their own paths to
inspiration.
If his poetry was anything to go by, however, Danel needed a Muse, and *pronto*.
"Perhaps we can help." Allie suggested.
"We?" Danel took in the two men sitting at the table.
"My dad, Dominic," Allie indicated the short, bearded man, his brown hair
balding on top. "He's a History Muse."
"A pleasure to meet you." Dominic said.
"And my writer, Imran."
"Hey." Imran said.
"So... what do we do first?"
"Well, we either go for the bouncy castle or the vanilla ice cream."
---
[put in the food fight here]
---
"It's Gordon's birthday party." Allie explained, off Danel's expression. "It's
his thirtieth, and
well... we wanted to do something special for him."
"Which explains the boxes." Danel remarked.
"Kind of..." Imran said, noticing the movement over by the stage. "Looks like
he's finally decided..."
---
[There, that should do it.]
[* Sweetheart is Eloise's TARDIS - and the Pro-Fun Hoedown barn. Interestingly,
Dominic seems to have an affinity for her, too.]
Imran
gordon
>From: "I. Inayat" nar...@ntlworld.com
>
>>"Time out, guys." Sandra said. "Time to get cleaned up. Looks like Gordon's
>>party's about to get started."
>>
>>Xeffy grinned. "Then let's get moving..."
>
>[Just a reminder: the actual, 3d Gordon is getting ready for a trip to London
>for a couple of days, so he may not reply here for a while... Doesn't mean we
>can't have fun with the fictional Gordon, however ;-)]
I don't leave until the 11th and I'm back on the 14th, so I'm still here
for a bit yet. :)
gordon "Just because I serve you doesn't mean I *like* you..."
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
capr...@aol.commonSense (ann) wrote:
> Eloise applauded loudly.... So nice to be in the audience,
> sometimes, instead of having to be "on" -- especially when the
> talent is as good as this...
[ Just then she realised that Varne was at her elbow.]
Varne " I just thought that it would be a good idea to tell you not
to let my Lord sing."
Eloise " We are pro-fun, people singing out of tune are not a
problem."
Varne " Oh Magnus does have talent as a singer, it is what he sings.
About all the songs he can remember are either sagas where everybody
dies painfully or Rugby songs. Give him a chance and you will get
thirteen verses of Four and Twenty Virgins or the Good Ship Venus."
ann
>I think we can fit the two together with minimal editing.
>
<snip edited version>
Yes, thank you... that works nicely.
[Aside: I realized, as I was starting the intro, that I haven't written any
original fiction since the end of the last hoedown -- Poetry, essays,
retellings of folk tales, essays, and a song -- but no fiction... and those
parts of my brain are as stiff as unused muscles. My replies may be slow and
brief until I get limbered up again]
>Interestingly,
>Dominic seems to have an affinity for her, too.]
Well, she is a pro-fun and good-time TARDIS... making visiters feel comfortable
enough to take off their shoes is one of her special skills.
But...
Perhaps he knows something of her past -- not personally specific to her, but
what was going historically around the time of her :::whispers:::
"tragedy"....[*]
(I don't *think* it was a war... But perhaps it was a natural catastrophe.
Either that, or something personal that happened to her pilot)
[*]Eloise is not Sweetheart's first pilot (not being a Timelord). One day, an
empty TARDIS just materialized near Eloise's troll bridge, and let Eloise in to
explore. The two grew fond of each other, and have been together ever since.
Last year, Sweetheart used her chamelion circuit to change into a circus wagon
with thirteen white mares in harness... The more time she spent in mammalian
form, the stronger the telepathic link between her and Eloise became.
Something happened last year that **Really** spooked Sweetheart, and it was
then that Eloise got her first clue as to what happened to the first pilot (all
she knows is that the death was violent and complete).
gordon
>Eloise applauded loudly.... So nice to be in the audience, sometimes, instead
>of having to be "on" -- especially when the talent is as good as this...
>
>She beamed at Gordon as he stepped down from the stage. "So what will it be
>first? Vanilla Ice cream, or the mega delux bouncy castle?"
"Oh, definitely the ice cream, since there's the bouncy castle won't
melt if left long enough."
"Well, that kind of depends..." muttered Yokoi with a grin.
"That *wasn't* my fault! I didn't know the Martians were holidaying
next door and I certainly didn't expect them to fire up one of their war
machines because we woke them all up with an impromptu rendition
of "Can U Dig It?" by Pop Will Eat Itself."
"Ah, that was fun..."
"The heat rays worked lovely on those cocktail weenies. Granted
Igor still jumps six feet into the air if you sneak up behind him and go
"Oolaa!" but that's only to be expected."
"True..."
"But yes, definitely ice..."
Gordon looked down to find a bowl of vanilla ice cream in his hand,
with a Cadbury's Flake stuck sticking out of the middle. He decided
not to ask who'd put it in his hands or how they knew he liked Flakes,
because he didn't want to know and all that really mattered was the end
result.
"...cream."
Eloise smiled as Gordon got stuck into the food. Yokoi looked around
the barn, smiling as she saw her old college friend Allie among the
audience. The smile became an inane grin as she saw the three figures
who had just walked in the door.
The first was tall, with a high forehead and distinguished nose. His
short black hair was combed back neatly and his aspect was somewhat
stern, until he suddenly smiled and his face filled with warmth. As for
his eyes, you could see galaxies in those eyes. He was dressed in the
garb of a Victorian gentleman, with a long black walking stick in one
hand, which he didn't really need since his rejuvenation, but kept
anyway as he'd become rather used to it these days.
"Ah my friends, it seems we have arrived!"
The second was a young woman, short, with shoulder-length dark hair
framing a delicate face. She had somewhat of a piercing gaze, which was
only accentuated by her striking eyebrows. She looked round slowly,
taking everything in. She wore a long coat, over t-shirt and jeans.
"There's so many people here..."
The third was tall and pale with short, almost white hair. Her body
language was *almost* but not quite human. In another situation she
might be described as "dangerous", but here she had a big smile on her
face as her gaze moved this way and that with curiosity, taking in all
the sights and sounds as if afraid she'd miss anything. She wore a
simple black shirt and baggy trousers.
~Are they here?~ she signed with her hands.
Yokoi ran up to them, arms spread wide. "Doctor! Katherine! Silence!
you made it!"[1] She grabbed them all together in a big hug, which the
Doctor made vague attempts at fighting off. Yokoi finally let him get
away from the huddle.
"Gordon is gonna be *so* pleased you guys are here!"
"I must admit I had slight misgivings about visiting, after all the
events of last time..." said the Doctor, brushing imaginary specks of
dust from his jacket, "...but my two young friend *insisted*." He
smiled.
"And anyway," Katherine piped up, "Even if he'd refused I'd have
locked him in the Cloister Room and Silence would've gotten us here."
~I've been reading the TARDIS manual.~ signed Silence, grinning.
"Well, now that you're all here, you can help us celebrate Gordon's
birthday. He wasn't too bothered about celebrating it, but we all
decided he was getting a big party whether he liked it or not!"
"I actually feel somewhat sorry for the poor fellow..."
"He'll be alright. Psychologically disturbed for life maybe, but that's
more or less normal for him anyway. So..."
Yokoi watched as Oscar raced in from the garden and ran around two dozen
and a half pairs of feet before leaping almost all the way up Gordon's
leg, looked up as if to say "Hiya!" then jumped off again before racing
back outside again leaving a slightly dazed and confused Gordon in her
wake.[2] Yokoi grinned, gathered the others into a huddle and
whispered.
"Here's the plan..."
gordon "It's not the winning, it's the arsing around along the way."
*******
[1] Yes, they're from an alternative universe. Yes, that's Peter
Cushing, but from the best Hammer movies, not the Dalek films. Katherine
kind of looks like Winona Ryder, her grandmother was a science fiction
writer in the 40s/50s and was introduced, along with this Doctor in the
story "Missing Pages" in The Cat Who Walked Through Time. Silence
is....well...a Voord. *Long* story. She's mute, but doesn't let that get
in the way of anything, has a possibly unhealthy amount of curiosity and
is best described as a cross between Leeloo from Fifth Element and
Michelle Yeoh. That's all clear now isn't it? Why are you all running
away like that? Come back!!!
[2] Yes, she does this in real life... :)
gordon
>From: gordon
>
>>Eloise smiled as Gordon got stuck into the food.
>
>Erm... I take it this does *not* mean you're suddenly up to your knees in ice
>cream... Right?
No, at least, not *yet*...
...I dread to think what Yokoi's up to.
--
ann
>Eloise smiled as Gordon got stuck into the food.
Erm... I take it this does *not* mean you're suddenly up to your knees in ice
cream... Right? I think the American idiom for this is "he 'dug in' to his
food" but I just want to be clear.
>"I must admit I had slight misgivings about visiting, after all the
>events of last time..." said the Doctor, brushing imaginary specks of
>dust from his jacket, "...but my two young friend *insisted*." He
>smiled.
(And, he'd never admit this, but he is probably very greatful to Gordon and
Yokoi for bringing their alternate universe back to life)...
Eloise grinned. She wondered when the Doctors would start to make their
appearences... Then again, knowing Them, they were probably off colluding
about something, and arguing with each other in the process...
>Oscar raced in from the garden and ran around two dozen
>and a half pairs of feet before leaping almost all the way up Gordon's
>leg, looked up as if to say "Hiya!" then jumped off again before racing
>back outside again leaving a slightly dazed and confused Gordon in her wake...
Eloise chuckled. "She's a good match for you, Gordon," she said. "I bet you'd
do exactly that sort of thing yourself if you had four legs, a tail, and
whiskers..."
Then she quietly slipped over toward Yokoi, to try and overhear the plan.
Danel
>
> "It's Gordon's birthday party." Allie explained, off Danel's expression. "It's
> his thirtieth, and
> well... we wanted to do something special for him."
>
> "Which explains the boxes." Danel remarked.
>
> "Kind of..." Imran said, noticing the movement over by the stage. "Looks like
> he's finally decided..."
>
>
"So," started Danel, as the three walked along, "you're Imran Inayat,
yes? The guy who is writing that Buffy fic with Tara and Spike working
in the Wishverse Caritas?"
Imran nodded, then somewhat redundantly said "Yes." However, he did
add: "Do you like it?"
Danel smiled blissfully, a smile which, Allie noted anxiously, seemed
rather similar to the kind of smiles found on the faces of the most
fanatic fans.
"It has Dawn in it." This comment failed to defuse Allie's suspicions.
She waited for him to continue. "I think Dawn is now my favourite
Buffy character, and I actively search out fics with her in. It's
pretty hard, because there aren't many. She's so... aaack!"
Caught up in a stream of reverential fanboy rhetoric he had failed to
notice Some Kind of Large Device(tm) foolishly left in the middle of
the floor, where anyone could trip over it. If they're weren't looking
where they were... anyway.
------------------------------
As the three moved off to their impromptu rendezvous with the
SKoLD(tm), Dominic gave a slight chuckle and decided to discreetly
check just how much mess Xeffy had managed to get into. Surely it
couldn't be that much, this early in the evening? He made a bet with
himself, at 10-1 odds that she would be in more of the mess than the
first part of his brain had thought had first.
Hmm. What an odd sentence.
--------------------------------
As Danel lay prone, Imran and Allie examined the Some Kind of Large
Device(tm). Despite the name, it wasn't actually _that_ big, being
just about the right size to trip up the unwary. What it was doing in
the middle of the floor was more of a puzzle. Even more so, perhaps,
was that neither Allie or Imran had ever seen anything like it before.
So of course, Imran began to poke it. Allie decided to help Danel up,
mostly because he'd probably cause more trouble if she didn't. He was
polite, and thanked her.
In an attempt to make small talk, she foolishly asked him if he had
ever written.
He smiled.
"I wrote two chapters of a fic once."
"Oh?"
"Then my computer crashed, and I lost them both."
"Oh."
"Luckily, one of the chapters had been sent to be beta'd a little
while before, and they still had a copy."
"Good..."
"So I put it up, and no one at all replied. Not that it would have
been any good if they did. Then the site lost it, anyway, and my
little brother deleted it."
"Bad luck... what did you mean about not being any good if they did?"
Danel chuckled hollowly. "Can't you guess? I'm a literary coward."
Allie's eyes widened.
"A what?" asked Imran, looking up from the SKoLD(tm). Allie looked at
him.
"Keep poking. A literary coward is a writer who has a morbid fear-"
"Almost terror-" interrupted Danel.
"-of reading reviews or comments of their fiction. It's pretty rare,
actually." She turned towards Danel. "You seem to have every little
problem a writer can... museless, literary cowardice... do you have
critical writer's block and a really slow typing speed as well?"
"Yep."
There isn't much that can be done in reply to this except face-fault,
and Allie did so. All the anime practice. While down there, she
decided to take over the poking at the SKoLD(tm), pushing Imran out of
the way with comments about him not poking right.
At that moment, the SKoLD(tm) finally tired of being poked, and shot
Allie with a really poor special effect. It was as if the producer
realised too late the budget was all gone, and was forced to recruit
his four-year-old son to crayon in a line between the maching and
Allie's eyes in post-production.
Whatever its source, a side effect seemed to be Magic Electrical Girl
Charley being hurled from the machine, and fleeing, confused, into the
crowd while Danel and Imran watched and Allie fainted.
Not to be outdone, Danel stepped forward and peered at the machine.
"Fascinating."
It hit him with another awful special effect. This time, a blue monkey
bounded from the machine, and fled, shrieking in rage.
"That was Ingo!" exclaimed Danel.
"One of your characters?" asked Imran.
"No... Ingo, le singe bleu, was written by one of my more pretentious
schoolfriends. He decided to write a series of short stories in
French, to show his mastery of the language. We should stop that
creature. Ingo was, I remember, a Neo-Nazi monkey."
"_What?_"
"He was in the, uh, Blue Klux Klan. I apologise for my friend's sense
of humour. I remember, he was slightly odd. Liked to snort paracetamol
and crushed tic-tacs."
"What a strange man."
"Yes. It seems that this machine releases characters from the
subconscious, which could be dangerous here... to say nothing of any
potential long term eff.. long term... long..." Danel tailed off, and
a bewildered look crossed his features. "What was I waying? WHho are
you? And where exactly am I?"
Imran sighed. It seemed that the odd occurrences had already started.
Cameron Mason
ann <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "Cameron Mason"
>
> >Cameron sighs. "I really need to find time to type this all up, otherwise
> >she'll give away the whole story..."
>
> "What our guests need," Eloise said with a theatrical bow and a wink, "we
> provide. The Writers' room is third door down the second hallway on the
left.
> There you will find everything from parchment and quill pens to 37th
Century
> Thought recorders (one of the advantages of traveling in a timeship)."
"Great. I'll use one of the Thought recorders, so that I can get back to the
party ASAP, and Cassie will be more aware of our surroundings."
Cameron whispers in Eloise's ear.
"Cassie picked and wrapped Gordon's present, and I don't know where she put
it!"
Cameron walks of to the Writer's room, followed by Cassie.
Cameron
--
"I'm half-human on the Other's side."
http://members.fortunecity.com/masomika/
http://members.fortunecity.com/jpcovers/
BKWillis
>"What a strange man."
>"Yes. It seems that this machine releases characters from the
>subconscious, which could be dangerous here... to say nothing of any
>potential long term eff.. long term... long..." Danel tailed off, and
>a bewildered look crossed his features. "What was I waying? WHho are
>you? And where exactly am I?"
>
>Imran sighed. It seemed that the odd occurrences had already started.
>
>
"Hey!" Allie yelped, looking up. "There's a card."
"Um, we're kind of in the preliminary stage of Crisis Mode right
now, Allie..." Imran started.
"But, there's a card on the Some Kind of Large Device. A birthday
card, it looks like. Sort of..."
She handed the card to Imran, who switched his attention back and
forth between reading it and keeping an eye on the now-amnesiac
Danel. The front of the card showed a chocolate birthday cake,
frosted in a disturbingly deep black, with black candles and little
white frosted skulls for a border. Suppressing a shudder, Imran
opened it and read the loopy, forward-slanted writing inside. It
read:
'To all the Joy Trolls and the birthday boy. Sorry I couldn't get a
cheerier-looking card, but my people aren't exactly known for their
light-and-fluffy ways. At any rate, I hope you all have a most
interesting time with the little present I've left for you. I know I will.
'From your most _secret_ of admirers,
'X'
Imran pondered that a bit distractedly. "Hmm... Who do we know
who's name starts with an 'X'? Xeffy, maybe?"
"I don't think so," Allie replied. "Check out the postmark on the
envelope."
"'Wolf Pack Island'?" Imran read, puzzled...
----
Meanwhile, in the shadows on the other side of the cul-de-sac...
Two figures glared out from the shrubbery as the Muse Patrol
car rumbled past. Well, okay, one figure glared out of the
shrubbery. The other figure was leaning idly on a ruby-tipped
staff, smiling and appearing to watch the guests entering the
Hoedown, despite the fact that his eyes seemed to be firmly
closed.
"I'm never going back," the glaring figure snarled. He was a
dirty, ill-kempt man with a shaven skull, clad in a filthy cassock
with an eight-armed cross embroidered on the front. "Never, do
you hear?"
"Pardon?" asked the smiling man politely.
"I said I'm never going back!"
"Ah. That's what I thought you'd said. That's an admirable, can-
do spirit you've got there, Brother Delta. It will serve you -- and
me -- very well."
"I still want to know why you helped me escape," Delta grunted,
glaring mistrustfully at his benefactor. "All infidels fear and envy
we of the Order of the Cross-Post, so why do you, an unbeliever,
assist me?"
"Because," said the mysterious smiling man, "your goals and mine
happen to coincide, to a certain degree."
"And just what are your goals, here?" Delta demanded, voice
heavy with mistrust.
"Ah," sighed his 'ally', stepping out to let the streetlights reflect
just ominously _so_ off his purple hair. He raised one finger and
offered Brother Delta a conspiratorial wink. "That is a _secret_!"
--BKWillis
--
"So fly away -- don't linger here!
For who are you and who am I
To try to mop up every tear
Or dust the cobwebs from the sky?"
--Patrick Woodroffe, 'The Nun's Song'
ann
>At that moment, the SKoLD(tm) finally tired of being poked, and shot
>Allie with a really poor special effect. It was as if the producer
>realised too late the budget was all gone, and was forced to recruit
>his four-year-old son to crayon in a line between the maching and
>Allie's eyes in post-production.
>Whatever its source, a side effect seemed to be Magic Electrical Girl
>Charley being hurled from the machine, and fleeing, confused, into the
>crowd while Danel and Imran watched and Allie fainted.
<snippet>
> Danel stepped forward and peered at the machine.
>"Fascinating."
>
>It hit him with another awful special effect. This time, a blue monkey
>bounded from the machine, and fled, shrieking in rage.
>"That was Ingo!" exclaimed Danel.
---
Eloise was making small talk with the Nth Doctor, Katherine and Silence, and
Ruthie was offering them Jelly-babies when a strange (and rather poor) sound
effect hissed, whined, and popped over toward the direction where Imran had set
up their milkshake cauldron. A short time later exclaimations could be heard
scattered throughout the crowd. And -- an angry monkey?!?
Eloise's heart sank. The Plot had started already, and they hadn't even gotten
to the bouncy castle yet.
"That can't be good!" Our Hostess said. "Follow me!"
And they all (Gordon, Igor and the submarine crew, Yokoi, The Nth Doctor,
Katherine and Silence) ran off to where a stunned Imran was standing over an
unconscious Allie, while trying to keep a disoriented Danel from wandering off.
Not Good At All.
Eloise was slightly relieved, at least, to see the eight Doctors converging on
the scene from other parts of the barn. One thing could be counted on, and
that is that catastrophe always brought them out of the woodwork.
Fifth knelt down by Allie's head, and checked her pulse.
"She'll be all right," he said with a relieved sigh. "She just received a
massive shock. Danel, too, I imagine."
"What about that *thing*?" Imran asked -- he definitely wasn't going to poke it
any more.
"Now, that's something trickier," Third said. "We'll have to figure out how to
move it out of here without actually disturbing it, and that requires a --"
"Transdimensional carrying device!" Fourth finished for him.
"You mean a'box' don't you?" Eighth asked. "Just calling it a 'box' would be
fine."
"But how," Eloise asked, concerned, "are you going to get it into a box without
touching it?"
The Doctors all murmered something to the effect of: "That's a good question!"
"Okay, then," Eloise said, "We'll let the Doctors get to work. Ruthie, you
take Danel somewhere safe while he recovers. Imran? Can you carry Allie?"
Imran said he could.
"Good. Then you go with Ruthie. The rest of us," (and she indicated the Nth
Doctor's companions, Gordon and his "band", and herself) "have to make sure
this area stays clear until the Doctors get that *thing* out of here."
ann
>"Hey!" Allie yelped, looking up. "There's a card."
>
>"Um, we're kind of in the preliminary stage of Crisis Mode right
>now, Allie..." Imran started.
>
>"But, there's a card on the Some Kind of Large Device. A birthday
>card, it looks like. Sort of..."
>
Ooops! more Authorial cross plotting...
Not much though
J2rider
I. Inayat
"BKWillis" <bradk...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20020801212240...@mb-mc.aol.com...
> <Danel wrote:>
Okay. Let's see if I can fit /these/ together...
---
> "What about that *thing*?" Imran asked -- he definitely wasn't going to poke
it
> any more.
>
> "Now, that's something trickier," Third said. "We'll have to figure out how to
> move it out of here without actually disturbing it, and that requires a --"
>
> "Transdimensional carrying device!" Fourth finished for him.
>
> "You mean a'box' don't you?" Eighth asked. "Just calling it a 'box' would be
> fine."
>
> "But how," Eloise asked, concerned, "are you going to get it into a box
without
> touching it?"
>
> The Doctors all murmered something to the effect of: "That's a good question!"
>
> "Okay, then," Eloise said, "We'll let the Doctors get to work. Ruthie, you
> take Danel somewhere safe while he recovers. Imran? Can you carry Allie?"
>
> Imran said he could.
>
> "Good. Then you go with Ruthie. The rest of us," (and she indicated the Nth
> Doctor's companions, Gordon and his "band", and herself) "have to make sure
> this area stays clear until the Doctors get that *thing* out of here."
"Perhaps if you allowed me," Sandra said, bowing.
"Sandra!" Eloise exclaimed. "Where've you been?!"
"Looking after the brats." Sandra said. "But they're getting changed, so...
looks like I got here just in time."
She winced. "Why is it always _us_ - I mean _Allie_ - who keeps getting knocked
out? Does the Universe have some sort of personal grudge against her or
something?"
She considered the Some Kind of Large Device. "We need to get this into a box,
right?"
"Perhaps this would do?" Eighth said, holding a box up. Stencilled on the side
were the words 'Some Kind of Large Device Transdimensional Carrying Case'.
Beneath it, in smaller letters, it said 'Or you could just call it a box, if
you're a party-pooper'.
Sandra rolled her eyes. "Oy. Okay..." She concentrated on the SKoLD.
"Sandra?" Eloise said quietly.
"Shh. I am /not/ feeling terribly happy right now. And right now, I need that
feeling..."
The Eighth set the box down, and stood back.
Sandra nodded in acknowledgement.
The SKoLD gently levitated off the floor. Slowly, slowly, it floated over to the
box, and descended inside it.
"Aaahhh..." Sandra said. "*There.* Safely in the box."
Abruptly, the box lifted off the ground.
"Sandra?"
Sandra shook her head. "Not me. Not me."
The box floated out of the doorway.
Sandra, Eloise and the Doctors exchanged looks, and ran after it.
---
The box came to a halt in the car park, levitating close to Imran, Allie, Ruthie
and Danel.
Imran carefully moved Allie out of range.
"Oooh..." Allie said, blinking her eyes open. "Ooh, that *hurt*."
"Allie?" Imran said. "Are you okay?"
"Why does this always happen to me?" Allie complained, as she hauled herself
into a sitting position. "Does /everything/ in the Universe want to knock me
unconscious?"
Sandra raised her eyes heavenward. "She's okay."
---
"Wolf Pack Island?"
Allie and Imran shared a *look*.
"Mazoku." Allie said.
"Monster." Imran said.
"Trickster Priest." Allie said.
"*Xellos!*" Imran finished.
Allie read the card over again. "I /thought/ something was up. Who underlines
'secret' twice?"
"Someone who says 'That is a _secret_'." Imran said.
"Creatures from the subconscious..." Allie muttered. "Brilliant. Have I
_mentioned_ how much I want to meet all the creatures from my subconscious?"
"I heard that, Psyche." Sandra said from behind her.
"*All* the creatures, Shadow." Allie returned.
She looked around. "Er... where're Dad and the brats?"
"I thought they'd find *you*..." Sandra said.
"And..." Eloise said, a sinking feeling in her stomach, "where are Cameron and
Cassie?"
Slowly, inexorably, everyone's eyes tracked towards where Sweetheart stood.
---
TARDISes are sentient, as Compassion would be the first to tell you.
The Doctors and Eloise would agree.
While their 'sentiences', for want of a better term, work in ways not even the
Time Lords fully understand, they _do_ have, well... awareness. _Consciousness._
With that comes... other layers of awareness. Layers that closely map what, in a
four-dimensional entity, would be called the subconscious.
The Some Kind of Large Device, quite frankly, ignores all such quibbling. It's
conscious, it's got a subconscious...
...and it proceeds to make something from that subconscious real.
---
Dominic paused as he approached the game room door, and closed his eyes.
"Ah. *Ah.*"
He considered for a moment. "Hm. I owe myself ten pounds. Or is that dollars? We
/are/ nominally in America..."
He opened the door.
"Er... DAD, HELP!!"
Dominic looked up. And up.
And up.
It wasn't a very /large/ dragon, all things considered. A young one, about ten
metres long.
But as considered relative to Ayna, Xeffy and the typo gremlins, it towered over
them.
And it did /not/ look happy.
---
[And that's where we break.
The SKoLD managed to release a dragon from Sweetheart's subconscious.
Cameron and Cassie? I don't know...]
Imran
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "I. Inayat"
> >Interestingly,
> >Dominic seems to have an affinity for her, too.]
>
> Well, she is a pro-fun and good-time TARDIS... making visiters feel
comfortable
> enough to take off their shoes is one of her special skills.
>
> But...
>
> Perhaps he knows something of her past -- not personally specific to her,
> but what was going historically around the time of her :::whispers:::
> "tragedy"....[*]
Mm... I'm not sure. Dom specialises in our world's historical mysteries, and in
Muse history. He respects Sweetheart's desire to keep her history private - it's
the history she's seen, and that she shares with Eloise, he feels.
*But*... it may be close to the mark in a different way: both Dominic and
Sweetheart have lost someone they loved. Dominic lost his wife, (the girls'
mother), Elle - and Sweetheart lost her pilot.
Something in the sharing of loss, perhaps?
> (I don't *think* it was a war... But perhaps it was a natural catastrophe.
> Either that, or something personal that happened to her pilot)
Time Lords /can/ be killed pre-final incarnation... don't know of anything in
the physiology that would do it, though.
Whomever that pilot was, they were more - I think the best word is 'daring' -
than most Time Lords. Sweetheart didn't go back to Gallifrey after her pilot's
death - she went to the pro-fun troll realm instead. And no-one, as yet, has
come to take her back...
Hm.
Imran
I. Inayat
"BKWillis" <bradk...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20020801212240...@mb-mc.aol.com...
> <Danel wrote:>
Okay. Let's see if I can fit /these/ together... (and correct one of my own
continuity errors)
---
"Sandra?" Eloise said quietly.
Sandra nodded in acknowledgement.
"Sandra?"
The box floated out through a doorway.
Sandra, Eloise and the Doctors exchanged looks, and ran after it.
---
The box came to a halt in Sweetheart's lounge room, levitating close to Imran,
Allie, Ruthie
and Danel.
Imran carefully moved Allie out of range.
"Oooh..." Allie said, blinking her eyes open. "Ooh, that *hurt*."
"Allie?" Imran said. "Are you okay?"
"Why does this always happen to me?" Allie complained, as she hauled herself
into a sitting position. "Does /everything/ in the Universe want to knock me
unconscious?"
Sandra raised her eyes heavenward. "She's okay."
> "Hey!" Allie yelped, looking up. "There's a card."
---
"Wolf Pack Island?"
Allie and Imran shared a *look*.
"Mazoku." Allie said.
"Monster." Imran said.
"Trickster Priest." Allie said.
"*Xellos!*" Imran finished.
Allie read the card over again. "I /thought/ something was up. Who underlines
'secret' twice?"
"Someone who says 'That is a _secret_'." Imran said.
"Creatures from the subconscious..." Allie muttered. "Brilliant. Have I
_mentioned_ how much I want to meet all the creatures from my subconscious?"
"I heard that, Psyche." Sandra said from behind her.
"*All* the creatures, Shadow." Allie returned.
She looked around. "Er... where're Dad and the brats?"
"I thought they'd catch up with us..." Sandra said.
"I have a bad feeling about this..." Allie murmured.
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
: I'm not sure what this is.
It's a round-robin. Like 'Desert of Fear' but faster.
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
: [1] Yes, they're from an alternative universe.
[description of author's personal variation on a screen canon snipped]
: That's all clear now isn't it? Why are you all running
: away like that? Come back!!!
Welcome to my world.
From nar...@ntlworld.com Thu Aug 1 22:02:37 2002
: From capr...@aol.commonSense Thu Aug 1 22:02:28 2002
: > The troll turned to the young man who had come in under the pile of boxes,
: > which were now all unpacked, their contents arranged around the
: cauldron(aside:
: > but if they're prezzies for Gordon, I guess they're not -- scratch that).
:
: Not /all/ of them. Some of them're prezzies - the rest are general magic stuff.
:
: > "Do you have everything under control, Imran?" he asked.
: >
: > Imran was rolling up his sleeves, rocking back on his heels, and looking very
: > pleased with himself. Mysteriosly, the cauldron was already bubbling and
: > hissing in a merry way, even with no fire underneath. "Yes, I think so.
: > Thanks for all your help, Walter."
: >
: > "Don't mention it. I enjoy helping a fellow chef and magician."
Guenevere returned to her friends from adding her package to the pile of
birthday gifts, to find Arthur staring back whence she had come. "What?"
Arthur merely nodded in the direction of the author bent over the magic
cauldron.
"What about him?"
"Not him, the cauldron," said Arthur. "I was just thinking that, if Helen's
Taliensin were here, he'd probably try to talk me into stealing it with him."
[Allie's POV narration:]
: Many people *could* write without a Muse - they found their own paths to
: inspiration.
"It may look that way to a card-carrying Muse," came a quiet feminine voice
behind her, "but no. After all that's what I and my lot are doing here."
"Please don't eavesdrop on my thoughts," Allie said coldly to the small,
slender woman in skintight green.
"Sorry. But you were thinking rather loudly. Morgan le Fey," she introduced
herself. Sensitive to her gaffe, she didn't offer to shake hands, in case it
be mistaken as a further attempt at uninvited contact. Odd behavior for an
alternate-universe Master-analog, but she also got Sybok's and Guinan's
lines. "It's something I only realized after I arrived here. Occasionally my
author speaks rhetorically of having a muse, but in truth his muses, his
inspirations are the characters he writes about. I suspect it's like that for
all fanfiction writers, whether or not they have personified muses as well.
That'll be why he instinctively sent us to this party instead of inventing a
personification of muse for the occasion. *We're* his muses, or some of them."
Still a little miffed, Allie observed, "Or it might have been his general
laziness in the area of inventing original characters."
But le Fey only chuckled. Perhaps she was unoffended by true statements even
if phrased as insults. In any case Allie had things more immediate on her
mind -
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
(I. Inayat) wrote:
> It wasn't a very /large/ dragon, all things considered. A young
> one, about ten metres long.
[ In the main room, Varne's eyes glowed as she realised something had
arrived.]
Varne " Lord, we have a dragon."
Magnus " We Varne? They have a dragon, nobody is paying us."
[Varne looked at Magnus as he drank his third gin and tonic and used
his other hand to grab some crisps.]
Varne " *Free* food and drink Lord, which you are consuming."
Magnus " You have a point, there is an implied contract. Where is
it?"
Varne " This way Lord."
Magnus " Don't call me Lord Varne. You will have to do the talking, I
don't have the right vocal cords for clear draconic, my accent is
terrible."
[ The pair headed towards the games room, as they moved Varne's head
and neck changed subtly.]
Graham Woodland
_"It's such a perfect day..."_
The two newcomers -- both of them familiar faces from the realms of TTR
-- walked arm-in-arm through the door, crooning softly in chorus. Since
one of them bore a more than passing resemblance to the Grey Steward,
Man of Lead and Champion of the Oppressed Legions of Fanfic, the fact
that he was carrying the tune without recourse to a sack was itself a
minor miracle. The major miracle was that his companion appeared to be
(a) Nyssa, in a sky-blue and mist-patterned party dress several leagues
away from her usual sartorial tastes; (b) in sweet accord with him
rather than, say, in the course of belabouring him with a sharp and
heavy instrument, and (c) wearing a slightly shy and positively mellow
expression.
"Hiya!" the Steward greeted all and sundry, in atypically lead-free
tones. He flourished a vaguely jug-shaped present, wrapped in a rather
peculiar species of paper across whose surface blotches of rainbow
colour pulsed slowly in and out of existence. "Here's to Gordon! -- Uh,
anyone seen our hostess? Or the Doctors?"
A slightly stunned silence ensued, possibly occasioned by the
unspeakable notion of what the SKoLD might fish out of *Nyssa's*
subconscious if given half a chance.
Fortunately, Silence was a resilient sort of Voord, and swiftly
recovered. ~We just received a suspect package~, she signed. ~They're
just dealing with it now...~
The Steward nodded. "Fastolf will be here in a few minutes: said he'd
bring a bottle or two. What's the package suspected of?"
>
--
Gray
http://www.quilpole.demon.co.uk
"She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time."
- William Goldman, _The Princess Bride_.
Graham Woodland
An eerie caravan began flowing down into the little side-street, despite
its patent uselessness as a rat-run to anywhere. This caravan somewhat
resembled a low, articulated dray with no visible means of propulsion,
loaded up with obscure barrel-shape objects. Because of the peculiar
silence with which it advanced, the lurkers were first apprised of its
presence by the low baritone rumblings of its driver -- an immensely
tall yet nonetheless disproportionately fat figure clad in a heavy and
archaic woollen cloak. It appeared to be wearing a hat with
preposterous flapping appendages, and it was singing merrily:
_"When e'er I bib the wine down ,
A fig care I for cares.
A fig for fret,
A fig for sweat,
A fig care I for cares -- "_
"Anacreon," the smiling man noted. "We seem to have a scholar
incoming..."
_"Since death may come, though I say nay -- "_
Brother Delta bared his plaque-stuccoed teeth, mortally offended by
Fatso's obnoxious good spirits but praising the great Uncle Spam in his
soul that he happened to be carrying a ready cure. "Sooner than you
think, vile canting infidel!" he hissed, reaching inside the unseemly
recesses of his robe for the medicine...
_"Why grieve my life's days with affairs?"_
The smiling man cocked his head. "And he's accompanying himself by
throat-singing an independent bass line. Most curious. -- Do you
suppose you could play the innocent bystander a bit longer? You might
find it a pleasant novelty."
The Cross-Poster weighed the brief pleasure of frying a noisily arrant
foe of the Cause against its possible implications for several kinds of
greater good, many of them involving Not Going Back. "Soon, O topic-
bound threadworm!" he hissed under his breath, withdrawing reluctantly
into the shrubbery. "Your time shall come..."
"Ho, skulking jackanapes!" boomed the figure, in such accents as might
have caused the mighty Pavarotti to chuck in the game at first blush.
"Will spy like scurvy hoard-despoilers without the feast, when all wot
well that all good joyous arts are freely found within?" He vaulted,
with an agility belying his bulk, from the foremost of the floating
pallets which comprised his caravan.
"Nay, I misdoubt ye be strong-thieves or skulks, awaiting their chance
to reap down the well Hoed-down in the grey homeward dawn! Wherefore an
ye give not fair account of yourselves to me or mine honoured hostess
within, shall be ripped crupper-craw by great Fastolf's own talons, and
that instanter! Faugh!," advancing, "were my perfume as ill-omened as
thine, monkey-lad, I'd fain bathe in camel-piss, and so benison the
public -- "
The smiling man, having some religious qualifications himself and
knowing how the gods frown on those who interrupt a really first-class
rant, smiled yet more winningly and prepared to appease the approaching
giant in some fashion of his own. It could now be seen that said giant
was somewhat more demonic than human in nature, bearing as he did a
reptilian froglike countenance, whose fine scales formed a rather
pleasing harlequin pattern in gay primary hues. The excrescences on his
head were no mere hat, but rather a boldly fluttering set of natural
crests. His massive bulk combined with these additional features of his
person to add further arguments against gratuitous interruption.
Brother Delta performed what were, no doubt, essentially similar
calculations of his own. "Fry in hell, incrucipositine Terileptil
scum!" he yelled, and discharged his frittergun in the alien's
direction. Cat-quick, great Fastolf dived and rolled to the side -- and
so was scarcely even singed by the thunderous chain of explosions that
ensued.
What five pallets of XXX-grade Bessborough moonshine, recently liberated
from Captain 'Moonlight' Sorenson in one of his rival merchant-
adventurer's most audacious coups to date, will do in a quiet suburban
cul-de-sac when a whole barrel amongst their number is instantaneously
flash-boiled by an errant ray-gun shot from a crazy monk of Ultimate
Evil, is nothing to detail here, not least because the Author is
unlikely to be so arsed at any time in the immediate future. Suffice
it, then, to mention that no innocents, cats, or even regular sentient-
type beings were more than mildly inconvenienced in that prodigious
conflagration; that property damage was minimal and principally confined
to Fastolf's booze train; and that those non-Hoedown-type civilians
within earshot decided, one and all, that it was probably better not to
be a witness, and returned to their solemn advert-watching like good
little citizens.
As Fastolf stumbled away from the great pyre of mortal hopes and
aspirations in one direction, the smiling man -- his smile briefly but
distinctly crimped -- led his intemperate companion to run like
gomorrahy in the other. When the last blue flame had died, the great
Terileptil gave one last murderous look about him; lowered the twin
torchlike blasters in his claws most reluctantly; and then, flapping his
crests with monstrous panache, strolled bright-eyed up to Eloise's door,
singing with only the smallest hint of threnody in his marvellous opera-
villain's voice,
_"Come bib we then the wine down
Of Bacchus fair to see,
For always while we bibbing be,
Away drop all our cares..."_
ann
>Whomever that pilot was, they were more - I think the best word is 'daring' -
>than most Time Lords. Sweetheart didn't go back to Gallifrey after her
>pilot's
>death - she went to the pro-fun troll realm instead. And no-one, as yet, has
>come to take her back...
>Hm.
Yes. Especially since there was no dead pilot in the ship when Eloise found
her ...
Whatever happened, I *suspect* (and it's only a suspicion at this point, mind)
that her pilot's death and Sweetheart materializing in Eloise's back yard are
connected.
Maybe the Timelords don't *want* her back.... Maybe she and her pilot were
exiled... We discovered last year that Sweetheart *does* have the special
ability to become almost mammalian -- in a way that is different from
Compassion. Maybe that has something to do with it...
Interesting.
ann
>Abruptly, the box lifted off the ground.
>
>"Sandra?"
>
>Sandra shook her head. "Not me. Not me."
>
>The box floated out of the doorway.
>
>Sandra, Eloise and the Doctors exchanged looks, and ran after it.
>
<insert>
"That *shouldn't* happen," muttered Eighth.
"Eh?!" Eloise said, wanting to give the Doctor a questioning stare, but not
daring to take her eyes off the SKoLD.
"Well, it may just be a box," Eighth explained, "but it's still a
*transdimensional* box. Now that that thing is inside, it's supposedly in a
different dimension than we are."
"But it's still working"
"Yep"
"Uh-oh"
"Indeed."
</insert>
ann
>[And that's where we break.
>
>The SKoLD managed to release a dragon from Sweetheart's subconscious.
>
>Cameron and Cassie? I don't know...]
That's the thing -- Are we *sure* it's from Sweetheart's subconscious, and not
from the subconscious of any of the guests?
And do you know anything about this "Mary" character that came into being right
after Allie was zapped?
And do figures from our subconsciouses have their *own* subconsciouses?
Oy.
---
Still, I'm pleased... Three hoedowns, and three self-proclaimed lurkers enticed
to join in... A pretty good track record, I'd say!
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "I. Inayat"
>
> >[And that's where we break.
> >
> >The SKoLD managed to release a dragon from Sweetheart's subconscious.
> >
> >Cameron and Cassie? I don't know...]
>
> That's the thing -- Are we *sure* it's from Sweetheart's subconscious, and not
> from the subconscious of any of the guests?
Well... the SKoLD has been in contact with Sweetheart, so /something's/ likely
to have popped up - perhaps not the dragon, but something.
So far, the only other people we know who've been hit by the SKoLD are Danel and
Allie.
> And do you know anything about this "Mary" character that came into being
> right after Allie was zapped?
Magic Electric Charley. She's an Elseworlds version of Charley Pollard -
specifically, a magical girl who commands electromagnetism through her Staff of
the Currents.
> And do figures from our subconsciouses have their *own* subconsciouses?
Well, Allie does, and we're reasonably sure Xeffy does.
This does lead to infinite regression, though...
> Still, I'm pleased... Three hoedowns, and three self-proclaimed lurkers
enticed
> to join in... A pretty good track record, I'd say!
Oh yeah. :)
>>Whomever that pilot was, they were more - I think the best word is 'daring' -
>>than most Time Lords. Sweetheart didn't go back to Gallifrey after her
>>pilot's death - she went to the pro-fun troll realm instead. And no-one, as
>>yet, has come to take her back...
>>Hm.
>Yes. Especially since there was no dead pilot in the ship when Eloise
>found her ...
>
>Whatever happened, I *suspect* (and it's only a suspicion at this point, mind)
>that her pilot's death and Sweetheart materializing in Eloise's back yard are
>connected.
Hm. One possible clue is how much self-control Sweetheart has - can she pilot
herself? If she /can/, that might explain it.
Or that the pilot pre-programmed her to jump - either deliberately or randomly -
to the pro-fun troll realm if they died.
Only Sweetheart knows, though.
>Maybe the Timelords don't *want* her back.... Maybe she and her pilot were
>exiled... We discovered last year that Sweetheart *does* have the special
>ability to become almost mammalian -- in a way that is different from
>Compassion. Maybe that has something to do with it...
Yeah. She can include animal forms in her other guises, and she can spread her
awareness over several different locations.
I can't really see the Time Lords /exiling/ a TARDIS like this... An attempted
experiment? A black ops project? (if information about the project gets out, it
gets denied) A temporal anomaly?
Hm.
Imran
I. Inayat
"Graham Woodland" <gr...@quilpole.demon.co.uk> wrote in message
news:QNCwgDA1...@quilpole.demon.co.uk...
> I. Inayat wrote
> >
> >"BKWillis" <bradk...@aol.com> wrote in message
> >news:20020801212240...@mb-mc.aol.com...
> "Hiya!" the Steward greeted all and sundry, in atypically lead-free
> tones. He flourished a vaguely jug-shaped present, wrapped in a rather
> peculiar species of paper across whose surface blotches of rainbow
> colour pulsed slowly in and out of existence. "Here's to Gordon! -- Uh,
> anyone seen our hostess? Or the Doctors?"
>
> A slightly stunned silence ensued, possibly occasioned by the
> unspeakable notion of what the SKoLD might fish out of *Nyssa's*
> subconscious if given half a chance.
>
> Fortunately, Silence was a resilient sort of Voord, and swiftly
> recovered. ~We just received a suspect package~, she signed.
> ~They're just dealing with it now...~
>
> The Steward nodded. "Fastolf will be here in a few minutes: said he'd
> bring a bottle or two. What's the package suspected of?"
~Bringing characters from the subconscious to life.~ Silence signed. ~And it's
caused at least one case of amnesia.~
"Now that's odd." the Steward observed. "Because, in our own ways, aren't we
/all/ creatures of the subconscious?"
"Oh dear God," someone in the crowd muttered. "He's gonna start spouting off
again."
The Steward ignored this. "Might it, perhaps, be more reasonable to assume that
the package in question transports entities here from their own imaginal realms,
using its unfortunate victims' psyches as gateways which allow them passage?"
"_What_ did he just say?"
"He said 'What if the SKoLD teleports them here, using its victims' minds as
portals?'."
"Oh. Why didn't he say so?"
---
Imran
Danel
because I have no idea what I'd do - dragons really make me confused
at this point, possibly because I'm reading far too much stuff at the
same time. I'm not even sure if 'my' dragons would be sentient,
telepathic, evil, just big animals, etc. I have no wish to find out
how I'd write the things, but never mind.
"I. Inayat" <nar...@ntlworld.com> wrote in message news:<tXr29.5226$U44.333785@newsfep2-gui>...
>
> "Wolf Pack Island?"
>
> Allie and Imran shared a *look*.
>
> "Mazoku." Allie said.
>
> "Monster." Imran said.
>
> "Trickster Priest." Allie said.
>
> "*Xellos!*" Imran finished.
>
> Allie read the card over again. "I /thought/ something was up. Who underlines
> 'secret' twice?"
>
> "Someone who says 'That is a _secret_'." Imran said.
>
> "Creatures from the subconscious..." Allie muttered. "Brilliant. Have I
> _mentioned_ how much I want to meet all the creatures from my subconscious?"
>
> "I heard that, Psyche." Sandra said from behind her.
>
> "*All* the creatures, Shadow." Allie returned.
>
> She looked around. "Er... where're Dad and the brats?"
>
> "I thought they'd catch up with us..." Sandra said.
>
> "I have a bad feeling about this..." Allie murmured.
>
> Imran
"Oh, what's the use?" cried Allie, dramatically flinging her hands
into the air.
"That isn't a very happy viewpoint," pouted Ruthie.
"She just means that there is no chance of us reaching them in time
for anything. We'll get there just 'a few minutes too late'." Sandra
explained.
"I'm sure that they'll be able to look after themselves," considered
Imran, therby dooming them all. "They should still be with the typo
gremlins, and they're great when they're on your side."
"I'm still not sure if I understand _any_ of this." Danel muttered.
"How about if Sandra goes to check up on them, while we work out how
to stop the subconscious released creatures?" thought Imran aloud.
Eager to be away from the still twitching boxed-SKoLD, Sandra took
off.
"What's the creature that came from Danel's subconscious, anyway?"
Allie objected. "What do we know about it?"
"Not much. And he can't tell us... we need to cure his amnesia..."
"I'll hit him, that usually works."
"Allie, no."
"Imran, everything is so _strange_, again. Correct me if I'm wrong,
but so far, I've been knocked unconscious, Xellos left us all a
strange device, the Museless Writer lost his memory, creatures have
been released from our subconscious..es.. - and Dad and the girls are
missing. Is that it?"
Imran nodded. "Yuh-huh."
Danel twitched violently. "How odd." He observed, somewhat calmly in
the circumstances. Realisation rushed through Imran's mind, being
slowed only briefly by his Common Sense and Sanity, which both said,
clearly: "This is very, very silly."
"Of course..." he whispered. "Allie, yuh-huh!"(Danel twitched
again)"It's a really minor line from Buffy, spoken by..."
"Dawn! We knew he was a fan! It's so obvious. So... all we have to do
is recite Dawn-lines at him until his memory comes back?"
"Now you've repeated it, it sounds completely ridiculous. We may as
well try it."
---------------------------
As Sandra entered the room, the dragon roared. It almost sounded...
scared. But that was silly. The dragon was very big. And the girls
were right next to it. Sandra sighed, and wondered what a dragon was
doing here.
---------------------------
Allie took a deep breath, and began to sing.
"Does anybody even notice? Does anybody eee-ven care?"
Imran joined in. "Yuh-huh, yuh-huh."
Then Ruthie. "I think it's M'Fashnik - like Mmm, cookie."
"Is this blood? Is it?"
"This is the part you tell me you're not angry - just disappointed?"
"Buffy, you have to let me go. Blood starts it, and until the blood
stops flowing, it'll never stop."
And back to Allie again, reaching a crescendo... "Get out, get out,
GET OUT!" she shrieked.
Danel gave a final, almighty shudder and slumped to the floor.
"Huh. Looks like we killed him."
Fortunately, he jumps back up again. "What's going on?"
Imran relaxed. "No time for that. What can you tell us about Ingo?"
Danel looked puzzled. "Le singe bleu?"
"Oui."
In Danel's mind, a plan hatched. This one managed to slip past sanity
and common sense on account of the recent amnesia. It wouldn't have
otherwise.
"I saw some monkey suits in Sweetheart's wardrobe! I have a plan!"
And so saying, he doomed them all.
--------------------------
In the wardrobe, next to the few recently mentioned monkey suits, the
Trousers of Spectral Uncertainty shimmered in a highly suspicious
fashion. They then changed colour to bile green.
If trousers can, indeed, look like they are plotting, these did.
---------------------------
Danel explained the plan. It didn't disappoint, managing to be both
dangerous and very stupid.
"So..." Ruthie said. "This monkey hates the green and red monkeys..."
"Yes. I think the original idea was satire. At least, I _hope_ it was
satire..."
"So we'll dye the monkey suits, from the wardrobe..." said Imran.
"Yes."
"And use them as bait. But who'd be stupid enough to wear the things?"
asked Allie.
"Ah. You appear to have found the single flaw in my plan." Under
Allie's glare, he wilted. "okay, one of the many flaws in my plan."
Allie considered. "This is possibly the most ludicrous plan I've ever
heard. Which way _is_ the Wardrobe, anyway?"
-----------------------------------------
[And I'll break. I didn't do much for the dragon , but given the time
lapse I'm dealing with - I have to post using Google, so I can see
messages, but not reply until much later, and then the replying takes
a while... Besides, I couldn't think of a single thing to do with it.
We have a stupid plan, and the SKoLD continues to menace. And I think
the Trousers are up to something.]
Danel
Graham Woodland
H'mmm: pity about the side-effects, or my esteemed Muse Carrie and I
might find something like that rather handy just now. -- Is there
somewhere I can put _Le Cadeau Parfait_ until Gordon can get around to
it?"
Directions were given, fingers were pointed, "Pretentious? _Lui?_" was
uttered by more than one pair of lips. The Steward drew himself up with
unproletarian hauteur. "Sacre bleu, gentlebeings, you don't imagine I'd
speak French without dire necessity, do you? That is, and trust me, a
purely factual description -- though obviously I can *hope* it would be
the perfect present as well. -- Ah, thanks there. Well, I've got one
message for the Doctors before I completely devolve to shameless bon
vivantry; but that can wait until they're done defusing the Wizard-of-Id
box. Unless there've been Spamite movements in the vicinity, or other
signs of matters coming to an early crisis?"
"Spamite?" came one lone, unseasonably honest voice. "You mean that
foul greasy pink monster that -- "
"RHUBARB RHUBARB RHUBARB!" explained everyone else at once. The choice
between delaying the Grey One's obscure errand, and letting the
psychotic beauty on his arm anywhere near the SKoLD, was not of the most
difficult.
Besides, there was something distinctly odd about him. Where now the
greyish skin tone, what had changed those leaden eyes to hazel, whither
had fled the mind-numbing Marxist-Grouchoist rhetoric? ~I think,~
Silence signed surreptitiously to Katherine under cover of the general
hubbub, ~now is not the time to bring one mystery to face another...~
Yes, she even signed the ellipses. Much more distinctly than you could
speak them, and remember she was mumbling!
" -- wasn't here, then?" The Steward relaxed. "Splendid, splendid.
Excuse my manners: Carrie is unavoidably delayed on business, but I'd
like to introduce you all to Celia, now we know that the Forces of
Crossness aren't liable to interrrr--- "
From the street outside came the sound, tremor, and fury of a rather
large explosion.
"Somebody fwap my head for that," snapped the Steward testily, "and
dispose yourself in suitable positions. I *must* get my message to the
Doctors immediately. Celia, with me!" He paused. "Er, anybody,
where...?"
ann
>Well... the SKoLD has been in contact with Sweetheart, so /something's/
>likely
>to have popped up - perhaps not the dragon, but something.
Yes... I have sneaky suspicion that we are going to learn much about
Sweetheart's past, here... even if we don't understand it.
This seems to be as good a place as any to bounce my ideas around concerning
consciousness in general, and TARDIS consciousness in particular.
A) "Intelligence" (according to the dictionary in my own mind, anyway) is the
ability to respond appropriately to stimuli in the environment. So therefore,
even an abeoba, which moves away from the frying heat of a microscope lamp, and
engulfs and digests a bacterium in bumps into, shows at least some level of
intelligence
("But," I hear the scientific types protest, "That's not *real* intelligence --
the abeoba moves away from the light because the light triggers an automatic
chemical reaction." To which I answer: "True. And your own brain works on
nothing but billions of chemical reactions setting each other off every second.
It's the same process, just a different scale).
B) The intelligence that is "I, Ann" is actually the combination of the
idividual intelligences of all my living cells working together.... but right
now, I want to move inward on the spectrum. If you take (A) as true, than that
means that every living thing has intelligence. Therefore, intelligence
*emerged* out of the random chemical mix, when the chemicals coalesced into
organic compounds that went on to become living things... *Therefore* the
potential for intelligence must be somewhere imbedded in matter itself.
TARDISes have consciousness, I believe, because of how they're put together.
Just as consciousness emerged when certain combinations of atoms got together
in a sulpherous pool, a different kind of consciousness emerged when Timelords
started arranging matter in transdimensional ways. A TARDIS's intelligence is
real -- always has been -- rather than artificial (i.e. designed in by an
outside programmer).
Now, I believe the concept of "self" began to develop when, in order to "repond
appropriately to stimuli" a creature has to distinguish between an external
stimulus (say, a cut on the belly), and an internal stimulus (say, hunger
pangs). And the "Subconscious" is made up those internal stimuli which we hide
from our consciousness, so that we can function on a day to day basis -- sort
of like Russian dolls: inside inside.
Since a TARDIS is basically a poly-dimensional Möbius strip (A theory I came up
with a couple of years ago... I'll search Google for it and post a link,
later), any distinction between "inside" and "outside" is funky at best. I'm
not even sure that TARDISes *have* a subconscious -- at least the way you and I
do.
OTOH...
The SKoLD doesn't *appear* large at all, *and* it can work from inside a
transdimensional box. Both of these things point to it being a
transdimensional object, itself. Which may mean that it was designed
specifically for the subconsciousnesses of transdimensional beings...
Eeek!
Maybe someone is coming after Sweetheart, after all...
That doesn't explain why Danel and Allie got zapped, though...
>I can't really see the Time Lords /exiling/ a TARDIS like this... An
>attempted
>experiment? A black ops project? (if information about the project gets out,
>it
>gets denied) A temporal anomaly?
>
>Hm.
Maybe she aquired her abilities *after* leaving Galifrey -- maybe just natural
growth -- or maybe it's a side effect of something/space/time she's been
through, and the Timelords fear she may be a contamination, or something...
It's a thought...
Hm. indeed.
ann
>
>We have a stupid plan, and the SKoLD continues to menace. And I think
>the Trousers are up to something.]
If doing something twice makes it Tradition, doing something three times makes
it classic.
And this strikes me as being a classic Hoedown plot.
:-)
BKWillis
>"Somebody fwap my head for that," snapped the Steward testily, "and
>dispose yourself in suitable positions. I *must* get my message to the
>Doctors immediately. Celia, with me!" He paused. "Er, anybody,
>where...?"
Brother Delta leaned against the swingset behind one of the
neighboring houses, panting hard from the exertion of their
headlong flight from the vengeful Terileptil. Beside him, Xellos
smiled pleasantly and plopped down into one of the swings, idly
kicking back and forth while he waited for his ally to catch his
breath.
"That was very brave of you, attacking the infidel like that," the
Trickster Priest said after a moment.
"All for the cause," gasped Delta, looking tiredly smug.
"Still..." Xellos went on, "I wish you hadn't ignored my request
like that. Please don't let that happen again, or I may have to take
some sort of measures." As he spoke, he scratched a quick tic-tac-
toe in the dirt with his staff.
"Oh?" the Cross-Poster Monk demanded. "And what will you do
if it does?"
Xellos shrugged. "Perhaps a stern admonitory lecture. Or, perhaps
I'll incinerate your body and chew on your soul slowly over several
days as a sort of filling but non-nutritious snack in the manner of
beef jerky."
Brother Delta spluttered angrily. "You... you..."
Small flames sprang up around the Cross-Poster's feet. He jumped
back, yelping, as Xellos opened his eyes and fixed him with a
chillingly evil stare. "You know, I do feel a bit peckish..."
The bald man let out a slightly girly scream and began to grovel as
though his life depended on it, which it of course did. "Please! I'll
do whatever you ask! Just name it!"
All was sunny smiles once more. "There's that can-do spirit
again!" Xellos laughed. "And since we're such good friends now,
I'd like you to do a little favor for me."
"And that is...?"
"I've already drawn out a Circle of Summoning on the patio of this
very house. All I need for you to do is get in there and do what
you do best."
"You mean summon a horde of Spamites?" Delta asked.
"Actually, I meant for you to do a Russian Cossack Dance while
juggling flaming polecats and yodelling, but if you feel that
summoning Spamites is where your strengths lie, then by all means
we'll go with that. In the meantime, I have some things to attend
to..."
With an extra-big smile and wink, the Trickster Priest's body blurred
and vanished.
----
"I swear, someone out there has it in for me," Allie was muttering
as Imran tried to cheer her up with an ice cream cone.
"Come on, Allie," he said reasonably, "there's no point in sulking
about it. We just have to let the chips fall where they may."
"Indeed, Allie-chan," purred a cheerful voice from behind them.
"Optimistic fatalism has much to recommend it as a philosophy."
With a sinking feeling, the Author and Muse both turned to see a
purple-haired man in a light traveling cloak standing right behind
them, a ruby-tipped staff propped in the crook of his elbow as he
licked at a huge ice cream cone.
"Xellos!" spat Imran.
"What are _you_ doing here, Mazoku?" hissed Allie, glaring at the
Trickster Priest as if he'd just said something about her parentage.
A look of childish hurt crossed Xellos's face. "Well, the signs did
say 'All Welcome', did they not? I'm just here for the party."
"Since when do Mazoku like being around Joy?" Imran asked.
"And what's the idea of leaving that SKoLD-thing here?"
demanded the Muse.
"I wouldn't be much of a birthday guest if I didn't bring a present,
ne? And by the way, that is an absolutely lovely dress you have
on, Allie-chan." He smiled hugely at her, reaching out to feel of the
material.
"Er, thanks, er..." stammered Allie, knocked a bit off-stride.
"I bet I'd look simply _smashing_ in it!"
Allie went slightly green as she pulled back out of his reach.
Imran did his poor best to look intimidating. "You still haven't told
us why you're here, Xellos." He tried to loom a bit, but didn't really
have either the height or build for it.
"Why I'm here?" Xellos stared off contemplatively. "Well, you
see, Imran..."
Allie sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose, muttering, "Here
we go. He's gonna say it..."
"...that is a _secret_!"
"Aaaarrrrggghh!!" aaaarrrrggghhed Imran.
"But, I can tell you some things that might be of help to you and
your Troll associates. First..." He paused, looking around
suspiciously.
"First..." Imran prompted.
"First, this mandrake ice cream is really good! You should try
some!"
Imran and Allie facefaulted all the way to the floor, where they lay
groaning.
"Oh, and second, you're all about to be besieged by a ravening
army of Spamites bent on mayhem and destruction. Just thought
you might like to know."
"WHAT!?" Allie yelled, leaping to her feet. "What are you--"
But Xellos the Trickster Priest was already gone.
--BKWillis
--
"It's the blood that makes us human: the blood between comrades; the blood of
the Old Man; even the blood of my own mother. I swore to the Old Man that one
day I'd come back to the place where their blood soaked the earth."
--Tetsuro, to Faust the Black Knight, in 'Galaxy Express 999'
gordon
>From: da...@fanfiction.net (Danel)
>
>>
>>We have a stupid plan, and the SKoLD continues to menace. And I think
>>the Trousers are up to something.]
I read this and immediately pictured Walace & Gromit racing through the
barn...
>If doing something twice makes it Tradition, doing something three times makes
>it classic.
Once is an accident, twice is co-incidence, three times it's all being
done deliberately... :)
>And this strikes me as being a classic Hoedown plot.
Plot? We were supposed to *have* one of those? :P
--
gordon, Confusing People Since 1972
ann
Backdrop Check!!
~~~
From: bradk...@aol.com (BKWillis)
>With an extra-big smile and wink, the Trickster Priest's body blurred
>and vanished.
<snipples>
>"Indeed, Allie-chan," purred a cheerful voice from behind them.
>"Optimistic fatalism has much to recommend it as a philosophy."
---
Erm, *where* is all this taking place? Last I saw, Imran with Allie, Danel,
Eloise and Ruthie had gone out to the cul-de-sac to escape the SKoLD -- but the
thing, and the nine Doctors, followed them out there.
Which would have put them *in the middle* of the flame throwing between Delta,
Xellos, and the teraleptil, Fastolf (homage to Falstaff, I take it).
Now, the troupe who went outside are about to head back *inside* to the
wardrobe, in order to don monkey suits so they can catch Ingbo. Once there,
they will discover the plotting trousers.
Meanwhile, Dominic is in the food fight arena with his daughters, the typo
gremlins, and a frightened, baby dragon. Magus and Varne are on their way
there in an attempt to communicate with same.
Meanwhile, the mysteriously-changed Steward is somewhere in the middle of the
dance floor, looking for the Doctors...
...
Ahem. Do I have that about right?
Oy. Maybe next time, I'll host a pro-fun dinner party. And limit the guest
list to 12.
;-)
ann
>
>Plot? We were supposed to *have* one of those? :P
Well, yes. But ours is unlike any other plot anywhere in fiction (or non
fiction, for that matter) ;-)
>gordon, Confusing People Since 1972
Atta Boy!
Cameron Mason
> [And that's where we break.
>
> The SKoLD managed to release a dragon from Sweetheart's subconscious.
>
> Cameron and Cassie? I don't know...]
Currently in the Writer's room, I think...
(Need to be written back into the action)
Cameron
--
I explored the ashes of Gallifrey and found a lump of TARDIS.
http://members.fortunecity.com/masomika/
http://members.fortunecity.com/jpcovers/
ann
>(Need to be written back into the action)
Well, since Cassie is the Dreaming Muse, maybe she is the *only* one who can
successfully disarm the SKoLD...
Because from her point of view, the "sub"conscious is the primary
consciousness...
Is that deep enough "into the action" for you? <evil grin>
gordon
>"Oh, and second, you're all about to be besieged by a ravening
>army of Spamites bent on mayhem and destruction. Just thought
>you might like to know."
>
>"WHAT!?" Allie yelled, leaping to her feet. "What are you--"
>
>But Xellos the Trickster Priest was already gone.
*boing!*
"Er...Gordon?"
*boing!*
"Ysss Ykkkki?"
*boing!*
"The plot seems to have arrived."
*boing!*
"Mmff hfffss?"
*boing!*
"Yep."
*boing!*
"Mmfss rrrly..."
*boing!*
"I know it's early, but at least we got to the bouncy castle..."
*boing!*
"Ymmfsss. Wnn smmmm?"
*boing!*
"Ooh yeah, is there any flake left?"
*boing!*
"Errrr..."
*boing!*
"Hmmmmff!"
*boing!*
"Sorry...I was hungry."
*boing!*
"Yff mmflllww fllllmnng rmmmph..."
*boing!*
"You wouldn't?"
*boing!*
"Wnn bttt?"
*boing!*
*KLONG!*
*boing!*
*boing!*
*thud...*
Yokoi paused before scoffing the last spoonful of ice-cream.
"Oops!"
Meanwhile, over near the food fight zone...
"Spamites? Not heard of those ones before."
Silence rummaged in her backpack, looking for one book in particular
from the many to be found within. She pulled out a thick, large book and
handed it to Katherine.
"The Big Monster Pop-Up Book?"
~Page 638.~ signed Silence.
Katherine opened the book...
...five minutes later, after she had picked herself off the floor and
handed the book back to Silence, she politely asked Silence to
warn her before doing that sort of thing again.
~Sorry.~
"It's amazing what they can do with cardboard these days."
They both looked on as a dazed and cofused Gordon staggered past,
mumbling something about ninja armadillos and asking why the room was
spinning around like that. He was wandering vaguely towards the game
room.
~I'd better go after him, make sure he doesn't hurt himself.~
"Okay, I'll help out in here, catch up with you later."
Silence went after Gordon, just in time to see him disappear through
the doorway of the game room. When she ran in after him, the first thing
she saw was Gordon's left foot tripping over a wire set just inside the
playing field, the second thing was the strawberry flan that hit him
in the face, the third was the ever-so-slightly unhappy looking dragon.
"Do we get points for that?" asked Ayna.
"Dunno, but that was a *nice* shot!" grinned Xeffy before suddenly
remembering the dragon that was stuck in the room with them.
Gordon wiped the flan from his face, staggering over to lean against
something. He heard the sharp intake of breath from the assembled
assembly of people.
"What?" he asked, as he suddenly realised that the thing he was leaning
against was not only scaly, but moving ever-so-slightly. He looked up...
"Oh.......................bugger."
--
gordon "It's not the winning, it's the arsing around along the way."
ann
>
>"What?" he asked, as he suddenly realised that the thing he was leaning
>against was not only scaly, but moving ever-so-slightly. He looked up...
>
>"Oh.......................bugger."
Eloise followed Danel and the others back to Sweetheart's wardrobe room.. She
knew catching a neo-nazi blue monkey was important. But with the SKoLD loose
within the TARDIS, possibly still bringing creatures from her guests'
subconsciousness to life (and with Delta and Xellos threatening to bring an
army of spamites down upon their heads), the menace posed by Ingbo was
miniscule in comparison.
And then, a horrifying thought occurred to her: The Food Fight Arena! She and
Sweetheart had arranged to make it the room furthest from the main action, for
the safety (and cleanliness) of those who didn't *want* to get glopped. But
that meant that maybe Xephy, Ayna and the gremlins didn't know what was going
on, and could stumble into serious danger by accident.
She had to warn them. She dropped back from the others and went down another
hallway. She peeked in the door.
"Hey, guys! I just wanted to -- Oh... Good... Lord... "
(No doubt about it. Ingbo was definitely small potatoes now)
Then, the dragon spotted Eloise. Its eyes locked onto her. It stretched out
its neck, opened its mouth and
(Everybody cringed)
howled.
A great, long, ear-splitting wail.
Great, hot tears rolled from the corners of its eyes and down its cheeks,
splashing Gordon, and soaking him through.
A wave of lonliness and sorrow washed over Eloise, so heavy, for a moment, she
thought it would crush her.
This Dragon had established a telepathic link with her -- much like her link
with Sweetheart.
...With Sweetheart....
And then it all became clear. The Some Kind of Large Device wasn't large at
all (on the outside), and it could continue to work *through* the walls of a
transdimensional box. That meant, most likely, that it was transdimensional,
itself.
And if it was designed to bring thought-forms of the subconscious into physical
being, that could mean it was designed specifically for consciousnesses of
TARDISes.
If so, that meant Ingbo and Electric Charley were flukes -- The SKoLD only
zapped Allie and Danel because they were in the line of fire when it activated.
That would certainly explain why the place *wasn't* being overrun with all
manner of fictional characters and the left-overs from nightmares.
But why would anyone design a machine to bring a TARDIS's subconscious to
life?
To learn that TARDIS's secrets.
Oh -- hell!
Eloise looked into the dragon baby's eyes. Now that she had recognized it, the
creature (Sweetheart) was much calmer.
But why a dragon? What does a dragon mean, symbolically, to a TARDIS -- to
*this particular* TARDIS?
A dragon has fire inside -- blazing stars.
A dragon guards treasure -- a treasure that is hidden deep.
"Eloise?"
Hearing her name brought her out of her reverie, even though she wasn't sure
who was speaking.
"Hm?"
"Do you know what's going on?" Dominic asked.
"No. But I'm beginning to get an idea. Come on! We have to deactivate that
SKoLD!"
BKWillis
>>"Indeed, Allie-chan," purred a cheerful voice from behind them.
>>"Optimistic fatalism has much to recommend it as a philosophy."
>---
>Erm, *where* is all this taking place? Last I saw, Imran with Allie, Danel,
>Eloise and Ruthie had gone out to the cul-de-sac to escape the SKoLD -- but
>the
>thing, and the nine Doctors, followed them out there.
I was assuming they'd arrived outside just in time to see the booze dray go up,
then gone back in to make for the wardrobe and encountered Xellos on the way.
<shrug> Timing multiple plot threads is always a pain. Worse with multiple
authors.
----
"I wonder who that chap was?" Eloise wondered aloud as she
watched Imran and Allie scamper off to rejoin the group that was
heading for the wardrobe.
~Who do you mean?~ signed Silence, looking around in
puzzlement.
"That rather handsome purple-haired man that I saw talking to
Imran and Allie."
Silence fished around in her pack, finally handing the Joy Troll a
rather hefty paperback book entitled, _Audubon Field Guide to
Crossover Villains_. ~Look on page 551,~ she signed.
Eloise immediately did so, and this is what she read:
--
XELLOS (zel'-os)
aka 'the Trickster Priest'
Native Habitat: The anime series 'Slayers' (seasons 2 and 3)
Diet: Soft-serve ice cream; cake; negative human emotions
Frequency: Not rare enough
Description:
Sometimes helpful, sometimes a hindrance, always irritating, Xellos
the Trickster Priest is a Mazoku, a variety of demon, from the
'Slayers' universe. And, while Mazoku in general are twisted, evil,
sadistic beings who delight in death, destruction, and human
misery, feeding on the emotions engendered thereby, Xellos is a
bit different. Though more than capable of destroying anyone in
his path, Xellos prefers to simply annoy the crap out of his
'victims', taking delight in manipulating people into wild, chaotic
situations and then seeing whether they can get out in one piece.
He often enjoys teasing his chosen 'prey', providing or withholding
crucial information at key moments to maximize the potential for
chaos. While technically an 'evil' being, Xellos seems more
concerned with spreading chaos than actively doing harm.
Xellos is known to like redheads, people who can outwit him,
dressing up in drag, and tennis. He dislikes happy songs, white
magic, Dragons, and semi-divine alien entities bent on Universal
destruction.
Under no circumstances should his cooking be eaten. Trust us
on this one, boys and girls.
--
ann
><shrug> Timing multiple plot threads is always a pain. Worse with multiple
>authors.
>
Indeed. And worse yet when some of those authors can not control the timing of
their posts (as when posting through Google). Which is why I like to do a
backdrop check now and then.
<back to the scene -- which I'll insert just before Eloise meets the dragon>
Eloise handed the book back to Silence. "Thanks," she said. "Being new around
here, it's hard to keep up with all the different species. Though if all
Xellos does is spread chaos, it shouldn't be *too* bad. After all, I have it
on good authority that the Goddess of Chaos is herself a member of the pro-fun
team.
"...As long as we're sure that all he wants is to spread Chaos..."
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
>
> >"Indeed, Allie-chan," purred a cheerful voice from behind them.
> >"Optimistic fatalism has much to recommend it as a philosophy."
> ---
> Erm, *where* is all this taking place? Last I saw, Imran with Allie, Danel,
> Eloise and Ruthie had gone out to the cul-de-sac to escape the SKoLD -- but
the
> thing, and the nine Doctors, followed them out there.
>
> Which would have put them *in the middle* of the flame throwing between Delta,
> Xellos, and the teraleptil, Fastolf (homage to Falstaff, I take it).
>
> Now, the troupe who went outside are about to head back *inside* to the
> wardrobe, in order to don monkey suits so they can catch Ingbo. Once there,
> they will discover the plotting trousers.
Actually... the group who were trying to escape the SKoLD headed for
Sweetheart's lounge room, away from the chaos (though that corrected post may
not have shown up). The Doctors, Sandra and Eloise followed them there - along
with the SKoLD. From there, they've set off on their respective quests.
Imran
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
---
"Err... Allie, I realise this may not be the best time to say this, given that
a) we're about to be attacked by a ravening horde of Spamites, b) we're dressing
up in monkey suits to lure a neo-Nazi monkey out of hiding, c) there's a box
floating around intent on causing mischief, d) Xellos was the one who brought
c), and e) your family seems to have disappeared Calliope knows where, but..."
"*Yes...?*" Allie said dangerously.
Imran took a deep breath. "Why don't you just shapeshift your dress into a
monkey suit? You /can/ do that, you know."
"Because I prefer to rely on the tools we /have./" Allie said. "And besides,
getting dressed up in a monkey suit is embarrassing enough without morphing into
one."
"Ho there, good people!" boomed an all-too-familiar voice.
"We're screwed."
"Where are the Doctors?" the Steward asked. "I have a message I *must* impart to
them!"
"Looking after a box in the lounge room." Allie said. "Thataway."
"Thank you." the Steward said. He turned away, then turned back.
"We're getting dressed up in monkey suits to lure a neo-Nazi monkey out of
hiding." Imran said.
"Ah." the Steward said wisely.
And left, as quickly as possible.
"I don't know..." Imran said, watching him go. "Why do I get the feeling we have
a seriously misplaced sense of priorities?"
"We're trying to stop the subconscious creatures," Allie pointed out. "Or at
least help them out here. If we can get Ingo in check, we can deal with any
others."
"What about the ravening horde of Spamites?"
Allie grinned. "Trust me on this. I can deal with them."
"/You/ can-" Imran began. "Oh. Ohhhhh..."
---
The Steward and Eloise's group arrived outside the lounge room simultaneously.
"Ah! Mine hostess!" the Steward greeted. "Forgive me for such a brief greeting,
but there is news of import I must bring to the Doctors before any conviviality
may begin."
Then he got a *proper* look at Eloise's group.
#We were in a food fight with a depressed baby dragon.# Ayna explained.
"I still say we were winning." Spethan muttered.
"I hope the Doctors found a way to deactivate the SKoLD." Eloise said. "Because
I have an inkling as to what its purpose might just be..."
"If it's the inkling I suspect it is..." Dominic said. "Could someone /want/ to
confront you with your Ship's subconscious?"
Eloise *blinked* her huge eyes.
"Because it seems to me that the SKoLD, so far, has managed a number of things.
It's managed to bring a part of your Ship's subconscious to life - which
confronts you with her subconscious, and enables anyone who knows how to learn
her secrets.
"It's also managed to cause complete and total chaos - which, I suspect, is just
as important a reason." Dominic put his hands behind his back. "Of course, we're
second-guessing whomever placed the SKoLD-"
"Xellos, maybe?" Eloise hazarded.
"Maybe. And the best way to learn is to go to the source."
Dominic opened the door.
"You'd think," he said eventually, "that at some point, you'd get used to this."
Eloise peered past him, and gasped.
Behind the door was what could only be described as a fairytale landscape.
Not too far off in the distance, she could see the glittering turrets of a
crystal castle rising to the sky.
"What...?" she began. "Is this the SKoLD?"
Dominic shook his head. "I don't know."
"What about the Doctors?"
"I... don't know." Dominic admitted. "But if they're anywhere, they're here."
"Stories. Stories..." Eloise murmured, almost to herself. "Why fairy stories?
Dragons, castles... protection, power-"
"Heroes. Quests. Discovery." Dominic said. "I know this. I /know/ this.
Subreality was like this, not so long ago - when Mallory wrote "L'Morte
D'Arthur", the others who took on the Arthurian cycle, the romances of
chivalry..." He nodded at the landscape before them. "It shaped a major part of
Subreality's landscape."
He chuckled quietly. "It was an interesting time, while it lasted. I rather
liked it."
"So... the SKoLD's somewhere in there, and we've got to find it - and the
Doctors - and deactivate it." Eloise finished.
"So let's get-" Xeffy pushed past them, and into the landscape. "-start..."
She looked down at herself. "YAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
#I dunno, Xeph.# Ayna observed. #I think that gown looks good on you.#
"GOOD?!" Xeffy squawked. "I LOOK LIKE MAID MARIAN! AND WHAT THE HADES IS THIS ON
MY HEAD?"
"A wimple." Dominic said.
"Which means it adapts the clothes of anyone inside to fit its setting." Magnus
observed. "Interesting."
"Easy for you to say." Xeffy harrumphed. "You don't have to walk in this."
Eloise took a deep breath. If the SKoLD, and the Doctors, were in there, then
the only way to find out what had happened to them...
...was to go in.
"Here goes..."
---
Okay... (sorry 'bout the plot twist, but it seemed to fit. Never leave the
Doctors alone in a room with a mysterious gadget.)
Danel, Ruthie, Imran and Allie are dealing with Ingo and the Spamites.
Eloise, Dominic, Xeffy, Ayna, Sandra, Gordon, Silence (and anyone else who wants
to join) are headed into the fairy tale landscape to uncover what's happened to
Sweetheart, the Doctors, and the SKoLD.
Delta is summoning Spamites, and Xellos... is being Xellos.
Meanwhile, Katherine and Yokoi have been left unattended... as have Cameron,
Cassie, Celia and Fastolf.
And a pair of plotting trousers.
Whew.
---
Imran
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
nar...@ntlworld.com (I. Inayat) wrote:
> e (and anyone else who wants to join)
Magnus " I think I will tag along but just a minute."
[ He muttered something under his breath and stretched his right arm
out. For a moment his hand see4med to disappear. When it became
visible again he was holding a pair of saddle bags. ]
Magnus " Here we are, tools for most eventualities."
[ As he passed the door way his suit morphed into a black robe
embroidered with designs in blood red. ]
Magnus " Looks like I am being cast as a villain, oh well go with the
flow."
[ He reached into one of the bags and pulled out an intricately carved
six foot long staff. ]
Magnus " Are you coming, Varne?"
Varne " As soon as I change, you will need a familiar for that role."
[ Varne's form blurred and where she had been was a large red furred
cat. ]
Note. I do not have broadband but a dial up connection with an off
line reader. While I try to connect twice a day or so postings will be
irregular. Everybody feel free to use Magnus and Varne anyway you
like. I will catch up with the situation.
gordon
wrote:
>Eloise, Dominic, Xeffy, Ayna, Sandra, Gordon, Silence (and anyone else who wants
>to join) are headed into the fairy tale landscape to uncover what's happened to
>Sweetheart, the Doctors, and the SKoLD.
Gordon looked down at the robes he was wearing. "Please tell me I'm not
wearing a pointy hat."
~You are not wearing a pointy hat.~
"Ah, good. I *like* your outfit."
Silence was now clad in sleek black armour, with smooth curves and a
pointed triangular helmet. Two rather large swords were held in
scabbards on the sides.[1]
"I'll just have to figure out what *I'm* supposed to be along the way"
--
gordon "It's not the winning, it's the arsing around along the way."
[1] - Think medieval Voord, on a Lord Of The rings scale budget... :)
(just doing this quickly just now as I only really get a chance to write
in the evenings...see ya later!]
Graham Woodland
>
>"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
>news:20020802174337...@mb-fk.aol.com...
>
>>
>> >"Indeed, Allie-chan," purred a cheerful voice from behind them.
>> >"Optimistic fatalism has much to recommend it as a philosophy."
>> ---
>> Erm, *where* is all this taking place? Last I saw, Imran with Allie, Danel,
>> Eloise and Ruthie had gone out to the cul-de-sac to escape the SKoLD -- but
>the
>> thing, and the nine Doctors, followed them out there.
>>
>> Which would have put them *in the middle* of the flame throwing between Delta,
>> Xellos, and the teraleptil, Fastolf (homage to Falstaff, I take it).
>>
friend, military ally, business partner, and self-styled 'Uncle Dragon'.
A formidable battle-captain, unscrupulous merchant-adventurer, and
monstrously talented playwright, his prosperous venture with Nyssa
chiefly involves marketing her Traken interior designs to the art-
obsessed Terileptil Museion. Following a formative encounter with the
complete works of Shakespeare, Fastolf now takes his chief dramatic
inspiration from Renaissance England, and asserts himself to be the
reincarnation of William S. into a deservedly higher lifeform.
Terileptils don't distinguish between artistic and actual 'truth' in
quite the same way as we do, so it is uncertain on how many levels he
actually believes this.
But yes, that's why he's added 'Fastolf' to his collection of names, of
which he possesses enough to make Aragorn jealous and whose catalogue he
will cheerfully recite if anyone is fool enough to ask. Be warned...
;-)
>> Now, the troupe who went outside are about to head back *inside* to the
>> wardrobe, in order to don monkey suits so they can catch Ingbo. Once there,
>> they will discover the plotting trousers.
>
>Actually... the group who were trying to escape the SKoLD headed for
>Sweetheart's lounge room, away from the chaos (though that corrected post may
>not have shown up). The Doctors, Sandra and Eloise followed them there - along
>with the SKoLD. From there, they've set off on their respective quests.
>
Ah, that's what I thought. Had me worried for a moment, there.
Cheers,
ann
Did you know Xellos disliked dragons so much?
And did you know that Xellos was on the scene when you decided to make the
creature out of Sweetheart's subconsciousness?
If the answer to these questions is a simultaneous "Yes," then I have only one
thing to say to you:
"You naughty boy! ;-)
If the answer to either of those questions is "No", I transfer that sentiment
to the god(dess?) of storytelling? A trickster god to be sure.
(I suspect Hermes, personally).
All hail the Great God Hermes!
{God of invention, travel, trickery, the subconscious, and the messenger of the
Gods, because he vowed never to lie, but added that he may have to sometimes
not tell the truth in order not to lie... sounds like a good description of
fiction to me!}
Let us pray:
May Hermes protect these writers, their homes, their computers and their modem
connections!
(So we don't get a repeat of last year)
Graham Woodland
Celia trotted up to the Steward as he paused contemplatively on the
threshold, her eyes flashing small stars. Small *external* stars.
"Gray! Wait for me!"
"Oh." He regarded her with some bewilderment. "You weren't -- ?"
She folded her arms across her chest, in a way familiar to all Nyssa
aficionadoes as boding little or no good. "No; you just pounded off,
and I don't have your long legs or bullish momentum. I'm just a working
Demiurge, Gray, not some Keeper-banned miracle-worker! I thought this
was supposed to be a Pro-"
And then she broke off, really seeing the fairy-tale landscape beyond
the door. "*Oh!*," she breathed rapturously. "Now, *there's* joy!"
And stepped through.
"Now, where -- ?" the Steward fretted, and charged in after her.
She wasn't there.
He caught hastily up to the rest of the motley crew. "What ho, Dame
Eloise!" he greeted his hostess, whom the worldlet had rigged out in
spectacular ribbons and flowers on a kind of Queen-of-the-May principle.
"Did you just see a beautiful girl frisking happily into this reality?
Starry eyes, sky-blue gown, looks a lot like Nyssa?"
"Yeah, like every other girl these fanboys bring in..." Xeffy muttered
audibly.
#<snork> Hey, what do you want to bet that Clive's _Planet of the Tipsy
Nyssas_ is getting a *lot* more visitors than he knows about...!#
>
Eloise frowned slightly. "I think I might have noticed. Was she your
guest?"
"Umph, yes. My Muse Carrie sends her apologies, by the way -- stuck in
the 1940s on an anti-Spamite retconnaisance -- so I took the liberty of
inviting my Demiurge instead. Celia. Lovely girl, you'd like her. But
I seem to have mislaid her over that threshold."
"Demiurge?" Eloise looked at him reappraisingly. "You brought a
*goddess* as your guest?
Dominic, in the black clerical robes of a mediaeval academic, cleared
his throat. "I don't think she would be, not in our ficton. Some
authors have very generalist Muses who create the spark and story for
the work, but subcontract the worldbuilding to specialists. Demiurges.
Not common, but I've known authors get fine results that way." He
raised his brows in the Steward's direction. "Am I right?"
"Celia's a special case: she's a demiurge within her story-context as
well... but, basically, yes." The Steward drew himself up. "And I am
certainly not one of those who believes that she who does the spadework
for a milieu deserves a whit less credit for her labour than the
'higher-level' designers..."
%Before you slide back into your class struggle,% a sharp and rather
strained voice sounded inside his head, %I'm afraid I have a small
problem...%
The Steward froze for a moment, then turned back to the motley crew.
"Friends, fun-folk, comrades, attend! Celia's gone immanent. She's her
own world's indweller, and she seems to have been translated into her
default role here. But this *isn't* her ficton: she can't seem to
affect it, or for example pull out of it. However... if she can
perceive... she ought to be able to guide us to the SKoLD and the
Doctors!" He turned a triumphant face towards the heavens.
%My perceptions didn't make this world either... and I fear the
consequences of trying to align them with Whatever did. It looks very
different from the inside. Still beautiful, though.%
"So how much can you tell us, that we might actually understand?"
%From here it looks like:
"Within the crystal, light and dark.
Choose both, choose neither.
Within the present, a rose, a flame, a key.
Choose one, choose well.
And some who are true to their sweethearts shall have
A brush with unknown things, a daft one.
Use wisely.
Please get me out of here soon, it's a lovely place but this is far
too much like the day job, and being a disembodied sibyl at a party is
apt to get old rather quickly."
The sense of presence vanished. The Steward relayed the prophecy
without comment.
~So,~ signed the martially-accoutred Silence. ~To the crystal castle,
then?~
"That would seem appropriate." Dominic chuckled. "I think it's only
fair to warn everybody that in this kind of setting, reaching crystal
castles is the sort of quest one seldom achieves without a deal of
colourful incident..."
"Yeah, Dad, we guessed. And then the *real* fun starts..."
"Hooray! Back on track at last!" If Eloise had any reservations about
this definition of fun, she was nobly keeping them well-concealed.
The Grey Steward -- here discovering himself to be the Grey Palmer,
complete with ragged grey robes and pilgrim's staff -- fell in with
Gordon, to congratulate him on his birthday and the pointlessness of his
hat, and drop incomprehensible though heavy hints about _Le Cadeau
Parfait_ which awaited him.
Sandra regarded him from behind with narrowed eyes. She had a feeling
the Steward had skated over something alarming and very important with
regard to Celia. And she could make all too good a guess as to what
that something was.
She clinked the dinky silver chains the story-world had awarded her
ghost-form, and fell into step with Silence.
[The Grey Steward and his suspiciously Nyssa-like guest Celia have
stepped through into the fairy-tale world, in search of the SKoLD and
the Doctors. The Steward has been cast as a wandering palmer, but Celia
-- revealed as his current Demiurge, a Muse-like spirit specialising in
worldbuilding -- has been translated into a kind of disembodied oracle,
and through her link with her Author has spoken a prophecy suggesting
_inter alia_ that the crystal castle is the way to go. Like, duh!
Sandra has undisclosed but sinister suspicions about Celia's true
nature, and what may come of it. And the bold company set forth upon
their quest...]
ann
>Dominic opened the door.
>
>"You'd think," he said eventually, "that at some point, you'd get used to
>this."
<snip>
>
>Behind the door was what could only be described as a fairytale landscape.
<snip>
>"Stories. Stories..." Eloise murmured, almost to herself. "Why fairy stories?
>Dragons, castles... protection, power-"
>Dominic said. "I know this. I /know/ this.
>Subreality was like this, not so long ago - when Mallory wrote "L'Morte
>D'Arthur", the others who took on the Arthurian cycle, the romances of
>chivalry..." He nodded at the landscape before them. "It shaped a major part
>of Subreality's landscape.
"And I think I saw Arthur and Merlin among the guests, earlier," she added. "I
wonder if they know about this."
<snip>
>"So let's get-" Xeffy pushed past them, and into the landscape. "-start..."
>
>She looked down at herself. "YAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
>"Which means it adapts the clothes of anyone inside to fit its setting."
>Magnus
>observed. "Interesting."
"In that case --" Eloise took off her vest, and held it in one hand.
The other's looked at her quizzically.
"Well," she explained, "back in the day, trolls went naked. I have a *lot* of
things in my pockets, and I don't want them to drop all over the place when my
vest vanishes. But if I treat my vest as though it were a *sack*.." she
stepped over the threashold.
Her vest had become a bundle on a stick. "Yup," she said. "Just as I
suspected. I'm just glad it's transdimensional." She put her hand up to check
the status of her birthday hat. It was now a jester's cap and bells. She
grinned.
"Ready?" she asked.
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
: In article <tXr29.5226$U44.333785@newsfep2-gui>, nar...@ntlworld.com
: (I. Inayat) wrote:
:
: > It wasn't a very /large/ dragon, all things considered. A young
: > one, about ten metres long.
:
: [ In the main room, Varne's eyes glowed as she realised something had
: arrived.]
:
: Varne " Lord, we have a dragon."
:
: Magnus " We Varne? They have a dragon, nobody is paying us."
:
: [Varne looked at Magnus as he drank his third gin and tonic and used
: his other hand to grab some crisps.]
:
: Varne " *Free* food and drink Lord, which you are consuming."
:
: Magnus " You have a point, there is an implied contract. Where is
: it?"
:
: Varne " This way Lord."
:
: Magnus " Don't call me Lord Varne."
"Dragons!!" Merlin hissed to Nimue, Arthur and Guenevere.
"Where?" Arthur demanded.
"Follow them!"
From: "I. Inayat" <nar...@ntlworld.com>
: "Graham Woodland" <gr...@quilpole.demon.co.uk> wrote
: > Fortunately, Silence was a resilient sort of Voord, and swiftly
: > recovered. ~We just received a suspect package~, she signed.
: > ~They're just dealing with it now...~
: >
: > The Steward nodded. "Fastolf will be here in a few minutes: said he'd
: > bring a bottle or two. What's the package suspected of?"
:
: ~Bringing characters from the subconscious to life.~ Silence signed. ~And it's
: caused at least one case of amnesia.~
:
: "Now that's odd." the Steward observed. "Because, in our own ways, aren't we
: /all/ creatures of the subconscious?"
"Merlin is," Morgan murmurred into her beverage. "Ever watched him
pilot?"
From: capr...@aol.commonSense (ann)
: Backdrop Check!!
Thanks. I seem to have accidentally deleted about half Thursday's posts
unread.
: Last I saw, Imran with Allie, Danel,
: Eloise and Ruthie had gone out to the cul-de-sac to escape the SKoLD -- but the
: thing, and the nine Doctors, followed them out there.
:
: Which would have put them *in the middle* of the flame throwing between Delta,
: Xellos, and the teraleptil, Fastolf (homage to Falstaff, I take it).
:
: Now, the troupe who went outside are about to head back *inside* to the
: wardrobe, in order to don monkey suits so they can catch Ingbo. Once there,
: they will discover the plotting trousers.
:
: Meanwhile, Dominic is in the food fight arena with his daughters, the typo
: gremlins, and a frightened, baby dragon. Magus and Varne are on their way
: there in an attempt to communicate with same.
Let me add that Lancelot was last seen intending to join the food fight,
which he seems to have done, because he's *not* with Merlin, Nimue, Arthur
and Guenevere whom I've just set following Magnus and Varne that way.
: Meanwhile, the mysteriously-changed Steward is somewhere in the middle of the
: dance floor, looking for the Doctors...
... with Morgan in proximity thereto.
I'm trying to keep up, really I am.
--
Paul Gadzikowski, scar...@iglou.com since 1995
http://members.iglou.com/scarfman
"If denial is a river in Egypt, then Buffy has always been an Amazon."
Cameron Mason
ann <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "Cameron Mason"
>
> >(Need to be written back into the action)
>
> Well, since Cassie is the Dreaming Muse, maybe she is the *only* one who
can
> successfully disarm the SKoLD...
>
> Because from her point of view, the "sub"conscious is the primary
> consciousness...
>
> Is that deep enough "into the action" for you? <evil grin>
Yup.
Now to work out how to write myself back in (or just sit back and let
someone else do it - it's 10:30pm!)
Graham Woodland
[Ahem]: Er, please will anyone else whose characters' chosen aspects
appears to have been pre-empted by the Steward's perceptions of them in
the other thread, please note that he is (a) not the world's most
observant person when his attention is fixed on something else, and (b)
currently missing his Man of Lead contact lenses. In a word, consider
them silently retconnable out of existence as desired, and accept 'umble
apologies for any unintentional discourtesies thus committed...
Cheers,
Igenlode
On 31 Jul 2002 ann wrote:
> It's a nice night for a drive. Even though the highway is lined on either
> side by high-powered street lights, the stars are still visible, dusting
> the sky before you like sequins on a Las Vegas jumpsuit.
[snip]
> on the lamppost at the bottom of its driveway is taped the
> following sign (In purple and pink lettering, with gold and silver foil
> stars pasted around the edge):
>
> Third Annual Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown! **All** Welcome!
>
In the distance, against the stars, there is a faint /ripple/.
At first it seems almost accidental; the slightest flicker of the street-
lights. But it comes again... and then a third time, gliding slowly
westward as if a dark web is passing along the rim of the sky.
As the shadow is borne gently in on the night breeze, the dark lines
begin to take on structure and then meaning. Two great tree-webbed
spires and a host of subtle curves slung between them. Lower down, dark
squares, foreshortened now, that creak in the wind, and the sheeted peak
of the single slanted gaff.
The brig comes in quietly; not in silence, but with the hundred soft
sounds of her rigging creaking in the breeze. There is movement on her
decks, and faint voices. High above, where the topsails are furled on
her yards, a lookout calls down, outlined for a moment against the
star-bright sky.
The dark silhouette alters. Sails shiver, and the boom swings inboard,
to be caught and sheeted tightly as the gaff comes rattling down.
The 'Avalanche' turns neatly on her forefoot, losing way, and glides on
up to windward, asphalt rippling back in dying combers from her stem.
A minute later she rides peacefully at anchor between the garages. A
single riding-light sways upward along her forestay, but all else lies
still as the grave.
For a moment, anyway.
"By Heaven! that was a journey." The speaker leaned over the rail,
laughing, revealed in the street-lights' glow as a tall, fair
man in slightly shabby shirt and breeches. He appeared to be talking to
thin air.
"I've done my share of navigation," he continued with a grin, one
eyebrow raised, "but I'll be hanged if I ever saw a queerer chart than
this parchment of the Doctor's. If the Grand Duchess ever hears -"
He broke off to enter a low-voiced colloquy with another member of the
crew, which ended with a shrug of the shoulders: "Lord! *I* don't know.
Might as well try the gang-plank, I suppose. Unless you fancy the
Doctor's 'trans-dimensional' trickery took hold on the skiff-? Oh,
devil take it, man, we'll make our own way over. I'll call for you if I
need you."
And with that, he took two steps over to the bulwarks, slipped free a
belaying-pin, and flicked the loose end of the line it held over the
side of the hull. Barely a second later, he had swung himself onto the
rope and was sliding down it with little regard for either clothing or
dignity. A clumsy shadow fluttered down in his wake.
The new arrival pushed open the main door and checked for a moment, the
flying eyebrow once more in evidence as he surveyed the expanse of the
barn-like interior. Then the merry grin spreads again, revealing a
crooked tooth. He glances up over his shoulder at his companion.
Now revealed to be a large grey parrot. Trailing a yellow-and-red-
panelled cloak in its beak.
None of the partygoers seemed to be taking much notice of the late
arrivals. He considered briefly, then reached up to relieve his
companion of the cloak, swirling it round him to fasten the red-rose
clasp at his throat.
"Go on then, Osman." Barely a murmur. "We're both aware that you can
scarcely wait -"
And indeed, the parrot takes wing almost before he gives it the nod,
fluttering out to the centre of the barn where it perches deftly on a
hanging streamer and opens its beak in the most stentorian squawk to be
heard between the Antipodes and the outer archipelago of Ursa Minor XI.
"Meine Herren und Damen - "
Practically everyone jumped. Neither parrot nor man were seen to blink
an eyelid.
"- His Excellency Count Danik of Ruritania, Lord High Admiral, Baron
Schelstein of Bad Hortig -"
"- better known as 'Danny Blue, Terror of the Sea-ports'," Danik
concluded, laughing. "Commander of the brig 'Avalanche', which mounts 12
guns and 2 bowchasers, and is currently the the pride and joy - not to
mention the *only* vessel - of the Ruritanian Navy." The parrot fluffs
up its feathers, looking affronted at the interruption.
"I was trying for 'Terror of the *Seas*'," the Ruritanian explained,
beginning to stroll forward. "But you know how it is. The charms of the
dock-side are so hard to resist..."
The parrot, overhead, let out a reproving squawk, and his friend glanced
up.
"I do beg your pardon. Ladies and gentlemen: it is my pleasure to
introduce Osman, former chamberlain at Bad Hortig, latterly bos'un of
the 'Avalanche', and the most loyal friend and servant a man ever had. I
fear I'm a sad disappointment to him." He grins. "His current condition
is not, I trust, permanent. Both the Doctor and I advised him against
drinking that seawife's concoction, but the old meddler swore blind it
would do wonders to help him lose weight..."
The parrot rips out an indignant Teutonic epiphet which fortunately goes
over the heads of most of the guests, though Danik winces in
mock-reproof. "Ladies present, Osman!"
He locates the avocado troll and bows deeply, the Rose of Ruritania
flashing at his breast. "Danny Blue and the 'Avalanche' - at your
service, ma'am."
--
Igenlode Visit the Ivory Tower (http://curry.250x.com/Tower/)
Igenlode
[snip]
> [And I'll break. I didn't do much for the dragon , but given the time
> lapse I'm dealing with - I have to post using Google, so I can see
> messages, but not reply until much later, and then the replying takes
> a while...
You think *you*'ve got a timelapse problem?! :-P
I'm posting up to two days behind what I can read...
Graham Woodland
scan, and fixed upon Katherine and Yokoi, who had remained behind Being
Silly on principle. The principle was that, as long as two or three
were gathered together to Be Silly at all times, the forces of joy and
righteousness could never be too many points behind.
"Earl's Court Road!"
"The Avenue of the Nines and Twenties!"
"Manticore Street!"
"Bleeding Heart Yard!"
"Lost Highway!"
"Mornington -- "
"*Damsels! Attend!*"
It occurred to Katherine at this point that harlequin-scaled toad-demons
packing ominous blasters in each hands might retort on Being Silly in a
way that joyfulness might find inconvenient to refute. But years of
travel with the Doctor, as well as general principles aforesaid,
dictated her answer. "Good evening. Can we tempt you to some ice-
cream?"
"Nay, such sugary-sweet toys be too strong e'en for my red blood; had
brought you good spirits in great store for th'increase of your own, but
those are exploded and expired, so must seek other means of joy's
promotion." The demon's crests waved good-humouredly. "Nor may you
attain Mornington Crescent from the Lost Highway..."
Katherine regarded him with a new and different fascination. "Where
would *you* go, from there?"
"No whither; is't not lost? and how then should find one's way back to
terra cognita, till's found at last? But fear not: new entertainment's
provided. Shall we three fight Spam's quintessence all alone, and win
immortal death-and-glory; other else bring in Doctors, Muses, Magicians
and such powers more as shall drub it to very scorn, and scratch cross-
posting's curse out of Life's dear book? I'd not defy true maidens in
such choices!"
Yokoi decoded this while Katherine was still marvelling at the great
reptile's subclauses. "If we're going to be attacked by a ravening
horde of evil 'Spamites', can we do the drubbing-to-scorn thing? Gordon
and the rest of the gang's that way, and I *bet* we've got some custard
pies over..."
The reptile did a double-take, which works marvellously well when you
have nicitating membranes as well as eyelids. "Custard pies versus Spam
is heroism beyond e'en great Fastolf's compass! Still, cheerily: no
vulgar spam-fritter-fest shall be ours, but rather great and joyous
gigantomachy." He pressed a blaster into each lady's bemused hand.
They were weighted towards the handle ends, remarkably like battery
torches. "Hot toasty death i' hand for thee, and thee; mine own honed
talons and wit for me, shall afford even chance for us all. Coming in
from the patio, I did espy a Summoning-ring, and from its many $-runes
did know it for spam's very matter. Trusting that great Dame Eloise has
no traffic with such ills, did take the liberty of modifying the
diagram: no Spamite hordes now shall disgrace her halls, nor fry
worthlessly to offend her nitheling neighbours with their stink..."
"You rubbed out their magic circle? Yay!!!" Yokoi did a happy dance
for several seconds, before regarding her unwanted blaster in a freshly-
puzzled light.
"Then aren't we safe from them now?" prompted Katherine, strictly by way
of straight-line.
"Certes, from vulgar broils with smelly bone-clawed lumps of brawn:
where were glory or grace in so butcherly an enterprise? Nay, small
gain were in the circle's deletion; should only be redrawn in some privy
place of which we were like never to be advertised. Rather did great
Fastolf alter it, so't shall perform little to their intent when called
on..."
Yokoi's eyes widened spectacularly. "You're a wizard, too?"
"Why, scarce so; 'twere rude mechanical application for such an
enchanter and dramaturge as I; but wrought I not _Seas Incarnadine_? nor
yet _Doctor Faustus Came to Gloster_? Was never no good author but were
a mightily well-versed know-all! I did duly erase all $-signs bar one,
that not Spam's multiplicity but its very unity should be brought to us:
e'en its wellspring and original, that Carrie and the Steward do seek
with such long and comick labour. I wot well that the clown who should
invoke it were sore pressed to count so high as one; he'll see naught
ailing his casting, save that his spell-master looks each moment over
his shoulder! Whereby we now prepare for joyous strokes and merry war,
anent which this." He indicated a collar on the 'lamp' end of the
blaster he'd pressed on Katherine. "Turn to the dexter, it shall
throughly kill all within its orthogonal range. More sinister, and
shall slightly kill all within this reflector-borne cone. Now to grave
matter: do you, dear maidens, care better for an hope-bereft tragic
defiance to live forever in song, else to have it away on our toes to
such cameradoes as may back us in even battle?"
"The even battle bit," decided Katherine, predictably. "On that
subject, what's the non-lethal setting?"
"Simple enough: dost club any vertebrate on a's occiput with handle end,
our foes shall relish it little enow. But mind thy pacifism extend to
no Spamites, as being homogeneous lumpish evils which comprehend naught
short of frying into sooty oblivion. -- Well, our strategy's made. Do
you two maidens guide me to our Pro-Fun's chief chivalry, and our game's
afoot. *Onwards to glory we go!*"
---
Xellos, concealed behind yet another of the omnisuburban privet hedges,
observed Brother Delta's abominable rituals with the detachment of a
true cognoscenta. Nyssa's self-styled 'Uncle Dragon' had performed
precisely according to Fallback Plan #4, though no doubt Delta would
commit every kind of captious critique upon the results -- in the
unlikely event that he ever found himself in position to do so. In a
world which in Xellos's eyes was entirely populated by expendables,
Delta had earned himself a very *special* expendability in admirably
short order.
And what *was* the 'quintessence of Spam', anyway???
---
[Fastolf bestows weapons on a somewhat reluctant Katherine and Yokoi,
against the 'wellspring and original' of all Spam which, in quest of
glory, he conceives he has perverted the Enemy's magic circle to summon
in place of a Spamite horde. It is evident that his qualifications as a
magician effectively amount to 'I adapted _Macbeth_ once, and later took
a shine to _Dr Faustus_.' Xellos is by no means displeased by his
enterprise...]
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> Imran, a couple of questions occurred to me as I woke up this morning:
>
> Did you know Xellos disliked dragons so much?
Yep. Although he has a love/hate relationship with one particular dragon from
his home series, called Filia (or Firia, depending on translation). She can
assume human form.
> And did you know that Xellos was on the scene when you decided to make
> the creature out of Sweetheart's subconsciousness?
Yes.
> If the answer to these questions is a simultaneous "Yes," then I have only
> one thing to say to you:
>
> "You naughty boy! ;-)
Well, the thing is... I didn't actually /make/ the connection between the two
until Brad posted Xellos's profile - I'd forgotten Xellos hates dragons.
> If the answer to either of those questions is "No", I transfer that sentiment
> to the god(dess?) of storytelling? A trickster god to be sure.
>
> (I suspect Hermes, personally).
>
> All hail the Great God Hermes!
>
> {God of invention, travel, trickery, the subconscious, and the messenger of
the
> Gods, because he vowed never to lie, but added that he may have to sometimes
> not tell the truth in order not to lie... sounds like a good description of
> fiction to me!}
>
> Let us pray:
>
> May Hermes protect these writers, their homes, their computers and their modem
> connections!
May Hermes guide us, and look upon our journey with favour.
<chuckles> It may be that Hermes had a hand in this, because it was definitely
serendipitous...
Imran
I. Inayat
"gordon" <gor...@SPAMbhfh.fsnet.co.uk> wrote in message
news:ffdnkus3beh0rj9ns...@4ax.com...
> On Sat, 3 Aug 2002 08:20:22 +0100, "I. Inayat" <nar...@ntlworld.com>
> wrote:
>
> >Eloise, Dominic, Xeffy, Ayna, Sandra, Gordon, Silence (and anyone else who
> >wants to join) are headed into the fairy tale landscape to uncover what's
> >happened to Sweetheart, the Doctors, and the SKoLD.
>
> Gordon looked down at the robes he was wearing. "Please tell me I'm not
> wearing a pointy hat."
>
> ~You are not wearing a pointy hat.~
>
> "Ah, good. I *like* your outfit."
>
> Silence was now clad in sleek black armour, with smooth curves and a
> pointed triangular helmet. Two rather large swords were held in
> scabbards on the sides.[1]
>
> "I'll just have to figure out what *I'm* supposed to be along the way"
[just filling in one gap...]
---
Ayna looked down at herself. #Er, Xeffy...#
Xeffy turned to see - and boggled.
#Someone has a very weird sense of occasion.# the winged Siren muttered.
The world had apparently decided that Ayna best fit the category of "minstrel",
and had equipped her accordingly.
To whit, a tunic and hose, with a set of pipes strapped to her side.
"Just so long as you're not a bard on the run..." Xeffy observed.
She narrowly ducked Ayna's wingslap.
---
Imran
ann
> "What ho, Dame
>Eloise!" he greeted his hostess, whom the worldlet had rigged out in
>spectacular ribbons and flowers on a kind of Queen-of-the-May principle.
[Aside: This all fits, except with the way the worldlet dealt with Eloise...
But, as the great Robbie Burns put it:
'The greatest gift that God ha' gie us
Is to see irselves <sp? My Scots is rusty>
As ithers see us"]
Btw, you can see illustrations of Eloise (except, I didn't get the potbelly
right) and Gordon's characters-- himself, Yokoi, Nth Doctor, Katherine and
Silence -- here:
http://curry.250x.com/HoedownII/Gallery.html
---
Now -- on with our story!
>"Within the crystal, light and dark.
> Choose both, choose neither.
> Within the present, a rose, a flame, a key.
> Choose one, choose well.
> And some who are true to their sweethearts shall have
> A brush with unknown things, a daft one.
> Use wisely.
> Please get me out of here soon, it's a lovely place but this is far
>too much like the day job, and being a disembodied sibyl at a party is
>apt to get old rather quickly."
>
>The sense of presence vanished. The Steward relayed the prophecy
>without comment.
>
>~So,~ signed the martially-accoutred Silence. ~To the crystal castle,
>then?~
>
>"That would seem appropriate." Dominic chuckled. "I think it's only
>fair to warn everybody that in this kind of setting, reaching crystal
>castles is the sort of quest one seldom achieves without a deal of
>colourful incident..."
>
>"Yeah, Dad, we guessed. And then the *real* fun starts..."
<Snip -- please replace Eloise lines with>:
"That may be true in an *ordinary* fictiverse," Eloise pointed out. "But we're
not *in* an ordinary fictiverse. "We're still inside Sweetheart. I suspect
whoever's behind this wants us to forget that, thereby leading us to search
this world, and getting us thoroughly lost in her corridors in the process.
I *refuse* to forget it. This seems to be a personal attack against *her*, and
she and I are a team, if it's personal for her, it's personal for me!" Eloise
reached up with one hand, and pushed her jester cap forward in 1940's gangster
movie style. "And we don't have time to play some sicko's little game!" She
unbristled, then, and grinned. "Besides," she said, with a wink, "I know how
to find the Doctors express-fashion."
Everyone, especially the Steward and Dominic, gave her quizzical looks.
"Isn't it obvious?" Eloise asked. "The Doctors are somewhere here. 'Here' is
inside Sweetheart. Sweetheart knows *Exactly* where they are... *And* she has
currently manifested an avatar that would fit perfectly in this fictiverse."
Eloise whistled.
The baby dragon bounded over the horizen toward them.
The troll patted the green, scaly neck. She could still feel the fear
eminating through this beast -- the same terror that she felt, briefly, when
the Gods of Ragnarok attacked last year, that had given her her first clue as
to Sweetheart's past. This dragon *was* that fear, she realized, and the
anger, and the sense of helplessness (was that why it was only a baby?) -- all
the things the TARDIS had felt at the loss of her first pilot (whenever and
however that happened).[*]
Eloise whispered in the dragon's ear: "It'll be okay, Baby," she promised.
"We'll put a stop to this together."
Then, climbing up on the dragon's back, she said out loud: "Take us to the
Doctors."
>The Grey Steward -- here discovering himself to be the Grey Palmer,
>complete with ragged grey robes and pilgrim's staff -- fell in with
>Gordon, to congratulate him on his birthday and the pointlessness of his
>hat, and drop incomprehensible though heavy hints about _Le Cadeau
>Parfait_ which awaited him.
>
>Sandra regarded him from behind with narrowed eyes. She had a feeling
>the Steward had skated over something alarming and very important with
>regard to Celia. And she could make all too good a guess as to what
>that something was.
>
>She clinked the dinky silver chains the story-world had awarded her
>ghost-form, and fell into step with Silence.
The "Quest" didn't last long [**]. Sweetheart/Baby rose into the air with a
single flap of her wings, while the others followed along behind, looking like
some Disney World theme parade gone awry. At first, Eloise was worried that
they wouldn't be able to keep up. But she needn't have -- with each successive
flap, the landscape shrunk around them (or did the center of this fictiverse
grow larger?). For a moment, Eloise was confused. And then she realized: They
were now being being led by Sweetheart's own mind. And a TARDIS has a very
different perception of the-space-between-things than non-transdimensional
beings.
In less than a minute, the travelers found themselves inside the crystal
castle, reunited with with the nine doctors and the mysterious and sinister
SKoLD (to say that Baby was *not* happy to be near the thing would be a gross
understatement).
"I say!" said the first Doctor, as they all appeared (more or less) in the
room, "How did you get here?"
"Um," Eloise said, while trying to calm an increasingly agitated baby dragon,
"I *think* we were here all along."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose you were."
"The important thing," Eloise said, "is: Are you making any progress?"
"Does it seem that way to *you*?" Sixth snapped.
"Er..."
---
[*] TARDISes, whose *consciousnesses* must embrace all-space and all-time in
order to function, don't tuck things away in a *sub*conscious the way we do.
The one exception to this rule is if they acquire a second pilot. In order to
establish a telepathic link with the new pilot, they must repress their
relationship with a previous one... And even this, I suspect, is rare --
AIUI, when a timelord dies his or her TARDIS is returned to Gallifrey, and
whatever memories or thoughtforms that are stored within that TARDIS are
downloaded into the Matrix, returning the TARDIS to a tabula rasa state.
Sweetheart is one exception to this (and perhaps the Doctor's Ol' Blue, too).
[**] Sorry about cutting your fairytale quest short, Gray. But the last time
we got into a "quest-within-a-quest" plotline, the darned Hoedown lasted 7
months and 6 days (!!). Even subtracting the weeks lost to flooded apartments,
several harddrive crashes, one lightning-fried modem, and a mourning period
after Sept. 11, that is *way* too long. I'd be negligent as a hostess if I let
that happen again.
We still have to get *out* of this fictivers (Which I suspect will be much
harder than getting *in*), foil the plotting of the sentient trousers, corral a
neo-nazi monkey, fight an army of spamites, and then discover and stop whoever
is behind all this.
In short: We still have plenty of storyline ahead of us.
ann
<snipples>
> Katherine and Yokoi, who had remained behind Being
>Silly on principle. The principle was that, as long as two or three
>were gathered together to Be Silly at all times, the forces of joy and
>righteousness could never be too many points behind.
Oh, yes -- Good, Good! (and remember: We have a small Kitten, her
golden-retriever pal, and a liberated ex-circus poodle romping in Sweetheart's
gardens somewhere, being joyful just because...)
>[Fastolf bestows weapons on a somewhat reluctant Katherine and Yokoi,
>against the 'wellspring and original' of all Spam which, in quest of
>glory, he conceives he has perverted the Enemy's magic circle to summon
>in place of a Spamite horde.
<snip>
>Xellos is by no means displeased by his
>enterprise...]
I'm gonna just sit back and watch the fireworks, on this one...
ann
>
>He locates the avocado troll and bows deeply, the Rose of Ruritania
>flashing at his breast. "Danny Blue and the 'Avalanche' - at your
>service, ma'am."
[Authorial Aside: The neat thing about multiple plot lines, is that new
arrivals are always in the nick of time for *something* and it looks like this
pair of characters is going to be *fun*]
ken...@cix.compulink.co.uk
capr...@aol.commonSense (ann) wrote:
> reunited with with the nine doctors and the mysterious and sinister
> SKoLD
[ Magnus looked at it with interest. Fishing his bags he produced a
rather peculiar looking object and started to take readings.]
Magnus " If these reading are accurate, I can suggest a course of
action. We get either that or ourselves out of this TARDIS and then
put as much space between us and that as possible. It's one of the
gadgets the Nine and Ninety built {See Gates of Dawn for who those
are} and as such will have much more capability than producing pieces
of peoples subconscious. The last one of their gadgets I came across
was a planet smasher which doubled as a microwave."
Doctor " We already knew it was trans dimensional."
Magnus " Not that trans realities, including several we do not exist
in. At the moment it seems to be absorbing energy from it's
surroundings, when it is fully charged we will find out what it is
really for."
[Rummaging in the bags again he produced another gadget and placed it
on the SkoLD, a glimmering field formed round it.]
Magnus " That might slow things down and keep it quiet but don't
stake your lives on it."
> [**] Sorry about cutting your fairytale quest short, Gray.
Shame, Magnus was looking forward to playing a stereotyped evil
sorcerer, but I see your point, this thing is confusing enough as it
is.
ann
[Re: cutting short the quest]
>Shame, Magnus was looking forward to playing a stereotyped evil
>sorcerer, but I see your point, this thing is confusing enough as it
>is.
Well, as Magnus himself said:
> " That might slow things down and keep it quiet but don't
>stake your lives on it."
>
So, now, the troupe is caught somewhere within a TARDIS whose subconscious is
becoming manifest in increasingly complex ways on the physical plane. And what
is being manifest is her relationship with her previous pilot (Who, considering
the imagery and landscape being employed, appears to have thought of him(or
her)self as a sort of fairytale wizard, too).
The Device which is bringing all this about is getting stronger. The TARDIS is
feeling threatened and angry, and as she is being regressed deeper into her
subconscious, she may, at some point, fail to recognize us.
*And* We have to get ourselves and the SKoLD out of the TARDIS... Do you know
how hard it is to find the door in a TARDIS that wants to keep said door
hidden?!
I suspect we'll have to fight our way out of this worldlet... you'll have
plenty of opportunity to play wizard. But now, you'll only have to do it
once...
BKWillis
>Xellos, concealed behind yet another of the omnisuburban privet hedges,
>observed Brother Delta's abominable rituals with the detachment of a
>true cognoscenta. Nyssa's self-styled 'Uncle Dragon' had performed
>precisely according to Fallback Plan #4, though no doubt Delta would
>commit every kind of captious critique upon the results -- in the
>unlikely event that he ever found himself in position to do so. In a
>world which in Xellos's eyes was entirely populated by expendables,
>Delta had earned himself a very *special* expendability in admirably
>short order.
>
>And what *was* the 'quintessence of Spam', anyway???
>
As the merry band of questing travelers made their stereotypically-
dressed way into the fairytale world, a shadow darkened the door
at their backs. For a brief instant it held there, then resolved into
the too-familiar form of Xellos the Trickster Priest. He stood there,
smiling as he usually did, surveying the magical landscape through
narrowed eyes.
"I think I'm getting homesick," he sighed theatrically. "It looks just
like Zefielia, Lina-chan's home country. Except that nothing is
exploding, of course. Ah, well..."
An impatient chittering at his side interrupted his woolgathering
and he looked down to smile at his companion, a little blue monkey
in a German SS uniform. "Patience, Ingo," he admonished gently.
"Your time is coming."
A long string of squeaks and chitters with a faintly interrogative
noise at the end came back in response.
"Yes, yes, Gruppenfuhrer Ingo, the blue simian race will ascend
to its rightful place tonight, just like I promised."
Squeak-squeal-chitter-squeak?
"But of course," chuckled the Trickster Priest. "After all, if you
can't trust _me_, who can you trust? Now you go get ready for
your dramatic entrance, while I set a few other things in order."
The Nazi monkey gave a stiff-armed salute and scampered off
toward the food-fight arena as Xellos blurred and disappeared
once more.
----
Brother Delta wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong, but he
was smart enough to realize that something had.
He had meant to conjure up a horde of standard Spamites, or
possibly even a horde-and-a-half (he was feeling 'in the groove'
tonight, ritualistically-speaking). He'd therefore expected to see
the same normal clustering of slavering, brainless, bipedal pink
monstrosities, but instead...
Well, it _was_ pink. And it _did_ slaver. Exceedingly well, in fact.
And it _was_ monstrous and, apparently, brainless. It was just the
'clustering of', 'bipedal', and plural aspects of his expectations that
weren't being fulfilled.
"MAKE MONEY WITH HOT NAKED TEEN CABLE
DESCRAMBLERS!!" the Spam-Thing roared. "INCREASE
YOUR ONLINE CASINO IN XXX INVESTMENT LISTS!!
IT REALLY WORKS!!"
The beast was madness made processed-meat flesh, a bus-sized
Lovecraftian vision of manufactured lunchmeat. A hundred
drooling mouths gibbered in its hide, chanting their hideous
call. A hundred tentacular arms writhed around its edge, each
tipped in a bone claw that looked like something from the Museum
of Painful Medieval Things. A hundred stomping, taloned feet
carried it this way and that.
For some reason, it only had one eye, though. But it was big and
bloodshot and on a stalk, making up in quality of disturbing
ickiness what it lacked in quantity.
Brother Delta couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he had the
strangest feeling that this shouldn't have happened.
"My, what an interesting thing you've evoked, Brother Delta."
Delta turned to find Xellos standing behind him, regarding the
Spambeast with something very like affection.
"Ah, yes, that's right," stammered Delta. "Sort of a, uh, special
project."
"STOP SMOKING WITH NUDE COED COOKIE RECIPES!!" the
Spambeast raged, rending the shrubbery around the patio.
"Very interesting. However, I believe that what I asked for was a
'horde' or 'army', two terms that usually indicate a multiplicity of
ravening minions?"
Delta backpedalled, really not liking the look on the Mazoku's
face. "Well, yes, so you did, technically I guess..."
Xellos's smile kicked up another notch. "But, there's no point
in getting upset about it," he purred. "If one big monster is
what we have to work with, so be it. It's certainly intimidating
enough." He patted the Spambeast lightly on the side, chuckling
wryly when it tried to bite his hand off.
"So, you're pleased with it?" Delta asked hopefully, his Fight-or-
Flight-or-Grovel instincts on hair-trigger.
Xellos gave him a thumb's up. "So I am, Brother Delta. And, to
show my appreciation..."
The Trickster Priest's form blurred and disappeared, reappearing
a split-second later directly behind the Cross-Poster acolyte. With
a manic giggle, he planted his hard leather traveling shoe with
considerable force in Delta's backside.
Brother Delta squawked in pained surprise as he was sent tumbling
headlong through the herbacious borders, down a small slope,
and through a holly hedge, finally rolling to a stop in the middle of
the street. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet just in time to see a set
of bright headlights bearing down on him. He threw up an arm to
ward off the impact.
Brakes shrieked as the car slewed to a stop just a few feet from
sending Brother Delta into the Great Dark Beyond. Delta blinked,
blinded by the headlights, as he heard the doors being opened.
"Muse Patrol!" a brisk British voice called out. "Freeze, Cross-
Poster! You're under arrest!"
Shielding his eyes, Delta could just make out the scantily-clad
shapes of Officers Nyssaias and Embericles. He snarled and
started to claw his death-ray zorcher out of his robe. "I'm never
going back!" he yelled. "Do you hear?! You'll never take me
alive!"
"Okay," replied Officer Embericles with a shrug as she aimed her
Rapid-Fire Atomic Assault Bazooka at his head.
Greasy, spam-stained hands shot into the air like sweaty-palmed
Patriot missiles. "On the other hand," Delta babbled, "martyrdom
is a nice hobby, but I wouldn't want to make a career of it..."
--
[Xellos watches Eloise and company depart into the fairy-tale world and commits
third-degree misdemeanor exposition with Ingo the Neo-Nazi Monkey. Afterwards,
Ingo heads for the food-fight arena to make his 'dramatic entrance'.
Meanwhile, Brother Delta summons a gigantic mutant Spambeast in place of the
Spamite Horde, due to Fastolf's tampering. Xellos rewards Delta by kicking him
into the street, where he is promptly arrested by the patrolling Musecops.]
BKWillis
--
"We're being punished for our sins in a past life, I just know it!"
"Now, now, Rit-chan. There's no way God could be this cruel."
"Face it, Airi. _This_ is Hell."
"Mmm... no. If it were Hell, my mother would be here."
--Ritsuko and Airi in 'Those Who Hunt Elves'
ann
>[Xellos watches Eloise and company depart into the fairy-tale world and
>commits
>third-degree misdemeanor exposition with Ingo the Neo-Nazi Monkey.
>Afterwards,
>Ingo heads for the food-fight arena to make his 'dramatic entrance'.
>Meanwhile, Brother Delta summons a gigantic mutant Spambeast in place of the
>Spamite Horde, due to Fastolf's tampering. Xellos rewards Delta by kicking
>him
>into the street, where he is promptly arrested by the patrolling Musecops.]
Meanwhile (except for those who are off questing, or preparing to lure Ingo out
of hiding, or to fighti the Quintessence of Spam, or plotting really annoying
chaos, of course): Most of the guests party on, unaware (for the moment --
that could [and probably *will*] change) that anything extraordinarily odd is
going on.
Magic Electric Charley is milling about in all of this. When she first
appeared, she was disoriented. I have a feeling that she is getting her
barings, and rather quickly.
I also have a feeling that we can count her as one for the pro-fun/joyful side.
I'll try to write something along those lines tonight... (I'm putting this in
now, in case my writing and posting gets delayed... don't want to stumble into
*another* discontinuity with another writer...)
Danel
Author's Note:
I'm tired, it's late, and I really can't be bothered to wait until
Google gets to the right point. Thus, I've just read BKWillis's post
in which Delta summoned the SpamBeast and was arrested, while Xellos
gave a few words of wisdom to Ingo and sent him over to the food
court. This takes place shortly after that.
**************************************
In the food court, Allie, Imran, Danel and Ruthie were making
last-minute adjustments to their costumes. Ruthie had obtained dyes,
and so now Danel and Imran were suited in *red* monkey suits, whilst
Allie and Ruthie were dressed in *green* monkey suits.
That nobody bothered to ask where Ruthie got the dye from, or why the
wardrobe contained four monkey suits in just the right sizes, is
indicative of how deep into crisis-mode they were kicking.
"Imran, are you _sure_ that this will work?" Allie asked, for the
thirteenth time.
The red monkey she was addressing bobbed his head, then said, "I'm
Danel. Imran's over there. By the way, is there any more of that
punch? The orange in it was some of the best I've ever tasted, and..."
"Allie," Imran called, from next to Ruthie. "I think..."
But what Imran thought at that moment would remain unknown. At that
moment there a hideous chatter of pure rage, from a short distance
behind Imran. Although he couldn't see Allie's eyes through the
costume, Imran would have sworn that they just... _widened_.
In a strange, strangled voice, Allie managed to say: "I think I see a
flaw in the plan."
Imran and Ruthie turned. Behind them, stood le singe bleu, Ingo...
..
..
..
Holding the biggest gun either of them had ever seen.
"That's a very big gun." whispered Ruthie.
Danel chuckled. "Don't worry! Before I came to the Hoedown, I checked
out what usually happened, and decided I ought to bring something to
protect myself with, just in case. That should be more than enough to
take care of that azure primate."
As he said this, he reached into the monkey suit and into the pocket
of his trousers.
The replacement trousers.
Slightly more frantically, he began to pat himself down, before he
said, a resigned, defeated tone in his voice:
"At least they would be, if they weren't in the quantam trousers,
still in the wardrobe somewhere. I think we may be in trouble." He
looked at Ingo.
"You know, when I called you an azure primate earlier, I meant it in
the nicest way... you see, I've never liked being red and..."
------------------------------------------
_You know_, thought Brother Delta, as the car stopped for the third
time, _I don't think the justice system is too bad._
As the car began to rock, again, he leaned forwards against the
hand-cuffs for a better view.
_Heh, who needs 'HOT NAKED COEDS IN YOUR INBOX' when you can see this
for free?_
----------------------------------------------
Inside the Wardrobe, the Trousers of Spectral Uncertainty gave yet
another shimmer, and began to move. From the bottom of one leg, a
single strand of colour detached itself, and swirled through the air
to the nearest outfit. Other strands detached from other parts, and
finally the trousers, now slightly smaller, floated in the centre of a
Wardrobe full of twitching, glowing apparel.
From a pocket of the trousers floated an object - but before it left
it was covered by a handkerchief, which flew across for just that.
Finally, the trousers presented the protection device to the rest of
the wardrobe, with all the imagery of an evil overlord presenting a
new plan before his adoring minions.
-------------------------------------------------
[Ingo has a gun, but Imran, Allie, Ruthie and Danel are unarmed. As
Danel tries to blag his way out, Brother Delta takes in a show, and
the plotting trousers get some minions, and a weapon.]
Danel
ann
>That nobody bothered to ask where Ruthie got the dye from, or why the
>wardrobe contained four monkey suits in just the right sizes, is
>indicative of how deep into crisis-mode they were kicking.
Not sure about the dye... But I imagine the monkey suits were gifts from Mags
and Kingpin for helping revive the Psychic Circus, last year.
<snipples>
Meanwhile:
[[Whatever its source, a side effect seemed to be Magic Electrical Girl
Charley being hurled from the machine, and fleeing, confused, into the
crowd while Danel and Imran watched and Allie fainted.]] (From Thursday).
---
Charley didn't know *what* had happened. One minute, she was powering up to
hurl a magical attack at Kamelian (again), and the next, she was flying through
the air and landing in the middle of a ... barn dance ...with a headache that
would drop an elephant.
The crowd of party-goers were the strangest she had seen, but not nearly as
strange as the barn itself. First off, it was impossibly huge. Trees just
didn't grow big enough to make planks that long or wide. But there was more to
the strangeness than that. The planks looked like wood, and were textured
like wood -- they even smelled like wood. But when she touched them, she could
feel the energy pulsing through them...
This "barn" was a machine -- and a very powerful one at that.
Just about the time she came to that realization, her magic anime girl sense
kicked in: There was evil here. And somehow, the idea lodged in her head that
the evil was the cause of her headache. So she hunted for it. With a
vengeance.
It didn't take her *Too* long to find the little blue monkey pointing a
ridiculously large gun at even more ridiculously clad partygoers. Understand?
No. She didn't have the foggiest idea what was going on. But she knew which
side of the standoff represented Evil.
She powered up.
'Magical Repulsion Wave!'
Le singe bleu, Ingo was knocked flat on his face with a force strong enough to
cause a black eye -- or two, losing his grip on the ridiculously large gun,
which skittered across the floor and out of his reach.
Ingo groaned and muttered curses in a pidgin of French and Monkey.
"Damn!" said Charley.
"Wh-what?" inquired Ruthie, which may or may not have been: 'what just
happened?' that didn't get to the end.
"My head still hurts."
Cameron Mason
I. Inayat <nar...@ntlworld.com> wrote in message
news:nvL29.13198$Eq4.3...@newsfep2-win.server.ntli.net...
> ---
>
> Okay... (sorry 'bout the plot twist, but it seemed to fit. Never leave the
> Doctors alone in a room with a mysterious gadget.)
>
> Danel, Ruthie, Imran and Allie are dealing with Ingo and the Spamites.
>
> Eloise, Dominic, Xeffy, Ayna, Sandra, Gordon, Silence (and anyone else who
wants
> to join) are headed into the fairy tale landscape to uncover what's
happened to
> Sweetheart, the Doctors, and the SKoLD.
>
> Delta is summoning Spamites, and Xellos... is being Xellos.
>
> Meanwhile, Katherine and Yokoi have been left unattended... as have
Cameron,
> Cassie, Celia and Fastolf.
>
> And a pair of plotting trousers.
>
> Whew.
Cameron walks along a corridor, carrying a copy of his fan fic in a thought
recorder, ready to be typed up as soon as he gets the opportunity to do so.
Cassie follows him, still floating but now councious, but with a dreamy look
on her face.
"So Cassie, which way now?" Cameron asks his muse.
"That way lies our part in events." She says, pointing the way they are to
head.
Cameron
--
"Timelash is an anagram of 'lame shit'."
http://members.fortunecity.com/masomika/
http://members.fortunecity.com/jpcovers/
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
---
"MAKE MONEY FOR COEDS NOW!!"
"I think *that* would count..." Imran observed.
Charley turned to him.
Her eyes narrowed.
"I /know/ you..."
"...Look, this isn't the time for contract renegotiation, okay?" Imran said.
"Right now, we've got some intensely mindless evil waiting for us outside."
"That sounded... oddly singular for a ravening horde of Spamites." Allie
observed. "And very loud, to boot."
"Right..." Danel said, picking Ingo up. "_You're_ coming with me."
Together, the little band set off in the direction of the monster's unholy cry.
Which was completely senseless, but that never stopped anyone.
---
The partygoers were milling around in confusion, unsure as to what the loud
voice had been.
Allie had taken advantage of their return to the barn to shift her monkey suit
back into something more comfortable.
Ruthie, Danel and Imran, lacking Protean abilities, trudged along behind in
their monkey suits.
Ingo had woken up and started chittering and spluttering what were obviously
meant to be monkey oaths of vengeance. However, a glare from Charley had put
paid to that.
"Okay, what's going on-"
Allie gawped.
"In the Names of the Nine! What the Hades is /that/ thing?!"
"YOU CAN HAVE A BIGGER ONLINE CASINO IN *WEEKS!!* I TOO IGNORED THIS EMAIL, BUT
THEN I FOUND CABLE TV!! LOSE BREAST SIZE NOW NOW NOW!!!"
The _thing_ filled the cul-de-sac.
A hundred drooling mouths protruded from its skin, chanting the litany of Spam.
A hundred tentacular arms writhed from its edges, a hundred clawed feet carried
it on its unholy mission.
"Heavy Ordinance coming through!"
Allie span around. "Yokoi!"
Yokoi waved. "Hey, Al. Love the monkey theme. Okay, Fastolf - let him have it!"
The great Terileptil pulled a Rapid-Fire Atomic Assault Bazooka seemingly out of
nowhere-
"I really have to ask him how he does that," Charley remarked.
-and launched a burst of atomic bazooka missiles at the SpamThing.
The SpamThing swallowed them all.
And burped.
"Uh-oh..." Yokoi said.
"Methinks the Muse doth hath the right of it. Perhaps were better to answer to
the better part of valour, and depart in haste."
"Get inside." Allie said quietly. "This is mine."
"What-?!" Ruthie said.
"Get inside."
"Do it." Imran said. "She knows what she's doing."
The others retreated to the relative safety of the doorway, while Allie walked
to the middle of the car park.
"So far tonight," Allie said calmly, her clear voice carrying throughout the
cul-de-sac, "I've been knocked unconscious by Some Kind of Large Device, I've
been mortified by my college friends, I've had to go along with some of the
stupidest plans I've ever heard, I've been critiqued by all and sundry, I've had
a Trickster Priest who likes to dress in drag admire my dress, I've had to get
dressed up in a green monkey suit, I've been threatened by a neo-Nazi monkey
with the biggest gun I've ever seen, and my family's gone missing, presumed in
trouble."
She smiled ruefully. "Understandably, I'm starting to feel more than a little
put-upon."
She started to float into the air.
"COME SEE PICS OF HOT NUDE INVESTMENT DEALS!!"
"And *you* are the last straw on the back of a camel already loaded with heaping
bags of camel dung."
By now, only a silver speck in the sky remained to show where Allie was.
But her voice still carried as clearly as ever.
"Good night, Gracie."
---
The silver speck *exploded*.
It barrelled out of the sky, heading for the tiny cul-de-sac, and the even
tinier SpamThing within.
Its shadow fell across the land as far as the eye could see, plunging everything
into darkness.
Its great wings beat the air, gusts of wind that could fell a grown man.
Even the SpamThing staggered under the impact, but still, almost absurdly,
managed to keep its balance.
A single claw reached out of the sky, and picked the Spamite up as if it were a
particularly obscene model toy.
"HAVE YOU SEEN-" it wailed.
Then there was silence.
Then something very, very large burped.
---
The wind stopped.
The darkness withdrew.
And Allie floated down slowly from the sky.
She landed as the others ran out to meet her, staggering as she touched down.
"ALLIE, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?!" Yokoi squawked. "Since when did _you_
know any Summoning spells?!"
Imran helped Allie stand, and she managed to smile, a little wanly. "Thanks,
Imran. ...That wasn't a Summoning spell, Yok-"
She hiccuped. "Oops. Sorry. Touch of indigestion."
"Indig-" Katherine began. "*Indigestion?!*"
Horrified fascination dawned in Yokoi's eyes. "Allie, you didn't. You *didn't*."
Allie nodded. "I did."
"What?!" Danel demanded. "What'd you do?"
"She ate it." Yokoi breathed. "She /ate/ the SpamThing."
"*Ate?!*" Danel squeaked.
"She's a shapeshifter." Yokoi said, her voice distant. "Protean gift."
Katherine and Danel joined the 'Staring At Allie' Club.
"Oh... My... God..."
"That thing was *you*?!!?"
Allie winced. "Don't ask, and I won't tell."
She hiccuped again.
"...Anyone got any antacid?"
---
Xeffy blinked.
They - all of them - were reflected in the castle's crystal walls, reflected in
their surfaces, a cascade of infinite regression.
And in each and every one of them, her reflection was screaming.
Screaming to be heard.
"Err..." Xeffy began, "mind if I sit down for a moment?"
The others nodded, and returned to discussing the SKoLD.
Xeffy slipped into one of the crystal hallways, Ayna following close behind.
#Xeffy?# Ayna queried.
Xeffy nodded. "Something's up. Anya? Anya, what is it?"
From Xeffy's many reflections came a choral voice.
:help... xeffy, help me. shattering... it's all shattering, we're shattering...:
Ayna put her hand to her mouth. #Oh my gods... Oh my gods, Anya...#
:we're shattering together... barriers fallen, walls collapse... the walls
between us... look at us, look at us...:
"Oh no... We've gotta get outta here." Xeffy whispered. "And we've gotta get
/that/ thing out of-"
#Xeffy?# Ayna hummed meekly, #I think now would be a really, really good time to
look down.#
Xeffy looked down.
Her feet were vanishing into the crystal floor - into her reflection.
As she watched, her feet disappeared up to the ankles.
"Ayna," Xeffy said, with unnatural calm. "I think now would be a good time to
get some help."
In the time it took her to say that, she'd disappeared up to her knees.
:help...: Anya's choral voice whispered. :absorbing us... /it's/ absorbing us.:
"Can I just say," Xeffy said in that unnaturally calm voice, "how much I'm
enjoying today?"
Waist.
:walls between us coming down... light and dark will see us joined...:
#Oh my Gods# Ayna breathed.
Elbow.
"Ayna..."
Neck.
:help...:
And then they were gone.
---
[Danel's group manage to capture Ingo, and Allie takes care of the SpamThing in
her own particular - and disturbng - way. Meanwhile, Xeffy and Ayna discover the
crystal castle's influence reaching out for them.
Um, one thing. I know we want this wrapped up reasonably soon, but it seemed as
if the plot threads were wrapping up a bit too soon - looks like we need to
strike a balance between too soon and too long.
Okay, so we have Ingo captured, and the Spamite threat countered - for now. But
we still have to foil the sentient trousers' plot, get the questing group out of
the landscape, and discover why all this is going on.
Oh, and sort out Danel's writing problems.]
Imran
I. Inayat
[Quick addendum.
Only Xeffy's likely to be affected by the absorption, largely because of her
connection to Anya - and for those who don't know who Anya is, I'll be
expositing later. ;)
Although that doesn't mean this world won't have its own ways of dealing with
the others...]
Imran
I. Inayat
[Oh yeah. Ayna's still unabsorbed.
Majorly shaken, but unabsorbed.]
Imran
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
fight - unwittingly with Arthur, Guenevere, Merlin and Nimue in tow. Please
insert this scene accordingly.]
"Lancelot!" Arthur - queen, sorceror and sorceror's apprentice behind -
advanced on the knight now there was a break in the action. "There are
Dragons here!"
"Here?" Lancelot looked around. "I haven't seen them. There's a giant
serpent," he said helpfully.
"Oh?" said Merlin. "No huhu - there'll be a lion along soon to polish
its kettle."
"I think it's a juvenile," Nimue observed. "To young too be pitted
against a lion."
"A cub then?" Merlin speculated.
"You've been fighting on the serpent's side!" Guenevere had been
bursting with malicious delight since she'd grokked the battle lines of the
conflict. "*You*, fighting *with* a serpent?"
"The other side was winning," Lancelot said defensively.
Meanwhile Magnus had overhead their exchange and drifted their way.
"That," he elucidated, pointing to the juvenile giant serpent, "is a dragon."
"Ohhh," said the Space Camelot contingent.
"In our universe," Arthur explained, "a Dragon is a pepperpot-shaped
device with a xenophobic mutant inside, toting a flamethrower."
"And a serpent is a symbol in visions, for the evil vanquished by
Christ, symbolized by a lion, I know," Magnus said. "Things are more
ambivalent here."
"You see?" Lancelot said to Guenevere.
[Now to the gateway to fairyland. Author attribution by initials. Where given
name and/or surname isn't indicated in an author's post or email address,
I've used the logon name initial and/or domain name initial respectively, as
in AA (Ann at AOL) below.]
II Dominic opened the door.
II
II "You'd think," he said eventually, "that at some point, you'd get used to this."
II
II Eloise peered past him, and gasped.
II
II Behind the door was what could only be described as a fairytale landscape.
II
II Not too far off in the distance, she could see the glittering turrets of a
II crystal castle rising to the sky.
II
II "What...?" she began. "Is this the SKoLD?"
II
II Dominic shook his head. "I don't know."
II
II "What about the Doctors?"
II
II "I... don't know." Dominic admitted. "But if they're anywhere, they're here."
II
II "Stories. Stories..." Eloise murmured, almost to herself. "Why fairy stories?
II Dragons, castles... protection, power-"
II
II "Heroes. Quests. Discovery." Dominic said. "I know this. I /know/ this.
II Subreality was like this, not so long ago - when Mallory wrote "L'Morte
II D'Arthur", the others who took on the Arthurian cycle, the romances of
II chivalry..." He nodded at the landscape before them. "It shaped a major part of
II Subreality's landscape."
AA "And I think I saw Arthur and Merlin among the guests, earlier," [he] added. "I
AA wonder if they know about this."
At the rear of the line behind Magnus and Varne, a bearded man in a
maroon-tunicked space-opera uniform waved above the crowd, while an old man
in a long multicolored scarf sputtered with affronted immodesty at the notion
that his presence could go only half-noticed. There were a redhead and a
food-spattered beanpole in the same uniform, and skinny blonde in a white
gown who said, "Morgan's around here too somewhere. I last saw her with Allie
and Imran."
"Madame le Fey was not in their company when I saw them just now," the
Steward offered. "They were occupied with the hunt for the monkey."
II "So... the SKoLD's somewhere in there, and we've got to find it - and the
II Doctors - and deactivate it." Eloise finished.
II
II "So let's get-" Xeffy pushed past them, and into the landscape. "-start..."
II
II She looked down at herself. "YAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
II
II #I dunno, Xeph.# Ayna observed. #I think that gown looks good on you.#
II
II "GOOD?!" Xeffy squawked. "I LOOK LIKE MAID MARIAN! AND WHAT THE HADES IS THIS ON
II MY HEAD?"
II
II "A wimple." Dominic said.
II
II "Which means it adapts the clothes of anyone inside to fit its setting." Magnus
II observed. "Interesting."
[snip]
As the line into the door shuffled forward, Guenevere grumbled, "I'm a
Round Table Space Fleet knight. If we get converted into our Malory versions
by stepping through this gateway, I'll become a treaty wife good for nothing
but getting rescued from evil knights. Prolly have to wear something so loose
and flowy Isadora Duncan wouldn't have been caught dead in it."
"Better than going naked," said Lancelot, who was doing his best not to
look directly at Eloise.
KY Magnus " I think I will tag along but just a minute."
KY
KY [ He muttered something under his breath and stretched his right arm
KY out. For a moment his hand see4med to disappear. When it became
KY visible again he was holding a pair of saddle bags. ]
KY
KY Magnus " Here we are, tools for most eventualities."
KY
KY [ As he passed the door way his suit morphed into a black robe
KY embroidered with designs in blood red. ]
KY
KY Magnus " Looks like I am being cast as a villain, oh well go with the
KY flow."
"No reflection on you," Merlin snorted. "Modern hack authors are always
casting *me* as the villain."
"Hack authors like Twain, and Zelazny," Arthur stage-whispered.
KY [ He reached into one of the bags and pulled out an intricately carved
KY six foot long staff. ]
KY
KY Magnus " Are you coming, Varne?"
KY
KY Varne " As soon as I change, you will need a familiar for that role."
KY
KY [ Varne's form blurred and where she had been was a large red furred
KY cat. ]
"Am I going to turn into *your* familiar?" Nimue wondered as Merlin
stepped up to the door.
"Only one way to find out." But Arthur held the sorceror back with a
hand on his arm.
"I think we'll help hold down the fort here," Arthur told Eloise.
"You've got most of the party with you, but there are still monkeys and
explosions to deal with."
"And Morgan is missing," Guenevere added, "or at least wandered off
without letting us know where she'd be and who she was with. Coincidence?"
"My sister and I may have reconciled at this point in our chronology,"
Arthur agreed, "but that doesn't mean her agenda and mine have suddenly
started matching up point to point."
"Go for it," Eloise said.
"You two watch the door," Arthur told Merlin and Nimue as the
questors moved into fairyland. "We'll do a recce through the rest of the
party."
ann
>Um, one thing. I know we want this wrapped up reasonably soon, but it seemed
>as
>if the plot threads were wrapping up a bit too soon - looks like we need to
>strike a balance between too soon and too long.
Well, I think the SpamBeast, Ingo, and even Delta are side plots (after all,
each of those could be dealt with without the Doctors... and, believe it our
not, this *is* intended to be a Doctor Who story), just as the flamebringers
and typo trolls were last year
That leaves a *lot* of other things to deal with.
1) The quest out of Sweetheart's fairytale worldlet -- with the SKoLD. On
this quest each of the different players will each get attacked in a different
way, with none of them knowing how or when an attack will come.
2) *During* that quest, the SKoLD is growing stronger -- maybe growing stronger
more slowly than it would have been without the sheild, but still... So I'm
assuming that whatever wierdness turned Sweetheart' main laboratory into a
scene from a Mallory-esque fantasy will spread, and that different areas of the
TARDIS will transform into different worldlets, and start going after the other
guests.
3) We still have the plotting pants to deal with (And, given their own
qualities of quantumness, I'm thinking they're from the same source as the
SKoLD... that force field device that Danel put in the pockets seems like it
might just be the technology we need to deactivate the SKoLD -- *if* we can get
to it.
4) AIUI, Danel went into a special shop to buy an outfit and supplies for the
hoedown, and he was convinced into buying the pants as the "perfect thing",
even though he had some misgivings. If the same person convinced him to buy
the force field device, that's a clue that the shopkeeper might be behind this.
If and when we get out of Sweetheart in one piece, and shut down the SKoLD,
the next step is to discover who that shopkeeper is, and stop him (It might be
Xellos, but I doubt it).
5) If you'll notice, I did not have M.E. Charley attack with Ingo fatal force
--on purpose... He's awake, now, angrier than ever, and swearing revenge.
Seems to me, the only thing we've managed to accomplish so far is to get some
**Really** annoying spam out of the way -- for now.
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "I. Inayat"
> That leaves a *lot* of other things to deal with.
>
> 1) The quest out of Sweetheart's fairytale worldlet -- with the SKoLD. On
> this quest each of the different players will each get attacked in a different
> way, with none of them knowing how or when an attack will come.
And, it seems, it attacks in a way tailored to them... (one way tailored to all
the Doctors, maybe?)
Xeffy was first... so who's next?
And *why*? Is this the SKoLD attacking them, or a side-effect of the SKoLD?
Is something turning Sweetheart's pain against the players? Or is this a method
the SKoLD's using to build up energy for its ultimate purpose (whatever that may
be)?
> 2) *During* that quest, the SKoLD is growing stronger -- maybe growing
> stronger more slowly than it would have been without the sheild, but still...
> So I'm assuming that whatever wierdness turned Sweetheart' main laboratory
> into a scene from a Mallory-esque fantasy will spread, and that different
> areas of the TARDIS will transform into different worldlets, and start going
> after the other guests.
Oh my god...
Anyone wanna bet that's where Cameron and Cassie have gone? To deal with the
next worldlet?
> 3) We still have the plotting pants to deal with (And, given their own
> qualities of quantumness, I'm thinking they're from the same source as the
> SKoLD... that force field device that Danel put in the pockets seems like it
> might just be the technology we need to deactivate the SKoLD -- *if* we
> can get to it.
Or, at the very least, the field will block its output - but if it can do that,
we can learn if it _can_ deactivate the SKoLD.
> 4) AIUI, Danel went into a special shop to buy an outfit and supplies for the
> hoedown, and he was convinced into buying the pants as the "perfect thing",
> even though he had some misgivings. If the same person convinced him to buy
> the force field device, that's a clue that the shopkeeper might be behind
> this. If and when we get out of Sweetheart in one piece, and shut down the
> SKoLD, the next step is to discover who that shopkeeper is, and stop him (It
> might be Xellos, but I doubt it).
It's not Xellos (not his style)... but it would be interesting to know whether
Xellos got the
SKoLD from that same shop.
Deliberately.
> 5) If you'll notice, I did not have M.E. Charley attack with Ingo fatal force
> --on purpose... He's awake, now, angrier than ever, and swearing revenge.
Well, that, and I don't think Charley's really a 'fatal force' kind of person.
> Seems to me, the only thing we've managed to accomplish so far is to get some
> **Really** annoying spam out of the way -- for now.
And it took Allie - at near full use of her gift - to take care of that.
Still, the spam /is/ out of the way.
Okay. <cracks fingers> Now I've got a better idea what's going on... let's get
on with it.
(Sorry for any stress I've caused.)
Imran
Paul Andinach
news:20020730220511...@mb-fa.aol.com:
> "This could be a very interesting night."
[imagine this happening at some point before the Plot started up]
From the stage in the centre of the barn comes the sound of a piano
playing jazz chords. The partygoers turn toward the stage in
surprise: there was no piano there a moment ago. There's a piano
there now, and a drum kit, a string bass, and rows of saxophones,
trombones, and trumpets. As the partygoers turn, the drummer and
bassist add their sounds to piano, and a few seconds later the
saxophonists launch into a sprightly melody. The partygoers listen,
some of them moving to the music, as the trumpeters and trombonists
join the music-making.
Halfway through the piece, the musicians wander away from their music
stands, off the stage, and out through the audience, each still
playing. Each musician is improvising his or her own individual tune,
but the overall effect is of a united whole, greater than its parts.
One by one, the musicians weave through the audience before making
their way back to the stage, and when they are all assembled they
smoothly segue back into the main melody, and play on as if nothing
out of the ordinary had occurred.
As the last, bright note fades, so too does the jazz band, vanishing
into thin air and leaving the stage empty - apart from one of the
trombonists, who winks before he too disappears.
Paul
PAUL GADZIKOWSKI
indicated in an author's post or email address, I've used the logon name
Fanfiction) below.]
BW As the merry band of questing travelers made their stereotypically-
BW dressed way into the fairytale world, a shadow darkened the door
BW at their backs. For a brief instant it held there, then resolved into
BW the too-familiar form of Xellos the Trickster Priest. He stood there,
BW smiling as he usually did, surveying the magical landscape through
BW narrowed eyes.
[snip]
BW An impatient chittering at his side interrupted his woolgathering
BW and he looked down to smile at his companion, a little blue monkey
BW in a German SS uniform. "Patience, Ingo," he admonished gently.
BW "Your time is coming."
[snip]
BW Squeak-squeal-chitter-squeak?
BW
BW "But of course," chuckled the Trickster Priest. "After all, if you
BW can't trust _me_, who can you trust? Now you go get ready for
BW your dramatic entrance, while I set a few other things in order."
BW
BW The Nazi monkey gave a stiff-armed salute and scampered off
BW toward the food-fight arena as Xellos blurred and disappeared
BW once more.
Had the agents of chaos the presence of mind to watch behind their
departures, however, they would have discovered their conference hadn't been
as private as they imagined. From between the open door and the wall poked
two heads.
"Arthur ought have stuck around here if he wanted to beat the monkey,"
said Merlin.
"'Dramatic entrance'?" Nimue asked. "Why didn't we grab them?"
"You can't just 'grab' a teleporter," Merlin said. "Besides, now the
good guys know their plans."
"Or shall when we report in," said Nimue with some of her rare irony.
"A much more effective strategy against chaos than stopping them from
acting on their plans," Merlin said, "is allowing them to go forward and then
thwarting them mid-plan."
"That's why you do that," said Nimue. "I thought it was because you like
dramatic entrances too."
DF In a strange, strangled voice, Allie managed to say: "I think I see a
DF flaw in the plan."
DF
DF Imran and Ruthie turned. Behind them, stood le singe bleu, Ingo...
DF ..
DF ..
DF ..
DF Holding the biggest gun either of them had ever seen.
II Charley didn't know *what* had happened. One minute, she was powering up to
II hurl a magical attack at Kamelian (again), and the next, she was flying through
II the air and landing in the middle of a ... barn dance ...with a headache that
II would drop an elephant.
[snip]
II her magic anime girl sense
II kicked in: There was evil here. And somehow, the idea lodged in her head that
II the evil was the cause of her headache. So she hunted for it. With a
II vengeance.
II
II It didn't take her *Too* long to find the little blue monkey pointing a
II ridiculously large gun at even more ridiculously clad partygoers. Understand?
II No. She didn't have the foggiest idea what was going on. But she knew which
II side of the standoff represented Evil.
II
II She powered up.
II
II 'Magical Repulsion Wave!'
II
II Le singe bleu, Ingo was knocked flat on his face with a force strong enough to
II cause a black eye -- or two, losing his grip on the ridiculously large gun,
II which skittered across the floor and out of his reach.
II
II Ingo groaned and muttered curses in a pidgin of French and Monkey.
II
II "Damn!" said Charley.
II
II "Wh-what?" inquired Ruthie, which may or may not have been: 'what just
II happened?' that didn't get to the end.
II
II "My head still hurts."
[snip]
AA "That sounded... oddly singular for a ravening horde of Spamites." Allie
AA observed. "And very loud, to boot."
AA
AA "Right..." Danel said, picking Ingo up. "_You're_ coming with me."
AA
AA Together, the little band set off in the direction of the monster's unholy cry.
"This way!"
Arthur, Lancelot, Guenevere and Nimue burst into the wardrobe behind
Merlin, who shouted, "There it is, the goose-stepping primary-colored
primate!" and pointed at - a few puddles of red dye on the floor.
[snip]
II Um, one thing. I know we want this wrapped up reasonably soon, but it seemed as
II if the plot threads were wrapping up a bit too soon - looks like we need to
II strike a balance between too soon and too long.
No kidding.
[snip]
II "What?!" Danel demanded. "What'd you do?"
II
II "She ate it." Yokoi breathed. "She /ate/ the SpamThing."
II
II "*Ate?!*" Danel squeaked.
II
II "She's a shapeshifter." Yokoi said, her voice distant. "Protean gift."
II
II Katherine and Danel joined the 'Staring At Allie' Club.
II
II "Oh... My... God..."
II
II "That thing was *you*?!!?"
"What thing?" asked Arthur as he, Lancelot, Guenevere, Merlin and Nimue
ran up.
II Allie winced. "Don't ask, and I won't tell."
II
II She hiccuped again.
II
II "...Anyone got any antacid?"
"Here!" Arthur and Merlin both chorused, equally desperate to make any
lasting contribution to the proceedings.
*****
The limbo Xeffy had found herself in wasn't quite a limbo.
;Come on, wake up. Snap out of it and concentrate on me! You can do it.;
^Who's there?^ Xeffy asked.
;It's Morgan le Fey.;
^What? How? What are you doing here?^
;Your transdimensional box ran me over when it got away from you, and
ironically put me in just the position where you need me to help you foil its
plans. Now listen ...;
ann
[[Authorial aside
>[Author attribution by initials. Where given name and/or surname isn't
>indicated in an author's post or email address, I've used the logon name
>initial and/or domain name initial respectively, as in DF (for Danel at
>Fanfiction) below.]
<snipples>
>II Charley didn't know *what* had happened. One minute, she was powering up
>to
>II hurl a magical attack at Kamelian (again),
<snip>
and:
>AA "That sounded... oddly singular for a ravening horde of Spamites." Allie
>AA observed. "And very loud, to boot."
>AA
>AA "Right..."
(You've got AA and II mixed up at these points... not that it matters,
really)]]
<Snip Morgan le Fey's meeting Xeffy. Nothing to say, except: "Nicely Done!">
I. Inayat
"PAUL GADZIKOWSKI" <scar...@shell1.iglou.com> wrote in message
news:3d4d4...@news.iglou.com...
>
> The limbo Xeffy had found herself in wasn't quite a limbo.
> ;Come on, wake up. Snap out of it and concentrate on me! You can do it.;
> ^Who's there?^ Xeffy asked.
> ;It's Morgan le Fey.;
> ^What? How? What are you doing here?^
> ;Your transdimensional box ran me over when it got away from you, and
> ironically put me in just the position where you need me to help you foil its
> plans. Now listen ...;
^Hold it a minute.^ Xeffy interrupted.
;What?; Morgan said.
^I think... whatever it is you're planning... you'll need to ask Anya too.^
;Hardly.; Morgan said. ;After all, I can only talk to someone already in this
limbo.;
^Not Ayna. Anya.^ Xeffy said.
;And who is Anya?;
:i am.:
Morgan's awareness felt the presence manifest. A presence immensely old,
immeasurably ancient... and yet reborn. Remade.
:i am anya.: the choral voice said. :xeffy's... guardian daemon? or guardian
shadow? no.
:simply her guardian.:
;What are you?; Morgan asked, curiosity for once overriding urgency. ;What /are/
you?;
:i was a part of something... something *other*, once upon a time. i was left
behind, at the centre of all things... left, to see universes rise and fall,
alone, abandoned, empty.
:and then xeffy came. she gave me a name, a refuge...:
^And now we're shattering.^ Xeffy said.
:we are becoming one. the domain in which i live, within the walls of xeffy's
mind... the walls are crumbling, breaking down. the box... erodes our walls,
blurs the line between us, two becoming one... and i do not wish to see what
will be born of that union.
:yes, sister of arthur. we need your help. in this, and in the matter of the
box. will you help us? /can/ you help us?:
Morgan paused, considering Anya's plea.
;I can but try.; she said.
:then we shall hear you out.:
;Very well. Listen carefully, and hope you remember this...;
---
Imran
ann
>
>And *why*? Is this the SKoLD attacking them, or a side-effect of the SKoLD?
(My Dad's visiting from New York this weekend, and we have shopping to do
later. And at the mo' I have a monster headache.... wouldn't drop an elephant,
but it would give an elk a limp... So I don't have the focus to write this as
fiction, right now. And I don't know when I'll get the time to do so...
So I'll just state my ideas, and maybe someone else would be kind enough to
write them in ... please?)
Okay -- it's a side-effect... Sort of. The SKoLD is a tool to force Sweetheart
to regress back to her relationship with her former pilot -- but in a dreamlike
way -- like being under hypnosis. There's still the question, though, of
whether it was just set in place to start the process and then left to let
things run their courses, or if the SKoLD is being continually manipulated to
produced a desired effect -- whether whoever's behind putting it there knows
about the hoedowners [and is deliberately setting traps to stop them], or not
[and is only trying to discover Sweetheart's secrets -- any danger the
hoedowners face, therefore, is merely "collatoral damage" so to speak]
Sweetheart's getting back to the place right before she lost her pilot, and
feeling endangered -- and starting to forget who Eloise and the pro-fun/joyful
troops are -- confusing them with the source of the threat she feels (Sort of
like when the body has an auto-immune disease, and starts attacking its own
organs).
**But**, (as in ourselves) not all parts of her subconscious are hostile, or
dark. Some parts of her subconscious recognize the true threat and will try to
help the pro-funsters stop the SKoLD... And what may seem like an attack will
actually be an attempt to protect them. The trick will be figuring out the
difference.
[Re: point #2 -- the spread of the SKoLD wierdness]
>Oh my god...
>
>Anyone wanna bet that's where Cameron and Cassie have gone? To deal with the
>next worldlet?
>
That's my wager -- somewhere where a dreaming muse could be the most
effective... (And Cassie, as a dreaming muse, is likely the one who can best
interpret the images and things Sweetheart manifests).
[Re: Point 4 -- Xellos and the SKoLD]
>It's not Xellos (not his style)... but it would be interesting to know
>whether
>Xellos got the
>SKoLD from that same shop.
Right. I imagine he just brought it because it was a gadgetty thing that
looked like it could cause a lot of interesting and annoying chaos... (maybe he
keeps saying: "It's a _*Secret*_" because he, himself has no idea what the
SKoLD actually does -- or cares, particularly) ...The thing with chaos is,
though, that it's as likely to sweep him up in the turmoil as everyone else...
--
Oh, and I forgot *another* hint of trouble awaiting our fair band:
#6: Sandra mistrusts the Steward's demiurge... Why?
ann
[Authorial aside:
>:i was a part of something... something *other*, once upon a time. i was left
>behind, at the centre of all things... left, to see universes rise and fall,
>alone, abandoned, empty.
>
>:and then xeffy came. she gave me a name, a refuge...:
From the end of last year's hoedown?
Nicely done.
The darkness Eloise took in, btw, *didn't* maintain a seperate identity -- just
became part of the way Eloise sees things, now -- she sees the dark and the
sorrow as well as the light... Which may be part of why she felt the need to
allign herself with joyfulness rather than simple "fun"...
Then again, Eloise is not from subreality, and that may be the key to the
difference]
I. Inayat
"ann" <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> From: "I. Inayat"
>
> [Authorial aside:
>
> >:i was a part of something... something *other*, once upon a time. i was left
> >behind, at the centre of all things... left, to see universes rise and fall,
> >alone, abandoned, empty.
> >
> >:and then xeffy came. she gave me a name, a refuge...:
>
> From the end of last year's hoedown?
>
> Nicely done.
>
> The darkness Eloise took in, btw, *didn't* maintain a seperate identity --
just
> became part of the way Eloise sees things, now -- she sees the dark and the
> sorrow as well as the light... Which may be part of why she felt the need to
> allign herself with joyfulness rather than simple "fun"...
Yeah.
I think the difference is that, as Anya says, Xeffy named her - limited her, in
a way, but also distinguished her from Xeffy.
Everyone else involved accepted the darkness they took in as part of themselves
(including Allie and Sandra).
Xeffy named the darkness Anya - someone she could see as an older, more cynical
version of herself (well, under normal circumstances - the SKoLD's already
beginning to affect Anya).
Ayna and Morgan now know of Anya - though, at the moment, no-one else does
(which was why Xeffy and Ayna slipped away to hear Anya's warning - they didn't
want anyone else overhearing).
For future reference: usually, Anya communicates with the outside world through
Xeffy's reflection - it's the easiest way for her to do so. However, thanks to
the attack dragging them into a limbo, they can talk face to face.
Imran
Igenlode
give us poor distracted once-a-day posters time to catch up...>
In message <3d4bcda0$0$28866$afc3...@news.optusnet.com.au>
"Cameron Mason" <masomika@SPAM_GOES_IN_HEREmpx.com.au> wrote:
> ann <capr...@aol.commonSense> wrote in message
> news:20020802194906...@mb-cm.aol.com...
> > From: "Cameron Mason"
> >
> > >(Need to be written back into the action)
> >
> > Well, since Cassie is the Dreaming Muse, maybe she is the *only* one who
> > can successfully disarm the SKoLD...
> >
> > Because from her point of view, the "sub"conscious is the primary
> > consciousness...
> >
> > Is that deep enough "into the action" for you? <evil grin>
>
> Yup.
>
> Now to work out how to write myself back in (or just sit back and let
> someone else do it - it's 10:30pm!)
>
Danik <bowing punctiliously, but with a gleam of amusement in his eyes>:
Your wish is my command...
---
ann wrote:
> And then, a horrifying thought occurred to her: The Food Fight Arena!
> She and Sweetheart had arranged to make it the room furthest from the
> main action, for the safety (and cleanliness) of those who didn't *want*
> to get glopped. But that meant that maybe Xephy, Ayna and the gremlins
> didn't know what was going on, and could stumble into serious danger by
> accident.
>
> She had to warn them. She dropped back from the others
[insert here...]
---
He located the avocado troll and bowed deeply, the Rose of Ruritania
flashing at his breast. "Danny Blue and the 'Avalanche' - at your
service, ma'am."
[...]
Eloise paused, distracted for a moment, and let her eyes travel swiftly
over the confident newcomer from head to toe. She gave him a wise look.
"Let me see... you wouldn't happen to be an expert on damsels in
distress, would you?"
Danik's grin was answer enough.
"In that case," Eloise told him firmly, "I have just the job for you."
She tugged on his arm until the tall Ruritanian was bent almost double
and whispered in his ear until his eyes were dancing with mischief.
"But mind -" she shook a finger at him - "be polite about it..."
Danik bestowed a mock-horrified look upon her back view as she turned
and hurried down another hallway. "My dear lady, a Schelstein is
/always/ polite..."
He flipped a corner of his cloak in the parrot's direction, stifling an
incipient recital designed to reveal the stunning degree of mendacity in
that statement, and began to fend off the buffets of Osman's wings,
laughing.
---
Eloise reached the Food Fight Arena and
[end insert...]
> peeked in the door.
>
> "Hey, guys! I just wanted to -- Oh... Good... Lord... "
>
> (No doubt about it. Ingbo was definitely small potatoes now)
[snip to another insert]
> > "What our guests need," Eloise said with a theatrical bow and a wink, "we
> > provide. The Writers' room is third door down the second hallway on the
> > left. There you will find everything from parchment and quill pens to
> > 37th Century Thought recorders (one of the advantages of traveling in
> > a timeship)."
>
> "Great. I'll use one of the Thought recorders, so that I can get back to the
> party ASAP, and Cassie will be more aware of our surroundings."
>
> Cameron whispers in Eloise's ear.
>
> "Cassie picked and wrapped Gordon's present, and I don't know where she put
> it!"
>
> Cameron walks off to the Writers' room, followed by Cassie.
---
Danik of Ruritania, smiling slightly, strolled into the Writers' Room in
his customary manner - namely, as if he owned the place - and took a
brief glance round. At first sight, the place wasn't so very different
from the castellan's chamber up in the gate-tower at Bad Hortig;
barrel-vaulted walls...
(inside a barn which was inside a clapboard cabin, he reminded himself
drily, raising the other eyebrow this time just for variety's sake)
..a stack of freshly-cut quills and a couple of scratchy steel nibs
beside a inkwell whose muddy depths betokened frequent use, and piles of
scribbled and crumpled paper strewn around several well-notched desks.
That, however, was where the resemblance stopped.
The large pink booth nestling in the far corner of the room bore a
prominent logo stencilled onto the door panel: "Vocophone Inc.
established 2064".
The selection of writing implements laid out beside the touch-sensitive
panel in the nest-like form of the ergonomic multidesk immediately to
its left included a Metriphal thumb-stylus, an Earth-Reptile globe
writer with integral skull harness for direct recording via the third
eye, several laser probes with varying dates of manufacture, and what
looked like a genuine 31st Century spinal nerve implant.
Danik flicked the latter vindictively with his thumb-nail, remembering
the bazaar at Phoebris, and winced.
He found Cameron and his Muse reclining in the midst of a pile of
well-plumped cushions in the corner behind the multidesk. That was,
Cameron was reclining, curled up with his eyes shut and that studious
look on his face rehearsed by all those whose eyes are closed "because
I'm concentrating, OK?"
As the unexpected visitor bent over him, the ghost of a snore wafted
upwards.
Cassie drifted gently beside her author with a tiny frown of
concentration between her brows, her long hair stirring dreamily as if
floating in deep water. The filigree net of the Thought Recorder
glistened here and there among her tresses, and in Cameron's sleeping
hand the lights on the receiver blinked steadily, almost brushed by the
arch of one slender foot.
Danik watched the Muse at work for a moment, his mobile features touched
briefly with something almost akin to regret. Then he reached over and
softly disengaged the Thought Recorder from her face, with a nod to
Osman.
---
"Ow!" Cameron shoots upright in reponse to the painful tugging on his
scalp. The parrot's wings flap frantically as he strives to keep his
footing on the young man's head, claws digging in harder, and Cameron
yelps again.
"Oi! Get off - someone get this wretched bird off my head - who let
it in here-?"
His voice dies away in total disbelief as he catches sight of Cassie.
Who has been swept off her feet, literally (admittedly not terribly hard
when dealing with someone whose feet were never touching the ground in
the first place...)
His Dreaming Muse is locked in the arms of a total stranger, being
thoroughly kissed with considerable aptitude and apparent enjoyment.
After about half a minute Danik finally comes up for breath, smiling
down at the sleeping face below him. Cassie's eyelids stir, but don't -
quite - open. There is a tiny answering smile on her lips and one arm
has crept around his neck.
Apparently satisfied, he then bends down, gathers her into his arms, and
carries her off through the door without a backwards glance at her
flabbergasted author.
There is a sharp tug on Cameron's hair. "Komm!" the parrot commands
hoarsely, seizing a thick strand in its beak and yanking. It launches
itself towards the door, forcing an indignant Cameron to stumble in its
wake. He catches a brief glimpse of disappearing Muse through the
doorway and lurches after her fair-haired abductor, handicapped by the
flapping wings.
---
The door to the lounge room was ajar, but there was no sign of Eloise -
or of the Doctor. Danik settled Cassie's slight weight more firmly in
his arms, leaned round the edge of the door, and raised an eyebrow at
the scene within. Even by TARDIS standards, this was... unexpected.
He frowned slightly. Confronted with this mystery, which way would the
avocado troll have gone? When you put it that way, the answer was
simple. Glancing back to make sure that his friend had Cameron firmly in
tow, he waited until the last possible moment, when the indignant young
man was reaching out to grab his shoulder, and stepped neatly through
the doorway. Cameron, off-balance, plunged through in turn, stumbled on
a tussock, and sprawled backwards.
The door slammed. Seamlessly.
Danik, who had released Cassie the moment they entered the fairytale,
stared at the thin air behind him where the exit had been, with a
stricken expression. "That was *not* part of the plan..."
"Plan?!"
But whatever apologies or explanations were on the top of the
Ruritanian's tongue have for the moment dried up, as he catches sight of
the transformation the storybook world appears to have wreaked upon his
companions. Oddly enough, his own appearance is utterly unchanged, save
for the sudden appearance of a slender rapier at his side. Osman, much
to his displeasure, appears merely to have metamorphosed from an African
Grey to an Amazonian Green.
/Cameron/ and /Cassie/, on the other hand...
---
<wicked grin>
--
Igenlode, running as hard as possible to catch up with yesterday's plot
before it propagates any further.
<Oh dear, we seem to be suffering a serious case of Undefined Tenses..!>