On a break, Fern rolled the prophecy cubes and then wondered who Tessa was.
She better get back to her shift at the cafe…
“I wish I had better news about the twins,” Fern Stalin later exclaimed to Lichen Roosevelt at the Yalta Bar and Grill down more in the innards of Castle Town. Actually, where we saw Barry De Boy last, taking up pen and paper for the first time and setting down his palette and paintbrush. Actually: both; he’s both an artist and a writer. Just like me. We return to the present conversation…
“All in this spell book?” Lichen exclaims back, surprised at the results of the equation. Q, she thinks. Barry knew all along.
One of the twins walks in. I wish I could say it was the right one but I’m not sure.
Actually I am.
Carolin saw her approaching the hill from the road. “Up here Tessa!” she called from the designated meeting spot, sacred in the long game. Cow Hill. The Man About Time finally made it. And Tessa’s old cave friend Carolin, whose circumstances we haven’t really delved into yet, with only one post devoted to her so far. Here’s where that changes: novel 24. (Wheeler thinks) we need a new (important) female character, and Carolin is a good fit, helping to fill out the overall macro-picture a little bit more. One novel at a time. One post, one section, one novel. When will it end? What is at the end of *that* particular road? Another too deep mystery with ban lines all around? Let’s see what Carolin adds to the now very big equation, with a large blackboard needed to contain.
Ahh: appropriate. A big blackboard.
And I guess that leaves Man About Time out of the picture currently since his seat has been taken. He missed again! On with the show…
“Daaaanger,” Edwin the ghost moaned in warning. But Halloween Jack had to find out what lie ahead. The cold, the *contrast*, irresistibly drew him in.
Jack hesitated just beyond where the drab ground turned white, making his shoes wet.
What are these particles of light falling from the sky? He lets one alight on his skeletal tongue. Delicious! Frozen water, melting in the mouth almost upon touch. The ground is composed of these, he realizes. No melt this time! He tries to watch it build up around a nearby evergreen tree but doesn’t have the patience. So much to see! He marches forward, moistened feet be damned.
What’s this? A fellow sentient being? Made of the same ice?? “Hellooo!”
“Howdy!” the snowman cheerfully replied, indeed alive during the season. “Welcome to Christmas! Or thereabouts,” he tacks on. Jack smiled broadly. Sally is going to *love* it here, he thinks.
Soon they were together listening to Snowmanster play a selection of her favorite holiday tunes.
“Oewa, we have to get ready to move into the big city. Like ‘Green Acres’ except in reverse. Are you ready?”
Oewa couldn’t answer properly, being just a simple cat and not one of those talky ones like you can purchase in the city down in Black Ice. Or so he’s heard.
“Guess I might take this chance to fix my teeth, hmm.” He moves the straw around his mouth anxiously, feeling all the holes now.
Again? thinks the cat that can’t say it aloud, at least to humans. Maybe she can get one of those talky tubes she heard they sell down at the Black Ice market. Frenchy told her this. Frenchy knows stuff. Frenchy is a bird but not one of the tasty ones. Frenchy is a fowl parrot. What a mouth! “G-d d-mn m-ther f-cker you can get a tube down there,” he said upon hearing her plan piggybacking on her master Toothpick’s plan to get new teeth to go along with his new apartment. 50 lindens a month! How did he get such a great deal? And with only one neighbor, albeit living right on top of him. Someone called MAT.
“When you stare at me like that, I don’t know *what* you’re thinking, mm mm mm. We better start packing.”
(to be continued)
New Nun opens the attachment.
I do declare I believe that woman needs a cross and a crucifix to hold!, she thought, staring at the silhouetted figure and its dangerous curves.
She woke up in the middle of the night with a realization. The maid was still trying to move the dead body out of the room to no avail. Perhaps she was attempting to be too quiet about it. I know who the motel receptionist is, Yoko Ona thought while staring up at the ceiling long crack in the ceiling: Cindy A.! This is where I met her and also started interacting with the others of the traitorous A.Team. Todd I believe. And Jim! Who could forget Jim and his maths. Figures began forming in her mind with this. All the numbers again (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0). She decided she needed a middle of the night martini for further pondering. And so as not to disturb the maid and her duties, she tip toed out of the room, silently shutting the door behind her in search of a bar.
To move beyond 02 and especially 03, she knew she’d have to get by the security guard known locally as Big Black Smoke — learned that from the maid. She, in a whisper of a voice, had warned her about the corruption existing at the motel after dusting the bathroom for the 3rd time. 3 again. A.Team with three members. She’s getting closer! She runs smack into Big Black Smoke while spacing out about 3. “Morning misses,” he spoke, not fazed in the least. “Out for your morning walks again?” Plural, she realized. He thinks *I* am 3. And he’d been moved in front of motel door 03 with the collision for further emphasis. Heartsdale was certainly trying to talk to the famous widow of a woman! She walks further into the town proper and its beating Null Heart after affirming Big Black Smoke’s guess.
(to be continued)
Gene Kelley, Mr. Fix It of town, waited patiently beside his new work for Marsha “Pink” Krakow to finish her stress relieving ride on the big white bunny in the playground behind the Black Elephant pub.
But then she passed it right by without comment on her way back in. Time for a bit more practice today! She’s calculated that she can be up to 10 minutes late for supper and not get *that* reprimanded. She’s timed it all out. Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” and The Who’s “The Real Me” coming up!
“Afternoon, Gene,” she offered while barely glancing sideways, absorbed in her thoughts of drumming glory.
“Afternoon, er, *Marsha*,” he returned, staring at her as she walked to the side door of the pub and re-entered.
“It’s an *eleph*ant,” he called to her just out of earshot now. “Trunk removal,” he added weakly, summarizing the rather long story about its concept.
I wondered how long the assimilation would last. “That’s a beautiful tune,” I spoke down to rapidly strumming Tronesisia. “What is it?”
“What do you think?”
I recognized the tune. “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,” title song for the album. Keyboard to L-harp. Marvelous.
It has begun (the guitar kicked in).
Donald Farr so looked forward to visiting Rosehaven again come winter.
The King was dead but the castle remained. Ingo ruled all now. The Prince who was also King. King-Prince. He liked it that way. He didn’t want to identify with the father too much.
The dryad’s pond on the way to the castle.
It could be that he’s never going back this time.
What’s this? Donald Farr doesn’t remember the object, although he explored extensively in the area last winter.
A wee person’s home(!). Wee people in Rosehaven. “Well I never,” Donald Farr had to utter at the door he couldn’t enter. He’d have to be at most two feet tall, he estimated.
Later, in the gazebo across from the ruined village below the castle, he ponders what he saw there. He’s got two cold feet but he isn’t scared.
The continent is a wheel, The Man About Time thinks on the upstairs balcony of the 9th house he tried. Success finally? But 12:37: *time* for dinner.
So I’ve marked that place with the filling recipe. You *still* want the apple pie, don’t you dear? ‘Cause I’m going to a lot of trouble with this.” She calls over while still washing her hands. “Dear? (pause) *Dear??*”
“Oh, sorry.” He looks down at the place setting and the contents. Apparently I’ll just do with the one apple right now, he thinks to himself, but says: “Sure. Er, since you’ve gone to all the trouble to find the recipe and all.” He again stares over at the lemon and lime on the far table.
The lemon and lime stared back at him.
“Yes, husband of mine?” She was washing the last fingers.
“Do we still have that copy of ‘Floydada’ laying around somewhere?”
“Floy-*whata*?” She finally turns. It was then that Newtonia Kashkow realized the man sitting at the table with all the apples wasn’t her husband atall.
“And *stay* out!” SLAM.
Oh well. On to the 10th!