Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Yes It's A Trap Goldie!
Back in a certain city haunted by demons monsters wannabe actors and writers a peculiar being even by that city's standards was preparing for a painful change. She didn't believe in suffering to look fabulous but even Goldie accepted there was no way she could get to and into the open casting session advertised in the newspaper for "Unusual People with Unusual Talents" as a Goullawk nor would changing size work either. The sudden appearance of a 50 foot tall Dragonoid tended to startle people as much as her usual appearance. She would have to use that spell one of her boyfriends Mr. BlackandSilver (Scribal hint: Translate it into Sindarin) taught her and change form as well. Walking on two legs wearing shoes was not pleasant but she'd had enough practise to do it with grace and style and a slight but sexy wobble.
A half an hour later inside the hotel several people were complaining about the strange noises that came from a certain room as persons of the hench folk variety watched a woman with purple hair and makeup and a short dress of metallic golden scales exited the hotel.
"Wow it worked! We got her out of the hotel and on her own!
The bosses will be so happy!
Back at the Node their bosses were indeed chortling their way through a cultural tradition laughing evilly between paragraphs sentences and phrases as they gloated about their plans in front of their prisoners, members of various Time Agencies, Patrols, Departments, and other organisations.
"This time Brethren sisters and other genders we win!
Our dark alliance has gained control and access over a primary node!
The gates between realities fictional mythic parallel and alternate are ALL opening!
We can reprogram and alter multiple universes split off timelines or loop them back and gain our heart's desires so evey one gets what they deserve!"
"Especially some of our writers!"
In one containment area prisoners were following the cultural tradition of whispering or using sign language or really obscure languages like Bundalung or Fur to communicate.
(Scribal notes Yes these are actual human languages!)
"Some one must have a sonic screwdriver or a multi tool or something shirley?"
"I have my ..."
Several people groaned at a Captain called Jack who was trying to catch the eye of a guard by smiling flirtatiously.
Elsewhere a certain Goullawk had begun to notice the local reality seemed to be rather plagued with cliches, particularly near her. Pianos were rolling off trucks along with bananas, an unusually large number of pigeons were doing comedic deposits of droppings, and an ominous storm had appeared suddenly, and she'd only had to walk one block before she found an empty taxi to the studio, where the queue had suddenly shortened when a raid was made for former Australian soap actors who'd overstayed their visa.
The hench persons were watching her keenly.
They had carefully prepared the ultimate temptation.
An open door off the hallway to auditions showing a rehearsal room with a full orchestra and a percussion set ... shiny bling no Goullawk with musical delusions could resist. Goldie had musical ambitions. Unfortunately she also had a singing voice that to humans was disconcerting.
Then there was that thing that happened when she was around instruments unattended. She inevitably ended up literally entangled with whatever she tried to play. The Triangle. A Cello. A drum kit. And the unfortunate incident with the flute.
Goldie forced herself to stay in the line for registration and then was undone by a single statement.
"Feel free to wander around and look at everything or use the ladies while you're waiting for your name to be called Ms. Dragonides!"
That should had been a clue but the instinct to be dramatic coupled with curiosity overwhelmed reason and logic and Goldie nonchalantly circled backwards admiring photos on the wall towards that door. It was after all near the entry to the ladies room and another ... well just a little look thru the door at all that shiny musical bling ... just a look ...
Back at the hotel Sassy and Johahexed had returned from their shopping and seen the open paper with the ad circled lying on the bed.
"oh she wouldn't have ... she couldn't ... she promised1" moaned Sassy.
"Did we remember to include a time clause in her promise to stay in the hotel ... did we?" asked Jonahexed rhetorically as Sassy jumped off the door and charged out the door.
Goldie was in the doorway of the rehearsal door and walked slowly but in a very straight line towards the percussion section and all those shiny lovely music making tools. She sat down and picked up a drumstick. Hands with fingers did have certain advantages over fingerclaws and flippers with velcro like sections. She began to play slowly and delicately at first a section from Tubular Bells and then shifted tempos to some thing operatic and louder and faster. Her temporary hands flew over the instruments from xylophone to bells to triangles and drums and back again becoming a blur of motion and sound and her shape wavered.
She surrendered to the rhythm started a crescendo and the spell binding her to human form failed and then there was a loud crash as she fell off the seat and various instruments landed on top of her.
The hench persons entered the room with nets and a large Goullawk sized box chortling triumphantly and begun to perform the delicate procedure of unentangling a Goullawk while at the same time restraining and binding fingerclaws flippers and flukes.
Just as they finished turning Goldie into something that looked like a very bizarre decorative prop for a SMBD club a motorcycle with a dachshsund in a side car came racing into the room.
"Release that Goullawk" cried Sassy and JonaHexed in twofold harmony.
"and you're going to stop us how ?" snickered a henchman.
Jonahexed opened his coat to reveal interesting objects.
"Let's start with a semi sentient Shuriken I borrowed from a SF novel series!" he stated throwing that with one hand as the other raised a Original guess what Series Phaser set on Stun.
A very short time later they had Goldie half tied and balanced precariously in the side car as JonaHexed with Sassy posed on his lap raced through the studio grounds seeking an unguarded entrance. But Every single entry point was blocked with groups of hench persons smirking besides or behind barricades.
Jonahexed stopped the bike and drew his weapons as armored hench persons stalked closer and closer encircling them.
Sassy decided to try one last thing and screamed to the empty air.
JonaHexed joined her both of them calling out "Taxi! Taxi! Taxi!" both hoping their favorite Taxi driver wasn't busy elsewhere.
Lady Fortune was in a good mood and a black old fashioned London cab materialized next to them.
The door opened and a voice with a cheerful but odd cockney accent as spoken by someone using a voice synthesizer that sounded similar to those used by the BBC invited them on board!
"Wotcha ya waiting for?! All'Board Reg's Deluxe Taxi! Now!"
Next time join us for London Calling!
My apologies for this appearing more than a week after the previous post.
Domestic needs and projects cut into my "creative free " time over the Easter break.
Monday, 9 April 2012
Meanwhile in usually beautiful scenic Teckelstein the residents were not happy.
There was a howling blizzard on what should have been a lovely summer day.
There was none of the usual tourist trade from other realms and worst of all A.F. Teckelstein First Minister for just about Everything not had his morning saucer of hot chocolate milk.
A. F. was a magnificent example of European standard hunting Teckel with black and tan coloring and an tail best described as an elegant calligraphic whip wearing a monocle with a jewelled rim.
He was yelling at a speakerphone on his desk.
"What do you mean half the High Council disappeared and most of the rest can't make it through the storm.
Get some one with weather powers to make a tunnel or something.
Where's Leo or Mark?
Trapped in Chez Alfred?
Mark's wand isnt working and neither is Leo's gun?
The sky shield is cracking?
Yes I noticed that thank you!
Don't make me come down there and fix things myself!
And where are Sassy and Goldie?
Well them outside of the realm is always a mixed blessing.
We have more important problems!? Oh really!?
The first Dragon is what ... !!!
Oh Lieber Gott!"
A.F. walked away from the phone over to the windows.
A large statue of what appeared to be a warrior from the early Middle Ages wearing chain mail was acquiring icicles down in the courtyard.
Unfortunately the scales were dragon skin and the First Dragon had clearly had his shapeshifting abilities blocked half way during a change from his favorite human form to his full dragonish splendour.
"Okay now things are getting serious indeed" muttered A. F.
"Someone find my snowshoes" he barked in an imperative baritone.
Over in Chez Alfred unhappy customers were huddled around a fireplace fending off frost bite with mugs of hot chocolate or coffee or odder drinks. At a table nearby a man wearing a hood and a mask was glaring through snow googles at the innards of a gun and another was staring despairingly at a wand while a third was watching the mouth of a flame thrower that was thoroughly unfunctional.
"How the @#@$#%@@@4 can the laws of physics and magic be NOT working at the same @#@@#%$$ time?"
asked the man trying to fix his gun.
"Hey that was not a hypothetical science boys!" he snarled at the group near the fireplace.
"Dramatic cliches still work!" cried a phantom like stranger as he successfully forced the front door open.
"Whaaa that's not right you're not written to slam doors open!"
"Which means" declaimed the phantom like stranger in disconcertingly cheerful tones that were even more out of character for him, " some badass capitalist running dog imperialist overlord be doin' some heavy duty messin' with reality."
Everyone in the Chez Alfred stared at him ...
Several persons jaws almost dislocated as the phantom like stranger proceeded to do a rap routine.
This was disrupted by an anguished scream from the kitchen from the owner chef.
"Nooo the oven's stopped and I had souffle rising!"
Someone screamed "Its the end of the world!"
Others ran out into the storm preferring the risk of hypothermia to an irate chef.
A few more compassionate souls ventured into the kitchen to comfort the chef a distinguished and former British Intelligence agent.
(No not the double zero and a seven one. The one who works as a substitute parent for a family of neurotic bat theme obsessed acrobatic crime fighters)
"Yeah but what's happening outside our world?" asked a more or less mad scientist thoughtfully who was a refugee from Black Dragon spell it like the Tea Island.
Next time "Yes it's a trap Goldie!"