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I'm doing this because I'm bored, and I'll probably write a bit in it every day. It's just a crappy story, nothing that'll be turned into an award winning film, nothing that will shock critics everywhere, it's simply entertainment. Some may say that makes it better than anything. Some may say "oh God, not another Fog Story... I know I'm not going to understand this..."
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
All in all, this is what I like to call fun. You're welcome to write in the story, you can mess around with the plot as you like, but nothing too bad please... [And then a big rock came down and killed everyone]. You're welcome to add yourself in as a character, but make sure you're that... a character. Stories tend to go downhill where there are about twenty character in them, but they're all pretty much the same.
Ground rules... err... keep characters in character, write in paragraphs, and for God's sake try to make it funny. Or at least entertaining.
Veteran Fog Story people, it'd be nice to see you writing, but that's down to you. I've got nothing better to do at the moment, so here we go.
Thanks for reading, thanks if you write, and um, well, generally, just thanks.
--------------
Perfection is something that apparently cannot exist. It is said that there cannot be a single perfect thing, that every other thing can see as perfect.
FantasyMeister, however, considers this to be nonsense. Mainly because FantasyMeister considers himself to be perfect.
While the steam engine of the train struggled as it began to pull itself up the hill, FM began to think about how life would be if he wasn't perfect. Of course, FM understands and comprehends this perfectly, even though he has never actually experienced imperfection.
The red seats, dirty and ripped, comforted FM's buttocks in the small four seater cabin of the train, while a preacher sat on the seat facing him.
But, as FM had predicted perfectly, his cigarette smoke had forced the preacher to kindly stand up, retrieve his bible, and move to a different cabin.
Making sure that he was alone, FM perfectly reopened the envelope, removed the telegram, opened it, and read through it one more time. He could of course, recite the entire telegram perfectly from his memory, but he felt like reading it anyway.
'Hi Charlie. Stop. I think we've found a question. Stop. You aren't here yet. Stop. er-no wants the moon back. Stop.'
It was from Rastabillyskank. The last anyone, apart from er-no of course, had heard from Rasta, was 'I don't care about your singing bloody mushrooms, all I want are the stars in a jar and you can't even do THAT. Get out of my spleen.'
He's lived with er-no in a brick-treehouse for the last seven years. Strangely, FM hadn't aged a day since he last saw him, but FM knew better than to take notice of things that weren't that important.
It all started when er-no started talking to Leon a lot more than he did to anyone else. In fact, it came to the point where you couldn't communicate with er-no at all, and if you wanted to know how he was, you had to talk to Leon about him. And perhaps that doesn't seem too bad, until you realise that Leon is in fact the voice inside Grix's head.
Some say he's more than a voice, others would have you know that he does in fact exist, and lives as a seperate entity to Grix. Others would say that Leon was just the foul mouthed side of Grix that he doesn't like to admit is there. It is, however, generally agreed though, that Leon looks a lot like a sheep in a blue dinner jacket. It's also argued that, if Leon is simply a voice in Grix's head, why is he able to inflict pain with baseball bats so effectively? And why does he cast a shadow?
Rastabillyskank had always been completely insane. There wasn't a lot of times where he truly knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or in fact, who he was. But somehow he always managed to help, in one way or another.
Eventually, er-no found a tree, and started building a house in it. He refused to speak to anyone, except for randomly shouting every now and again about nothing in particular. For some reason, Rasta found this interesting, and helped er-no to build his house. FM wondered what they did at night. It wouldn't surprise him if they threw stones at trees to decide who would get the bed for the night. He knew, later on, he'd be unsurprised to find out he was right. It should be said, however, that FM would be equally unsurprised to find out he was wrong, because after all, perhaps he knew he would be wrong all along and was just trying to fool himself that he was right to make life more exciting. Fantasymeister was utterly perfect.
It was an interesting note, that er-no and Rasta started communicating in a way that nobody could really understand, but made perfect sense to the both of them. er-no shouting 'HUMANITY, IT'S ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I DON'T WANT TO TASTE IT ANY MORE!' would result in Rasta getting on his bike and going down the town to buy two tubes of toothpaste and an umbrella, which would immedietely calm er-no down.
FM wondered about what the telegram might be about. He however, didn't worry for a second that him not knowing what it was about could possibly mean he wasn't perfect. FM knew he was perfect. Nothing he did would ever make a difference to that point.
FM pulled up the window... dust would begin to seep inside the cabin if he didn't shut it now. And besides, it was noisy, and if anyone came into the cabin, and noticed FM fast asleep while there was so much noise, they may also notice how perfect he was, and try to kill him because he would be a threat to them.
Obviously they'd fail, but it just saved the hassle.
Perfectly resealing the envelope with the telegram back inside, FM lay perfectly across the red seats of the cabin.
-------
"You can take your God, and you can shove her up your a**e."
"Sir... I just want to sit down."
"Fook right off. God is a big black woman that sings soul and she doesn't apprieciate you going around dressed like a mong. Go find your herd."
"Good day to you sir, I'll go see if the next cabin is free."
Sheepy glared at the preacher until he moved out of the cabin and left him alone.
Sheepy had... came to certain difficulties. And for reasons... yes, reasons, he had to be as far away from the opposite direction in which he was travelling as possible.
He knew that er-no and Rasta lived in a treehouse. He also knew er-no and Rasta probably wouldn't kill him in his sleep, so logically, it seemed like a good place to go until everything calmed down.
Anyway, they were both completely insane. They was good company.
----------
The preacher walked into the next cabin, to find darkness. He crept in, cautiously... and within a second or two was dragged inside, and pushed against a wall.
"Have you got any?" Was whispered into his face.
"...I'm sorry?" The preacher whispered back, shaking like a leaf.
"HAVE... you... GOT ANY."
"Any... what...?"
"I want some."
"I..."
"I WANT SOME. HAVE YOU GOT ANY?"
The preacher had never heard anyone shout and whisper at the same time before.
"I... I'd happily give you what ever you wanted if only you could tell me what it is you want."
"You KNOW... know... know what I want. You all know. But you won't let me have it."
The preacher felt hands rustle around his body... they felt into his pockets, and withdrew a small bar of Galaxy.
"This will do... this WILL do... for now... I don't advise you being here. Don't be here. You're still here. Good."
Tearing the paper away from the chocolate, Ant took out a lighter, and held the bar over the lit flame... the chocolate began to melt and drip, and Ant let the drips trickle down onto his tongue.
It wasn't pure though... he needed the pure stuff. Pure... crisp, and white... he chewed his lip as he imagined pouring the sugar down onto the glass table, then licking it alllll up...
But why... WHY... what did he do? The bag had just ran off... it wasn't as if he had mistreated it... he always stroked it and comforted it and raised it like his own child... and then it RUNS OFF and leaves him all alone.
Ant couldn't recall exactly how the enchanted and otherwise endless bag of sugar had managed to come into his ownership to begin with. But it was there. And there began his habit...
Who would have known that the little swine would have just ran off like that. Ant thought the legs and arms were just for novelty.
But he knew he'd get it back. He'd travel the world searching for it. He knew it couldn't keep running.
But Ant was struggling. He needed the sugar. And without an endless supply... he didn't know what to do with himself.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to go and visit er-no and Rasta. he couldn't think of a good reason right now, but he was trusting that he did in fact have a good reason when he got on the train, so was just playing along for the time being.
Ant licked the molten chocolate from his fingers, and turned off the lighter.
--------------
"It's not... no. Yes, although... let's use the cups."
People who are truly insane don't actually realise it.
However, er-no and Rasta do understand that people have a lot of trouble understanding them. They understand that people just can't really get a grip on what they mean, so they're spending a lot of time trying to prepare a way of explaining what they need to tell FantasyMeister when he arrives.
They mean well, but they haven't a chance really.
"The chicken should be alive, you realise. We can test it with the alive chicken and if that doesn't work, we can just kill it and try that way."
"Shouldn't we use the egg first?"
"No, chicken first."
"Egg."
"Chicken."
"Should we fry the egg?"
"No, cook the chicken first."
"Now?"
"No, later."
"Have you named the chicken yet?"
"I've named it Nipple, because of the incident."
"Cunning."
It can't be denied that combinded, Rasta and er-no have the largest intellectual power in the universe. However, it can't actually be proven either, because nobody understands them.
"If I drink this now, it'll make that work later."
er-no yelled, and cursed. "The cat won't sit still! Stupid thing."
"Nail it to the table."
"It won't move at all then, though."
"Good point."
FantasyMeister would probably arrive tomorrow... they both weren't sure if they could get their device working in time to explain things to him. They weren't even sure if anyone was going to understand the complexity of this task. In fact, they weren't sure even if it would work at all.
But it was the only shot they had left.
Page:
There's a curse.
It goes along the lines of, "May you live in interesting times."
Now once upon a time, Grix considered that to live in interesting times would be fantastic... a world where everything just kept coming at you, kept you on your feet at all times...
But much like Rincewind the Wizzard, he'd eventually seen the light.
It wasn't really as if he wanted things to happen to him. It was almost as if his mind was just creating situations to get out of, over and over...
Yes. Grix lived in interesting times.
And it wouldn't be that bad really, if for once... just once... he got something right.
People came to him all the time, for advice, help, etc... but... well. If there was one thing Grix was perfectly excellent at, it was getting things wrong.
He tried not to, he really did. He knew the futility of it, but he tried to be helpful all the same. He tried to do the right thing... but...
Well, that was certainly the last time the very pretty and soft warden would pay him a visit.
He was tied to the bed now. Grix sighed. He just thought she'd be more comfortable that way...
Never mind... she'd probably need counselling now.
But... he had managed to get a small piece of wiring from the bra in his mouth... which he could use to pick the locks around his wrists...
Grix spat the wire towards his hand...
And it dribbled down his chin and landed on his neck.
Oh well.
It goes along the lines of, "May you live in interesting times."
Now once upon a time, Grix considered that to live in interesting times would be fantastic... a world where everything just kept coming at you, kept you on your feet at all times...
But much like Rincewind the Wizzard, he'd eventually seen the light.
It wasn't really as if he wanted things to happen to him. It was almost as if his mind was just creating situations to get out of, over and over...
Yes. Grix lived in interesting times.
And it wouldn't be that bad really, if for once... just once... he got something right.
People came to him all the time, for advice, help, etc... but... well. If there was one thing Grix was perfectly excellent at, it was getting things wrong.
He tried not to, he really did. He knew the futility of it, but he tried to be helpful all the same. He tried to do the right thing... but...
Well, that was certainly the last time the very pretty and soft warden would pay him a visit.
He was tied to the bed now. Grix sighed. He just thought she'd be more comfortable that way...
Never mind... she'd probably need counselling now.
But... he had managed to get a small piece of wiring from the bra in his mouth... which he could use to pick the locks around his wrists...
Grix spat the wire towards his hand...
And it dribbled down his chin and landed on his neck.
Oh well.
What happened next nobody was really sure of. But FantasyMeister noticed every detail.
As Venombyte pushed open the door, it knocked against a small table that had been propped up next to it. This, it seemed, was designed in a way that when Rasta pulled a lever, it would knock over the blue paint tin that was resting on top of a card castle on the table.
From here it got a bit more complex.
The paint spilt over a yellow silk shirt, which extremely irritated the small camp dwarf who was sitting in the corner. When he slapped his cheek, the sound caused by the dwarf then sent a small shockwave, approximately the size of a large butterfly flapping it's wings, into the atmosphere.
What happened next was unsure, but FantasyMeister predicted, perfectly, that in Kansas, Texas, at that moment, a small tornado lifted a large house up into the atmosphere and a girl trapped inside the house knocked her head and started dreaming about brave mice and angry robots dancing with her to the Ruby City.
The girl's dream will be turned into a film by a director up his own behind, but even before that the brains of film promotion had already thought of ways to advertise the film. Even before the story had been written, even before the story it's based on has been told to anyone, and even before the girl finishes dreaming. The race known as 'promoters' work in mysterious ways.
Pb stepped out of the way as a postman posted a small toy mouse advertising the yet to be thought of film through er-no's and Rasta's letter box. Precisely a few moments later after the camp dwarf slapped his face.
On the other side of the room, a cat that was sellotaped to a large piece of cardboard with an egg balanced on top of it ran across the room to pounce on the toy mouse.
As the cat pounced the egg on it's back shot up into the air, and popped up into a chicken that was suspended in the air.
The chicken clucked loudly, which started every bird in the house tree off, and they all started clucking and squarking too.
In the midst of the bird rage, FantasyMeister watched in horror as the birds started a revolution. They started waving placards of "no more cages" and a few of them started attacking the cuckoo clock on the other side of the room.
As the birds attacked it the cuckoo swang out, three times to indicate the time they had changed the clock to... and on the third push the cuckoo managed to pop a large helium balloon which was hanging in the air right above er-no's head.
As the birds flew off from the clock, scared by the pop of the balloon [and immedietely ending their revolution], their wing flaps forced the helium down towards er-no who was still babbling to himself.
As er-no inhaled the helium around him, his voice became more and more like Joe Pasquale. er-no stopped babbling and started yelling in a tinny voice. "Helium! NO! HELIUM! MY POWERS! FADING! HELIUM!"
"Joe Pasquale!" Ant seemed to become very angry. "JOE PASQUALE! NOT JOE PASQUALE!"
Ant grabbed er-no around the throat and started throttling him with intent to kill. Sheepy watched in amusement, while FM tried to pull him off.
And then...
"Good gracious... where am I?" er-no asked, his voice returning to normal.
"You're home, Margery." Rasta said... before smiling to himself.
A smile came across Rastabillyskank's face which just begged to tell everyone that he's just done something rather amazing.
A smile that was saying "I know. But I'm not going to say anything."
"FantasyMeister?" er-no asked, turning around to face them... "Sheepy? Where am I? How did we get here?"
And then er-no stopped. His face went screwy, as if he was remembering something he didn't want to remember, and just about to experience a flashback.
"Neeeaahhhggghh! No! But... NO! WE... WE GOT... NOOO!!!!!"
er-no started leaping around the room on all fours, and everyone watched on...
"No! I must tell... I have to tell people! Grix will know what to do! Everyone needs to know!"
er-no backed against the wall, still trapped in his flashback.
"Oh God... no! That's not true! IT'S NOT TRUE!"
Rasta started getting very scared... he'd predicted this, but he still wasn't ready for it.
Then... er-no stopped. It was if he'd suddenly become controlled, by... some other being...
er-no stepped forward, put his hands together, and shouted "ARRRYOOOUUKEENNN!"
And then he collapsed on the floor.
Rasta was sitting in a ball now, rocking backwards and forwards.
FM knew exactly what this meant.
It's what he's feared for the longest of times.
As Venombyte pushed open the door, it knocked against a small table that had been propped up next to it. This, it seemed, was designed in a way that when Rasta pulled a lever, it would knock over the blue paint tin that was resting on top of a card castle on the table.
From here it got a bit more complex.
The paint spilt over a yellow silk shirt, which extremely irritated the small camp dwarf who was sitting in the corner. When he slapped his cheek, the sound caused by the dwarf then sent a small shockwave, approximately the size of a large butterfly flapping it's wings, into the atmosphere.
What happened next was unsure, but FantasyMeister predicted, perfectly, that in Kansas, Texas, at that moment, a small tornado lifted a large house up into the atmosphere and a girl trapped inside the house knocked her head and started dreaming about brave mice and angry robots dancing with her to the Ruby City.
The girl's dream will be turned into a film by a director up his own behind, but even before that the brains of film promotion had already thought of ways to advertise the film. Even before the story had been written, even before the story it's based on has been told to anyone, and even before the girl finishes dreaming. The race known as 'promoters' work in mysterious ways.
Pb stepped out of the way as a postman posted a small toy mouse advertising the yet to be thought of film through er-no's and Rasta's letter box. Precisely a few moments later after the camp dwarf slapped his face.
On the other side of the room, a cat that was sellotaped to a large piece of cardboard with an egg balanced on top of it ran across the room to pounce on the toy mouse.
As the cat pounced the egg on it's back shot up into the air, and popped up into a chicken that was suspended in the air.
The chicken clucked loudly, which started every bird in the house tree off, and they all started clucking and squarking too.
In the midst of the bird rage, FantasyMeister watched in horror as the birds started a revolution. They started waving placards of "no more cages" and a few of them started attacking the cuckoo clock on the other side of the room.
As the birds attacked it the cuckoo swang out, three times to indicate the time they had changed the clock to... and on the third push the cuckoo managed to pop a large helium balloon which was hanging in the air right above er-no's head.
As the birds flew off from the clock, scared by the pop of the balloon [and immedietely ending their revolution], their wing flaps forced the helium down towards er-no who was still babbling to himself.
As er-no inhaled the helium around him, his voice became more and more like Joe Pasquale. er-no stopped babbling and started yelling in a tinny voice. "Helium! NO! HELIUM! MY POWERS! FADING! HELIUM!"
"Joe Pasquale!" Ant seemed to become very angry. "JOE PASQUALE! NOT JOE PASQUALE!"
Ant grabbed er-no around the throat and started throttling him with intent to kill. Sheepy watched in amusement, while FM tried to pull him off.
And then...
"Good gracious... where am I?" er-no asked, his voice returning to normal.
"You're home, Margery." Rasta said... before smiling to himself.
A smile came across Rastabillyskank's face which just begged to tell everyone that he's just done something rather amazing.
A smile that was saying "I know. But I'm not going to say anything."
"FantasyMeister?" er-no asked, turning around to face them... "Sheepy? Where am I? How did we get here?"
And then er-no stopped. His face went screwy, as if he was remembering something he didn't want to remember, and just about to experience a flashback.
"Neeeaahhhggghh! No! But... NO! WE... WE GOT... NOOO!!!!!"
er-no started leaping around the room on all fours, and everyone watched on...
"No! I must tell... I have to tell people! Grix will know what to do! Everyone needs to know!"
er-no backed against the wall, still trapped in his flashback.
"Oh God... no! That's not true! IT'S NOT TRUE!"
Rasta started getting very scared... he'd predicted this, but he still wasn't ready for it.
Then... er-no stopped. It was if he'd suddenly become controlled, by... some other being...
er-no stepped forward, put his hands together, and shouted "ARRRYOOOUUKEENNN!"
And then he collapsed on the floor.
Rasta was sitting in a ball now, rocking backwards and forwards.
FM knew exactly what this meant.
It's what he's feared for the longest of times.
Sometimes the things that you lose turn up in the last place you look. That, to some, makes the ultimate form of sense and to others it seems not even worth saying.
Some may point out that ´Of course the things you lose will turn up in the last place you look´, but it isn´t always the case. Many people find what they are looking for before they realise they needed it and continue looking elsewhere. This is especially the case with love and friendship.
The friends currently gathering in the housetree had another problem to deal with. Ant had gone straight for the sugar when they reached the kitchen and had now gone through all the chocolate too, via rich tea biscuits and hobnobs. Half an hour later he was yet again foaming at the mouth and mouthing ´sugar´over and over again.
It was the running around the tables, chasing anyone that dared cross his line of vision that FM didn´t like. He had an idea.
"Er-no. Do you have satellite?" he asked.
"Pear drinks all round" was the answer FM got.
He nodded and quickly ran into the lounge area. Sheepy followed him to find out what was going on and saw FM on the floor, fiddling with some buttons under the TV.
"Better stand back, Sheepý" FM said as he pressed a button and the TV came to life.
Ant´s head suddenly lifted as he sat bolt upright. He could hear something very familiar.
"mmm....big...cage...match....rock...." he mumbled before turning 180 degrees in his chair and flying out of the kitchen.
Sheepy had just understood what FM had said, but it was too late. Ant ran in and double suplexed the pair of them before jumping and landing on the nearest armchair. He sat, transfixed to the television as the commentators gave the lowdown on the smackdown. It had done the job.
Venombyte was still mumbling about sore feet and brambles as they reached the house. They had followed the others down through Pembroke´s main street, but had been prevented from catching their attention due to following another of Pb´s shortcuts. They entered the door as FM and Sheepy were getting up from the floor.
Some may point out that ´Of course the things you lose will turn up in the last place you look´, but it isn´t always the case. Many people find what they are looking for before they realise they needed it and continue looking elsewhere. This is especially the case with love and friendship.
The friends currently gathering in the housetree had another problem to deal with. Ant had gone straight for the sugar when they reached the kitchen and had now gone through all the chocolate too, via rich tea biscuits and hobnobs. Half an hour later he was yet again foaming at the mouth and mouthing ´sugar´over and over again.
It was the running around the tables, chasing anyone that dared cross his line of vision that FM didn´t like. He had an idea.
"Er-no. Do you have satellite?" he asked.
"Pear drinks all round" was the answer FM got.
He nodded and quickly ran into the lounge area. Sheepy followed him to find out what was going on and saw FM on the floor, fiddling with some buttons under the TV.
"Better stand back, Sheepý" FM said as he pressed a button and the TV came to life.
Ant´s head suddenly lifted as he sat bolt upright. He could hear something very familiar.
"mmm....big...cage...match....rock...." he mumbled before turning 180 degrees in his chair and flying out of the kitchen.
Sheepy had just understood what FM had said, but it was too late. Ant ran in and double suplexed the pair of them before jumping and landing on the nearest armchair. He sat, transfixed to the television as the commentators gave the lowdown on the smackdown. It had done the job.
Venombyte was still mumbling about sore feet and brambles as they reached the house. They had followed the others down through Pembroke´s main street, but had been prevented from catching their attention due to following another of Pb´s shortcuts. They entered the door as FM and Sheepy were getting up from the floor.
And they all cake eatingly ever after
"Bloody hell Rasta. You've been pulling that lever for three days now. When's something going to happen?" said...erm, Grix.
"Well...no-one decided to carry on the story. The guy writing now would,. but he sliced his finger with a saw today becuase he thought it was a guitar".
"Oh."
"Well...no-one decided to carry on the story. The guy writing now would,. but he sliced his finger with a saw today becuase he thought it was a guitar".
"Oh."
FM, Sheepy, Ant and Leon simply watched er-no as he rambled off to himself. For the past few minutes he'd been talking to himself in the corner as if he was telling a story... Sheepy felt like there were spiders crawling all over his body. It was quite disturbing.
All through the time that er-no was telling his story, Rasta had been sitting crosslegged on top of a moose head on the wall, hanging slightly over the side and glaring at them.
FM had already tried to explain about the telegram, but to no avail.
He was currently trying to think of the perfect thing to do. You see, FM always did the perfect thing. It may have took him some time to actually think of the perfect thing to do, but he always got there in the end.
Sniper was still trying to get himself out of the branches he had fell into when they had tried to get into the housetree. He was currently hanging by three different places.
It wasn't exactly... easy... to get into the house. The third trial was definitely the hardest.
All the same, they were there now. It was a good job they'd sent Sniper first on every trial, mind... It began with an I? Even Ant was confused.
Finally, Rasta spoke.
"I never end yet I always begin, I hardly speak but I always sing, I'm yet to walk but I can run, I grow tall without the sun. What am I?"
Leon and FM looked at each other. Ant had already gone off and was pretending he wasn't looking through their closets, and Sheepy was intently listening to er-no babble.
"Maybe it's something like a circle.. a ring... something like a ring in life...?" Leon said. "I really hate puzzles. They p*** me off."
FantasyMeister frowned. "You're a poet." He said aloud.
"Ah! Correct." Rasta fell off the moose head and landed on a few cardboard boxes on the floor. "Youf refieved ma telagrem thenn" came a muffled addition.
"Yes, I did." FM replied.
Rasta stood up. With his shoes, he was about six feet tall. Without them, he was about four feet. Leon wondered how the hell he found balance.
"There's something here. Let's see." Rasta walked to the wall, and pulled a lever...
All through the time that er-no was telling his story, Rasta had been sitting crosslegged on top of a moose head on the wall, hanging slightly over the side and glaring at them.
FM had already tried to explain about the telegram, but to no avail.
He was currently trying to think of the perfect thing to do. You see, FM always did the perfect thing. It may have took him some time to actually think of the perfect thing to do, but he always got there in the end.
Sniper was still trying to get himself out of the branches he had fell into when they had tried to get into the housetree. He was currently hanging by three different places.
It wasn't exactly... easy... to get into the house. The third trial was definitely the hardest.
All the same, they were there now. It was a good job they'd sent Sniper first on every trial, mind... It began with an I? Even Ant was confused.
Finally, Rasta spoke.
"I never end yet I always begin, I hardly speak but I always sing, I'm yet to walk but I can run, I grow tall without the sun. What am I?"
Leon and FM looked at each other. Ant had already gone off and was pretending he wasn't looking through their closets, and Sheepy was intently listening to er-no babble.
"Maybe it's something like a circle.. a ring... something like a ring in life...?" Leon said. "I really hate puzzles. They p*** me off."
FantasyMeister frowned. "You're a poet." He said aloud.
"Ah! Correct." Rasta fell off the moose head and landed on a few cardboard boxes on the floor. "Youf refieved ma telagrem thenn" came a muffled addition.
"Yes, I did." FM replied.
Rasta stood up. With his shoes, he was about six feet tall. Without them, he was about four feet. Leon wondered how the hell he found balance.
"There's something here. Let's see." Rasta walked to the wall, and pulled a lever...
'They'll be here soon!' er-no said
'Coffee at three with a maggot horse!' Rastabillyskank answered
'Dude, cut the crap for a minute and talk sense!'
'We aren't talking in code anymore?'
'No. We have to get ready for them!'
'Yeah ok, but back to code when they are here yeah? Only Grix knows....'
'....yes, and look what happened to him, he was sane and they think he is insane, our own backs are covered by our ability to act stupid.'
'Tell me again why we acted stupid around each other though?'
'...erm... We didn't want to be caught. Everything has its reason, even this HouseTree. Stupid mode back on, they are nearly here!'
'COOOFFFFEEEEE and butter but some of the fellowship are missing'
'Coffee at three with a maggot horse!' Rastabillyskank answered
'Dude, cut the crap for a minute and talk sense!'
'We aren't talking in code anymore?'
'No. We have to get ready for them!'
'Yeah ok, but back to code when they are here yeah? Only Grix knows....'
'....yes, and look what happened to him, he was sane and they think he is insane, our own backs are covered by our ability to act stupid.'
'Tell me again why we acted stupid around each other though?'
'...erm... We didn't want to be caught. Everything has its reason, even this HouseTree. Stupid mode back on, they are nearly here!'
'COOOFFFFEEEEE and butter but some of the fellowship are missing'
FantasyMeister, Sniper, Sheepy and Ant walked through Pembroke's Main Street. In fact, it was Pembroke's ONLY street. But calling the street Only Street would have really bothered town planners if they were ever to build more streets in Pembroke.
There was still hope.
A man brushed past FM, smiling and nodding.
FM turned around. A large man was walking away from him... his hood pulled up over his head... he could have sworn...
"Leon?"
The man stopped walking, and turned to show that in fact, he was no man, but a walking sheep.
He paused for a second. "FantasyMeister. Sorry, didn't expect to see you around here... Oh, you brought..."
Leon and Sheepy exchanged glances.
"You." Leon said, finally.
"Me." Sheepy replied.
"Nice." Leon commented, further. "Why are you here?"
"Telegram."
"Hiding."
"Sugar."
There was a small pause as everyone looked at Sniper.
Everyone came to the same conclusion, and the conversation continued.
"I really need your help." Leon said. "But not here... can you meet me at The Dial tonight?"
Meeting in pubs was the thing to do.
"Actually, Leon, we need your help first..." FantasyMeister got out of the way of the pavement to let an old woman walk by. "You see, we're trying to find er-no and Rastabillyskank..."
"Right. Why?"
"They sent me a telegram."
"What did it say?" Leon asked.
"It doesn't matter."
Leon thought... "Good point. I can drive you to their treehouse if you like..."
"You can drive?" Ant asked.
Leon looked down on Ant through narrow eyes. He said nothing, and lit up another cigarette."
There was still hope.
A man brushed past FM, smiling and nodding.
FM turned around. A large man was walking away from him... his hood pulled up over his head... he could have sworn...
"Leon?"
The man stopped walking, and turned to show that in fact, he was no man, but a walking sheep.
He paused for a second. "FantasyMeister. Sorry, didn't expect to see you around here... Oh, you brought..."
Leon and Sheepy exchanged glances.
"You." Leon said, finally.
"Me." Sheepy replied.
"Nice." Leon commented, further. "Why are you here?"
"Telegram."
"Hiding."
"Sugar."
There was a small pause as everyone looked at Sniper.
Everyone came to the same conclusion, and the conversation continued.
"I really need your help." Leon said. "But not here... can you meet me at The Dial tonight?"
Meeting in pubs was the thing to do.
"Actually, Leon, we need your help first..." FantasyMeister got out of the way of the pavement to let an old woman walk by. "You see, we're trying to find er-no and Rastabillyskank..."
"Right. Why?"
"They sent me a telegram."
"What did it say?" Leon asked.
"It doesn't matter."
Leon thought... "Good point. I can drive you to their treehouse if you like..."
"You can drive?" Ant asked.
Leon looked down on Ant through narrow eyes. He said nothing, and lit up another cigarette."
Pembrokeshire was the fastest growing part of Wales, and it was all thanks to Johnny Megabux, entrepreneur. Not only did Pembrokshire now have it's own train station intersecting all major routes over the UK, but Pembroke International Airport was really starting to take off, too - excusing the pun. And if it hadn't already had a port, Johnny would've had the sea re-routed and built one, because he was that kind of guy.
This town owed a lot to him, Johnny reflected.
He was interrupted from his quiet contemplation with a knock at his office door. He swung his legs off the hand-carved mahogany desk, and carefully let them drop to the thickly-carpeted office floor.
"What d'ya want?" he called out, in a rather stereotypically loud American fashion.
"Package sir. Marked urgent." came the slightly muffled reply from the other side of the silver-handled pine door.
"Ok, bring it in then" said Johnny.
The door handle, turned, and a man carrying a parcel walked in.
-------------
"We are now preparing to land at Pembroke International Airport."
The announcement was loud and clear. There was something about a calm, female voice that relaxed passengers, or so Meka had read somewhere. Not him though. No, it wouldn't do to be so easily influenced. He must always keep his wits about him, never let his judgement get clouded.
Meka focused his mind once more, before suddenly being hit by a jolt of realisation more severe than a ten thousand volt electric shock. Such was it's force he nearly mistook it for a malfunction in the plane, but no, that was not it.
Meka glanced back down to his lap. Four across - Gift of today.
"Present." said Meka with a smile. It was always so obvious once the inspiration hit you.
This town owed a lot to him, Johnny reflected.
He was interrupted from his quiet contemplation with a knock at his office door. He swung his legs off the hand-carved mahogany desk, and carefully let them drop to the thickly-carpeted office floor.
"What d'ya want?" he called out, in a rather stereotypically loud American fashion.
"Package sir. Marked urgent." came the slightly muffled reply from the other side of the silver-handled pine door.
"Ok, bring it in then" said Johnny.
The door handle, turned, and a man carrying a parcel walked in.
-------------
"We are now preparing to land at Pembroke International Airport."
The announcement was loud and clear. There was something about a calm, female voice that relaxed passengers, or so Meka had read somewhere. Not him though. No, it wouldn't do to be so easily influenced. He must always keep his wits about him, never let his judgement get clouded.
Meka focused his mind once more, before suddenly being hit by a jolt of realisation more severe than a ten thousand volt electric shock. Such was it's force he nearly mistook it for a malfunction in the plane, but no, that was not it.
Meka glanced back down to his lap. Four across - Gift of today.
"Present." said Meka with a smile. It was always so obvious once the inspiration hit you.
A lot of people like to believe in something. Be it an entity as far-reaching as God, or just something as simple as love, there is probably someone - somewhere - that believes in it. A lot of people believe in God, or at least think they do. Another fair sized group of people believe in love. But for each person who believes, you will have two more who simply say that they believe.
And that, thought Grix, as he sat alone in his cell, can be very dangerous indeed.
For example, two people had come to talk to him. They wore white coats, so Grix had presumed they worked here. They had nodded along with him as he told the story that had landed him here in this cell. And then the conversation had turned to Leon. As most conversations with Grix inevitably too. And they had continued nodding along with him and agreed that Leon existed, all in a gentle soothing voice.
Grix had many takes on life. One he had not considered until that point was that if someone is talking to you in a gentle soothing voice while wearing a white coat then you're not in the best situation you could be.
Grix believed in Leon.
The two people who had tried to sooth him did not believe in Leon. But they said they did.
And what, thought Grix as nudged his back up to wall, would become of that? If things continued at this rate, soon everything that people said they believed in would become inconsequential.
There were many things Grix didn't want to become inconsequential. The talking sheep was way up there on the list. Grix thought about this.
"I need to get out of here." he decided.
And that, thought Grix, as he sat alone in his cell, can be very dangerous indeed.
For example, two people had come to talk to him. They wore white coats, so Grix had presumed they worked here. They had nodded along with him as he told the story that had landed him here in this cell. And then the conversation had turned to Leon. As most conversations with Grix inevitably too. And they had continued nodding along with him and agreed that Leon existed, all in a gentle soothing voice.
Grix had many takes on life. One he had not considered until that point was that if someone is talking to you in a gentle soothing voice while wearing a white coat then you're not in the best situation you could be.
Grix believed in Leon.
The two people who had tried to sooth him did not believe in Leon. But they said they did.
And what, thought Grix as nudged his back up to wall, would become of that? If things continued at this rate, soon everything that people said they believed in would become inconsequential.
There were many things Grix didn't want to become inconsequential. The talking sheep was way up there on the list. Grix thought about this.
"I need to get out of here." he decided.
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