I require a cigarette and to sit outside in the twilight with a drink...
...and talk to figments and make up stories.
But I gave up smoking ages back and if I do any of the above my father will look at me all manner of pokey.
*sigh*
Tell me a story.You win many points if it somehow involves characters of mine or characters I like ( Read more... )
But I gave up smoking ages back and if I do any of the above my father will look at me all manner of pokey.
*sigh*
Tell me a story.You win many points if it somehow involves characters of mine or characters I like ( Read more... )
One day, some time ago (but not long enough to denote "long ago") Kallian awoke, groggy and disoriented; Morpheus had been unkind, as of late. Blinking one bleary eye open, he glanced about at the unfamiliar room in which he found himself. The bed was his... stark black iron frame; simple stuffed mattress with modest navy cotton bedding (Kallian's life was quite spartan during these times)... but the walls seemed all wrong. As Kallian sat up, Mingus lifted his head. "Finally" the dog's eyes said. Kallian had adopted the dog as a puppy after it had been abandoned in the back of a friend's truck. When they found the little pup he was emaciated and covered in fleas. Luckily said friend worked in a grooming salon. After the puppy had been fed, washed, examined, vaccinated and awarded a clean bill of health Kallian took him home. For two weeks he struggled to find a fitting name and simply called the pup "Little Dog". He still addressed the dog as such, only using his proper name when he wanted the dog's full attention. He had come close to naming him "Shock" due to his penchant for chewing power cords but decided on "Mingus" while listening to the master Jazz bassist that was the dog's namesake. The stocky Scottish Terrier rose from his spot at the foot of the bed, stretched his stubby legs and hopped down onto the beige carpet. As the dog made his way across the room to stand at the front door of the studio the fog of bewilderment Kallian was experiencing receded. 'No wonder.' he thought as he threw back the coverings and swung his legs over the side of the bed. This was the the second night spent in their newly acquired studio apartment and he had not yet become accustomed to the 'closeness' of his new digs. "Up and at'em" came a low, garumphing, arf. "Patience, Little Dog, I need...things first." He stood and as he quickly rotated his torso from side to side several gratifying pops rippled up his spine.
Yawning while he shambled to the end of the bed, he turned and made his way to the vanity. The water ran marvelously frigid and, as he repeatedly dowsed his face, his verve returned. As he straightened, several rivulets ran slowly down his chest and stomach sending a shiver up his spine. Clear-eyed once more, he took an assessing look at his wonderland doppelganger and came to the conclusion he was in dire need of a shave and a haircut. "Remind me to call Brother John and see if he has time for a quarter tomorrow." he said aloud. Kallian looked down to find Little Dog staring up at him, tail a'wag and head cocked slightly sideways. "Good boy, Little Dog." As he turned and moved toward the kitchen, the dog serpentined before him showing his growing impatience at his masters lollygagging. "I have to fill my camelbak before we leave, Little Dog." After filling the bladder of his pack, he added in a few gels and some organic dog jerky, tossing a small bit to the ever observant (especially when jerky is involved) canine, who snatched it out of the air with a snap. He retrieved the harness and long leather running lead from their hook by the door. At the sight of his master's choice of running lead, instead of normal leash, Little Dog waggeled and bounced and rejoiced with a baying "RoooRooo". Kallian held up his index finger signaling him to be still so that the harness could be fastened and adjusted. Once running lead and camelbak were secured, Kallian snatched the synthetic blackthorn shillelagh from it's place by the door and gave it a spin as he and his companion exited the apartment.
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Several hours later dog and master burst through the door, winded and dust covered. Kallian stripped himself of his sweat soaked shirt, tossed it into the hamper, topped off Little Dog's water bowl, flipped on the TV, cruised to the cooking channel, turned the volume up, and started the shower. The current show was about molecular gastronomy. It showcased techniques being employed by several up-and-coming chefs. Kallian watched intently as he disrobed. White hats scampered around the kitchen as several dishes were being prepared. Casts and atomizers and culinary whippers were all in use but what caught his eye was a chef injecting a cut of meat with some unknown solution. As he slid into the shower he remembered he had a few extra syringes in his medical kit and could probably spare one for the sake of culinary experimentation.
One thing he did like about his new lodgings was the apparently never-ending supply of hot water which he took full advantage of to soothe the aches developing in his thighs. The black bar of charcoal laden soap he used to scrub away the trail dust smelled of anise and earth and reminding him of the lava tubes of Hawaii. Once clean, Kallian ever so slowly decreased the temperature of the water until only the cold tap was running. As he stood under the benumbing spray he shifted his breathing pattern to a deep, measured, insufflation. Kallian closed his eyes and began to contract the muscles of his body in a precise and deliberate manner. He gradually increased the force of contraction until his entire being quaked with the strain and the hiss of the water was drowned out by the pounding of blood in his ears. He held that state for a few moments then slowly released the tension, instilling in him zen-like calm. Once the exercise was complete he stepped out onto the bathmat. In yogic fashion he vigorously rubbed himself down before donning a pair of black jeans. "Your turn, Little Dog." he called out. When his summons was ignored he walked out to the living room. "You know the rules." The canine pretended not to hear him. "Mingus. Bath. Now." At the sound of his proper name Mingus sprang to his feet, jogged into the bath room and leaped into the tub. "Good boy, Little Dog."
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Neurons jostle around, spilling about the place like a thousand small ambulatory suns with big boots and miniature tea sets.
*looks up; laughs* If I may ask, my dear, how did yourself and your tea make it up into the electrolier?
One neuron steps forward looking solemn. "These are not the droids you are looking for," it says with a little hand gesture. All the other neurons turn and stare at it. It shuffles back. A silver holds up a sign. "wE Are h0lLogRmZ". Others start giggling and demonstrate this fact by running through various solid objects and each other.
....Ahh, well naturally.....
Neurons squabble about seating arrangements perching on all manner of surfaces, including each other and objects which appear to be invisible or imaginary. They chatter and bicker with various cries akin to 'here!' 'sit there!' and 'mine!' The silvers look on like children despairing at the antics of younger sibling...
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