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The Incredible Adventures Of Sylvester Merridew and, The Silver Machine





Tabbi entered the room, headphones on her ears, a red Walkman held tightly in her left hand.



She was smiling brightly, as she entered the cluttered front-room, most of it bits of memorabilia relating to the seventies, the nineteen seventies.



The curtains were drawn back and sunlight shafted through the trees outside the bay window and into into the room, where her semi-permanent guest Sylvester had slept the night, as he had for many months now.



His wild mane of two-tone hair, one side black the other white, popped up with a hand, from the other side of the sofa and Tabbi asked, “You sleep alright old man?”



It sounded like she was being unkind, yet Sylvester knew that her intention was literal and humorous: after all, he was over a hundred years old.



He grinned sleepily, fisting his eyes.



“Did you stay up to watch the white dot again?” Tabbi asked, slipped off the headphones and turning the Walkman off.



She knew him, too well…



He would do just that, often: watching teevee until the end of transmission and the screen going to black, then to ‘the little white dot’ and a gentle voice saying, “Goodnight, sleep well and, don’t forget to turn off your television set.”



In the past he might have started the morning with callisthenics, but not on these occasions. When he stayed up late Now, he would awake, plod to the kitchen and make a mug of tea, using skills he had learnt since he had met Tabbi.



Electricity still fascinated him: you would flip a switch on and there you had it, power; that flowed through the flex, and allowed him to press another switch and, turn on the kettle, for boiling water.



‘Miraculous,’ he said, almost every time, as he did so often, when out for the day with the young woman, noticing the differences what he had known, way back when.



And, Sylvester would drink his brew, watching teevee, determined to rise; and failing, for an hour or so, as he watched the BBC morning programme.



“So what are you listening to?” Sylvester asked, trying not to notice how she was dressed, or undressed; wearing, an abbreviated grey spaghetti-strap tee-shirt, that exposed much of her flat belly and bird-bone hips and, a miniscule pair of grey cotton panties.



“Hawkwind Sylvester. They’re excellent…” She answered blithely.



“Hawkwind?” He mused, “They do the electric music don’t they?” He asked her.



Sylvester had seen the cardboard sleeves to several of her phonograph, that towered high in the corner of her living-room, his bedroom.



“Electronic is the word Sylvester,” Tabbi corrected smiling.



“Now, how about you make the tea and, I’ll do us bacon butties after my shower?”

She knew Sylvester liked bacon sandwiches, ‘after all, who didn’t?’



“Ideally baked real crispy?” Sylvester suggested.



“Yes Sylvester,” she answered, sitting cross-legged on the armchair near the sofa, where her older friend had blankets sprawled all over.



“Alright Miss…” Sylvester told her, making his way through to the kitchen, far less embarrassed being seen in his long-johns than he would have months ago, in his own time: much had changed for him, since then.



‘For instance,’ he thought idly, ‘I can now make a cup of tea, without nearly burning the house down.’ He was still banned from using the toaster though.



And in less than ten minutes he returned to the front room, where Tabbi was now pouring over her LP collection, ‘looking for something,’ she told him still looking, after he asked, “What are you doing?”



He set her mug of tea down near her armchair, then sat amidst his blankets, watching her fascinated, as she looked at title after title: “The waters on,” he told her.



He had mastered the immersion and, could heat the water, for a bath.



“Thanks,” Tabbi told him as she stood, an LP carefully held in her hands. She sat next to Sylvester, again cross-legged.



She leant down, to pick up her mug of tea and took a sip of the hot brew, then turned to Sylvester, to show him what she’d found.



“See this,” Tabbi began, showing him the front cover: “Well, it’s the last album Bob Calvert was one I think and, it’s illegal really...”



“Howso?” Sylvester queried.



Tabbi flipped the album over, showing an image of a diagram, of plugs insides: “It shows how to wire a plug wrong and, it’s illegal…” She paused and drew a breath, “and, Bob Calvert played on his last tour in seventy eight, as far as I recall. He played with Hawklords on their Twenty Five Years Tour, which was kind of Hawkwinds and, then he was on this…”



She held the album up again, to illustrate the incorrectly wired plug, “And, that was it then. Boy, I’d so liked to have seen that fellow play live…” And Tabbi smiled.





Half an hour later Tabbi busied herself over the stove, preparing their bacon butties.

“You coming down to the basement, after my bath?”



“Why?” He called out.



“I thought you might like to see your machine work properly?” She answered moments later, as she left the kitchenette, two plates in hand.



As they sat eating, he thought about what she had said, unaware that Tabbi was surreptitiously watching him, to gauge his reaction to her news: after all, she knew how wary he was of all technologies, since using it.



Finally he looked up from his empty plate and he asked, “You’ve got it together and ready to work?”



Tabbi looked at him, a wide grin on her face as she explained, “Once I got the machine back together, I had to figure out what went wrong….”



“You want to use it for yourself?” He asked, with incredulity sounding in his voice.



Briefly she laughed, “Of course silly… Why else do you think I’ve been with that manual every night for the last few months instead of out with a fella?”



‘Scandalized, Scandalized, I refuse to be scandalized…’



Her straightforward manner still surprised him, even after all this time.



But, he chose to ignore the remark, intent on learning what she had planned for his infernal machine.



“Look,” she told him, “you come on downstairs with me, after my bath and, we’ll see what we see, alright?



Sylvester just nodded, in shock: she had got the machine going?



The date had been chosen and set, prior to his companion inviting him down to the basement, he realized as he took his seat next to her.



Once he did, Tabbi turned to him with a grin on her face: “Are you going to fasten up?”



Sylvester looked at his young friend, bemusement showing on his face.



“The seat-belt silly! Buckle-up…” She instructed, illustrating what to do with her own seatbelt.



“These are new to the specs…”he noted.



“Yes Sylvester,” she responded with mirth in her voice, “after seeing your landing, I’d thought seat-belts might be good idea…”

Sylvester recalled the machine crash-landing onto the canal towpath well, having lain amongst the twisted metal for much of the night and the following morning, until Tabbi had found and rescued him. So, he felt honour-bound, to travel with Tabbi, on her first trip, using his machine.



He ‘buckled-up’, as suggested, idly appraising the outfit his companion wore; faded to white shin tight jeans, with the knees worn out, which hung from her hips, a sleeveless white tee-shirt that actual hid little of her apple-sized perfection; and aside from eighteen-hole combat boots, a heavy black belt hung low, from three of her jeans belt-loops, the heavy belt-buckle hanging down almost to her crotch.



As ever, he was dressed in his maroon frock-coat, dress trousers and Italian-made ankle-boots. With the outfit, he’d chosen to wear a white



The two counters set on the left of what was euphemistically called the steering column; but in reality, was nothing more than something to hold onto, whilst the craft tore apart the very fabric of time itself.



To the right of the column, or the joystick, as Tabbi called it, there was a button, a start button. There had been a switch, with a key input; but the key had been lost in time, so an alternative had to be found. And, a simple switch had been the answer for Tabbi, who liked the sheer simplicity of it,



Briefly she eyed the two sets of numbers, in milled discs, set with a bakelite setting on the console, just to the left of the switch, they were original and, still working.



With her re-build, Tabbi had made only two more changes from the original specification, as shown in the manual, found amongst the wreckage.



A black Walkman, was attached to the base of the console, with two external speakers fastened to the left and right of the well at the base of the console.



And, she had changed the colour of the machine. Originally it had been red and black, with a lot of chrome, on display.



Now, the excess chrome was gone and the machine, sled and disc were a uniform colour, silver. Tabbi had her reasons for that, of course.



“So when are we travelling to Tabbi?” Sylvester asked, turning to looking at his young friend, running his right hand through his mane of wild hair.



“Nineteen seventy-eight, to see Hawkwind…”



“Hawkwind?” He queried, eyebrows raised. Sylvester frowned at the mention of the band: surprised that of all the places she might have thought of, this was it.



“Uh-huh,” she replied absently, checking the controls.



“Well, why then?”



“Why not?” She replied, looking up from the controls a moment, “Bob Calvert was playing his last gig before he severed his ties with the band. Yet, he was on the first album brought out as the newly reformed Hawkwind…”



“And?”



“And we’re going to watch Hawklords play…” She added.



“Hawkwind, Hawklords? You know these names mean…” He was going to say ‘little to me’, when Tabbi interjected.



“Remember that record I showed you this morning?” She asked him.



Sylvester nodded.



“Well nineteen seventy-eight is where we’re going. I want to see Bob Calvert play. After all, much of the bands most influential output came from then and…”



He could hear the enthusiasm in her voice and, he liked it.



“Well, that’s why we’re going to nineteen seventy-eight Sylvester…” she continued, pressing rewind on the cassette machine.



Finally satisfied that she had found the track she was looking for, Tabbi turned to look at Sylvester, a wide-eyed, wild looking broad grin spread across her young face.



“Well old man, are you ready?”



Sylvester wasn’t ready. He never would be ready to travel in time again; yet here he was. He nodded and replied, “Yes.”



Turning to Sylvester, Tabbi grinned, “Ready to rock ‘n roll?” Then she grinned wider still at the look of bemusement on his face.



“You’ll see old man,” Tabbi said with a smile, as she set the lower display for the endpoint destination, then engaged the disc, then she pressed play on the cassette-machine.



And, as Hawkwinds ‘Silver Machine’ came from the speakers, the disc began to whirr round, faster and faster.



Then she pulled a lever back, engaging the machines special awareness, so it would not materialise inside solid matter.



The lever, the special regulator, adjusted the shield, that began to form around the machine, as the as the disc began to gain speed.



And the shield shimmered around the machine and, as a wild wind emanated from the machine as time reversed outside the crafts protective sphere.



Meanwhile, a panicky Sylvester thought back to the beginning of the day and, clutching the edges of the bench seat till his knuckles showed white, he closed his eyes hard, just as Tabbi turned the sound up and, synthesised lyrical sound filled the ball of energy:



I, I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean

Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by

The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been



And it flies sideways through time, it's an electric line

To all the zodiac signs



I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

In my silver machine



It flies out of a dream, it's antiseptically clean

You gotta know what I mean

Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by

The other side of the sky in a silver machine?



I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

I got a silver machine

(Silver machine)

I got a silver machine

(Silver machine)

In my silver machine



I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean

Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by

The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been



I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

I got a silver machine (Silver machine)

I got a silver machine (Silver machine)



In my silver machine



Silver machine

Silver machine

Silver machine

Silver machine



I, I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean

Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by

The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been...



And, as the music peaked, they rematerialized, in nineteen-seventeen eight. Tabbi had timed the track well.



Tabbi looked round, as the energy sphere diminished; "An alleyway. That's useful..."



She scrambled to the floor and went round the Sylvesters side.

"Here," she said to Sylvester, reaching out a hand, "let me help you."



Sylvester blinked twice, then opened his right eyes first and grinned.



“Well I’ll be… It worked!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together.



“What did you expect?” Tabbi asked, scowling.



“So what did you expect?” She added, helping him undo his seatbelt.



“No, don’t answer that…” she told him, before he could think of an answer.



“Just, c’mon…” Tabbi told him, grabbing hold of his left hand in her right.



“Where to?” He asked.



“The Empire theatre, of course…”



And time passed, finally a couple of hours later: As the milling crowd left The Empire theatre, Sylvester glanced toward his young friend a light smile playing on his face.



“I mean, the set was different than I expected and, Dave Brock was as good, or better than I’ve heard on an LP, but when they played Silver Machine’, I was a little disappointed. They played it shorter and well, it sounded … different.”



It was evident from the radiant expression on her face and her rapidfire speech that she’d enjoyed the concert: although, for him, concert was hardly the right word to use. ‘After all, where was the Schubert, or the Mozart?”



“But, you’re glad you came?” He asked her, grinning.



Tabbi stopped walking, turned and looked at her companion, “Oh-Boy, am I? I’m really dead pleased with what I saw and heard. I mean, it was a one-off opportunity and a chance to see Hawklord with Bob Calvert, who was well Bob Calvert; and all just before Hawkwind reformed proper… and…”



As they dodged people in the street, walking back to their very own silver machine, a piece of paper blew and straight onto Sylvester’s face. He removed it, looking at what was written on it.



“Tabbi?” He asked after a few moments.



“Yes?” She responded curiously.



“With all your vast knowledge of the music scene in Liverpool, do you know where Erics is?” He asked, recalling some terms of reference he had heard over the previous several months.



“I have an idea where it is, but why?” She queried.



“Well, can we go there on…?



“Why?”



“Tabbi, Debbie Harry are playing then…. And, I would like to go see her perform…” He answered quietly, almost as if he were in confession.



“What!” She exclaimed, “How’d you know of Debbie Harry?”



Wringing his hands behind his back and blushing somewhat, Sylvester looked to Tabbi and told her, “I saw her on Top Of The Pops….”



And, with a wide grin on her face, Tabbi admonished, “You watch Top Of The Pops!”



Sylvester started walking again, with Tabbi rushing after him, “Well, I like watching Pans People… Maybe Babs isn’t the best at dancing, boy does she have lovely legs!”



“So we know you like seventies…” She said with a smile. Then taking his left hand in her right she added, “Now it’s time to head home Sylvester…”



“Good,” he retorted, “I want to relax with a cup of tea, after all that…”



“So it’s back to the Eighties, alright?” Tabbi exclaimed with a clap of her hands.



“Uhuh…” Sylvester responded, then went quiet a moment, before asking: “Tabbi, where did we leave the machine?”





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COMMENTS

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OccamsRazor
12:17 Oct 01 2011

Very cute :)

Where did they leave the machine and why did he not go hear Debbie Harry?

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POST COMMENT

There had been three cartoon classes in england. I went to the one in Liverpool.

A guy with hair like Brian May, named Ian Herring ran it.



He stood before us that first day and said to us: "you each sit there at one fifteen or so, scribbling away, at your drawings and poems and stories, thinking you're the only one."



and he pointed around the class, then said; "You're a class of "only one's".





I do recall that on one occasion, Nick Parks came to visit and, at time we'd been shoved in the smallest room in the building, other than a closet; right next to reception.



I'd been late, asked where 'what rooms the comic class in'... ran in, well walked fast.. and, walked onto Nick Parks open portfolio and his drawings of wallace and gromit.

*Intended for Adults









~ * ~







The rain had fallen hard on the windscreen of the oldstyle, little mini, of dark blue. The sky had got black and, blacker still, as they had approached the tall, imposing black wrought-iron gates.



Brian, her friend Brian, he of the glasses and woollen murky orange and black checked sports jacket, had gone into the rain to get to the gates and intercom, just to the left, running to them, a newspaper over his head, clutched there with both hands.



He was kind. He was always kind to her. And, she suspected that he loved her. Maybe that’s why the young man to this party, held at the house of their boss’s silent partner.



Thomas Reville was a young man, Lita had heard, adjusting the mirror and her lipstick, as Brian spoke to security, which had obviously given clearance, as moments later he returned to the car, opened the door, as the rain fell hard. Then, as the gates had opened, Brian had started the engine and they’d driven into the grounds, up the long, winding gravel path, toward the house.



And, Brian had opened the door for her, as Lita had stepped gracefully out of the back, as he held the front seat forward. ‘Yet, getting out of a mini like this, could never be described as graceful,’ she had thought, as she tried.



Then as they had walked up the steps, Brian had slipped her coat from her bare shoulders and the flowing golden gown, with a plunging back and, the door opened, held by a butler, who took the coat from the young man, saying to him dismissively, “I’ll ensure this will be looked after, sir…”



She had noticed the expression on Brian’s face, on the inside the house, on the other side of the imposing butler Lita had heard the music from inside the grand white hallway and, through an open door, heard the laughter of revellers.



Lita had turned to her friend, the young puppy from the office and smiled to him benignly, “I’ll be fine.”



Then, stepping past the butler, she had entered the house her ears intent on hearing every sound and, her eyes needing to see, more.



The butler had closed the door, on Brian; but by then Lita had forgotten the journey to the house, so alive was she, to the delights on offer.



Even now, as she was whirled by one man in smart dress, by an extended long slender arm, the office was forgotten, there were so many smiles around her, midst this large room, of elegant people.



A waiter passed and, Lita stopped dancing, long enough to sip from the long fluted glass, enjoying the sensation of the bubbles tickling her nose.



She rubbed at her nose and, from across the room a man smiled as she did so. Lita noticed the smile and, blushing, put her hand to her light bosom, her heart already increasing.



‘There was something; something about him,’ she thought, pupils dilating, as the dancers parted and, her crossed the room toward her. And quite unconsciously, Lita licked at her top lip slowly, aware that she was finding herself feeling aroused and moreso, the nearer he got.



Then just two feet away he stopped, smiling a wide smile that showed many perfect teeth, as he ran a hand through the long fringe of corn-blonde hair, sweeping away from his eyes, and the tip over his left ear.



And when he spoke, Lita heard every word in her ear and, down below, in her wanton aroused self and, just for a second, she felt scared. That didn’t last long though and, soon she found herself drawn into his arms, as he continued to talk to her, lips just scant inches from hers.



“Come with me, I have something for that pert nose,” he had said and yes, she felt so tempted. So, of course, thankful she had left her glasses in her bag with Brian, Lita looked deep into his flint grey eyes, her warm blue, seeing blur.



Yet she was there, with The Man, Thomas Reville: what did it matter that she could see him, Lita could feel his arousal, for her. And, she liked it.



She had nodde and, with a dimple-creating smile, the fellow led Lita through the crowd of dancers, toward some double-doors, which he slid open.



She had not noticed the smiles drop from the happy-looking room of people, as he closed the doors, thankful to be there, with such a powerful man.



They had snorted several lines of cocaine, before the room grew incredibly hot and he had lain back onto a wide double bed, looking at her, standing before the long cabinet, where the cocaine sat and, it’s long mirror that reflected her vulnerability, to his rapacious gaze.



“Dance for me, undress for me…” he had instructed, in a that mellow voice, she’d grown to Love, so much. And, awhirl with a heady mix of intoxicant, Lita picked up on the beat of the music, that mysteriously started, playing from, somewhere.



And, glassy-eyed, she danced, her movements amateurish, but well-intended. Lita wanted to please this powerful man, ‘after all,’ she considered, ‘that could only be good, for me.’



Finally the music had stopped, so did she, opening her eyes to look in the direction of Thomas Reville, whose party it was, whose drink she had consumed; and whose drugs she had imbibed.



The young woman couldn’t see the camera’s on tripods, in the far corners of the room, each of them pointed, toward the bed.



She could she his figure before her and, he his voice, as he told her, “I’m just taking a few shots of you, while you undress. Alright?”



Lita realized it wasn’t a question. She wondered if he knew who she was and, did it matter to her, really, at that very moment, as she reached behind herself, unzipping her dress.



“Oh yes,” he encouraged, “nice and slow, nice and slow.”



She was sure he was naked. ‘Although,’ she thought with a tremour of thought, ‘so will I be, soon.’



That thought tickled her and continued to amuse as the dress fell to the floor.



And, Lita stood there, finally, her svelte, body warm to his touch, when he did. And those fingers glided over her flesh, stopping brief at the delicate lingerie she had chosen to wear, for a moment such as this.



It was quickly divested and, that was then he had pushed something into her hands, “Wear this… for me…” he had requested. An again, Lita had realized it was more than a request. She knew she would wear the Demons headmask, if that were what he wanted. So Lita slipped it on, over her head and, Thomas held her, his desire for her apparent against her thigh, as he whispered, “I want you.”



Within the mask she had smiled, as his finger teased her flesh and she thought, ‘His nipples are as hard as mine.’



She was ready, for anything, Lita thought as he led her to his bed.



And, lying back, the young woman opened her legs wide, running her hands across her inner thighs, offering him herself, if her wanted. He did.



Thomas lay upon her, angling his hips so that his hard shaft enter her easily and, Lita mewled softly with pleasure, as he filled her.



In and out he thrust, the speed getting faster and then, he stopped, leaving Lita panting hard, inside the Demons headmask.



“I … want … something…” the man had panted out. And, Lita wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering as she tightened against his welcome intrusion.



“Anything… for you…” She murmured, and meant it.



Lita submitted to his kiss, once he’d removed the wooden headmask, then enjoyed his thrusting, driving, heated coupling that lasted, for a long time.



And then he paused again, reaching beneath the bed, for something.



“Wear this,” he told her and, Lita did as he commanded, for course.



Again it was a mask, although much lighter, perhaps made of plastic?’ she considered as Lita allowed this man, this powerful man, to slide it up on her face, using an elastic to hold it in place.

And as he entered her again, Lita almost forgot that she wore it, for him. Almost…



Again, he thrust in and out of her welcoming warm wetness, the speed getting faster as Lita wrapped her legs around the pit of his back and then, he stopped, holding her hips tight, as Thomas exclaimed, “Oh yes…” and, shot his seed deep.



The demeaning words that followed as he dressed, mattered little to the woman who had removed the mask, she had worn for him. And Lita held it outstretched, so that she could see the image he had chosen for her to wear, for him.



What she saw was a darker reflection of the slut she had become, for this powerful man and, she hated it. Yet, still she stayed.



Tears quickly fell…



And as the rain continued to fall, Brian continued to wait in his small mini, outside the house called ‘Satans Pit’, while his adored Lita lay waiting, to see what might happen next, to the one who’d worn the mask of a painted woman.

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
03:24 Sep 16 2011

xD I like this this one. Made me giggle.

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Loki1313
14:40 Sep 24 2011

Yes, I like your stories and what you call ramblings. I just never find the right words to leave for you.

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POST COMMENT

Both Kevin and Lauren sat mouth open, until he closed his momentarily before asking, “You’re talking of The Fates, aren’t you?”



“Yes,” Moira whispered, “even the lives of the Immortals were within our vision and, that was not… appreciated, shall I say.” As she spoke, the old woman watched Kevin sip at his own drink: and, she smiled.





Chapter Four – When Is A Door Not A Door?





“This all sounds so crazy!” Lauren exclaimed.



“But, no more than both of us dreaming of this place, or The Porthole…” Kevin reminded.



“Ah, The Porthole…” Moira sighed: “Each of them sought their own Porthole: shortcuts on their own pathway…”



She was talking to herself now.



“Huxley and Morison thought they’d found a door to perception, whilst poor Vincent…



“…he just, couldn’t comprehend what he saw, although his visions were quite lovely. Yet…” And, again, a tear fell, at the thought of the gentle man, of mixed character, who had so easily found his darker side.



She sighed: “It hardly mattered in the end. Just like, the others.”



Lauren and Kevin had not been the first that Moira had directed through Dreamweaving. But, she hoped that they would be the last she would help, on her own.



The old woman picked up the tray, glancing idly at the pair at the table, now silent.



Both Lauren and Kevin’s bodies had sat motionless as Moira continued to chatter to herself, their unblinking eyes an indication that each of them where elsewhere.



“Zeus took my sisters… leaving me…” And, as she finished drying the cups, Moira looked for the word she needed; a word that she loathed; “…alone.”



Then, turning back to the doorway, the woman pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders, as a wry smile spread across her face: Moira knew, the mistake that so many had made, was to make that journey on their own. They… needed unity, to survive.



They needed to be as The One.



“If they find the porthole, together and, come return to me, then I will have found the two I’ve been looking for,” she said, to the endless shelves of books.



As her words died, two people walked through Elysian Fields, beneath a fine-blue sky that had mountains of white fluffiness to it.



They were slowly approaching two marble columns of a width of thirty cubits, a distance of a hundred and fifty cubits from each other, their tops disappearing into the sky.



Both Lauren and Kevin were naked, as these non-corporeal astral forms had no need of clothing. And, each of them had quickly lost all trace of modesty, realizing that it were fascicle, in a place such as that they had found themselves in.



“They look so far away,” Kevin said to her.



And Lauren smiled, her eyes dancing with merriment, finding herself filled with a warm sense of contentment, emanating toward her from ahead, filling her, caressing her.



She hoped he felt as she and, squeezing his hand gently, turned to her companion, an almost blissful smile playing upon her lips.



And, Lauren reminded him, “But, the journey there will be pleasant, with company.”



Kevin didn’t hesitate, before answering and, taking her other hand he looked to her face, “Yes, it will…”



They stood, like this for a long moment, the faint smell of jasmine floating lightly in the air. Then, parting from their embrace, Kevin took her left hand in his right and, leading the way, he trod lightly, amongst the flowers of many colors.



And the couple continued their journey…

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
03:24 Sep 16 2011

Squee~~~ Such a good ending!!~

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POST COMMENT

Chapter Three – Answers and, More Questions





A question needed to be asked and, had needed to be asked since Lauren had taken her seat at the small table. And, having listened to all she had, Lauren decided to ask it Now. Yet, before she asked, a frowning Kevin did, “Please, what’s your name?”



“My name? My name? It’s something I haven’t used for many years. And, back then, there were three of us…” the old woman replied obscurely, her words distant and wistful, as she stood and walked toward the back of the counter and the rear of the shop.



“Why don’t you sit down young man,” she called through, “I’ll make you both a hot drink… if you’d like?”



“Thanks…?” Kevin responded as he sat in the vacated seat, with a pause that seemed to require an answer.



“Moira…” she called back, “call me Moira.”



With her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, Lauren stared over the Crystal ball, toward Kevin, a look of total confusion on her face; “I can’t imagine why I’m here.”



“Because you dreamed the place?” He asked in turn, removing his hat, furling it in on itself and setting it on the table before him.



“Yes, but I don’t normally have dreams that lucid. Do you?” Lauren asked.



“Of late, I have…” Kevin admitted, his gaze on the room at the back, where Moira had disappeared moments earlier.



“Really…?” Lauren quizzed.



“Uh huh, just recently my dreams have been disturbing me somewhat, with the reality, or unreality of them…” He answered.



“And?”



“It was the last, the most… unreal, that drew me here….” Kevin responded.



“Whereas mine are cryptic…” Lauren explained, “and then, there was the last. That one had almost like going to the pictures, with knowledge of the address, somehow supplied, as well.”



“And, we’re both here… aren’t we?” Lauren countered, with a smile.



“Yes, we are…” Kevin said, sitting back, crossing his arms.



At that point, Moira busied out from the dark of the back of the shop, a silver tray in her hands, with a teapot, cups and saucers on it, with a small plate of cookies.



“Ah, you’re getting on famously, I see…” Moira said, beaming.



She set the tray down on the table, and then picked up the crystal and stand and, turning to the counter, she set it down.



As the old woman returned to the table, Kevin stood to offer the chair.



“Oh there’s no need for that young man,” Moira replied graciously, one hand on the counter-top, “these old knees of mine need exercise, every Now and Then.”



Stepping forward once more she picked up the teapot and asked, “Now, shall I be Mother?”



Lauren looked to Kevin, then back to Moira and she smiled herself, “By all means.”



As the tea was poured into two cups he asked, “The names you mentioned. What were they looking for in The Porthole.”



“Ah now,” Moira began, looking up with a grin on her face, “Now that was the right thing to ask, my young friend…”



Lauren looked to Kevin, one eyebrow raised.

“The people you mentioned, there were a lot of years between them all… and yet, you say they came to you…” He persisted, noting the interest that Lauren showed in his question.



“To ask about The Porthole?” she added.



“Ah yes,” she replied with a grin, “The Porthole. Let’s say that for those I talked of, it meant something more to each of them, than a book.”



“And they sought what then?” Kevin queried.



“They had been looking to a doorway to another reality, that’s just outsside what you know now…” she told him.



“So why did they come to you?” Lauren queried, sipping at her drink..



“They each knew something of the myths…” Moira answered flatly.



“What myths?” Kevin asked; his curiosity piqued somewhat.



Sorrow in her voice Moira told him, “My sisters and I had a reputation for truth. And, we’d a way of seeing things that others could not. Even the Gods were afeared of us…”



“You and your sisters? The Gods?” Lauren exclaimed: “Explain, please?”



Slowly the old woman told them, “The Romans called us the Parcae, the Germanic people called us the Norms and, Shakespeare wrote of the three witches…” then with a grin she added, “and, that had tickled me.”



Both Kevin and Lauren sat mouth open, until he closed his momentarily before asking, “You’re talking of The Fates, aren’t you?”



“Yes,” Moira whispered, “even the lives of the Immortals were within our vision and, that was not… appreciated, shall I say.” As she spoke, the old woman watched Kevin sip at his own drink: and, she smiled.

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ElectroDolly
15:52 Sep 12 2011

Squee~ Love it ^^

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“Now, you can’t tell me I’ll meet a ‘tall dark stranger’…” ‘After all,’ she thought with more than a trace of wry amusement, ‘the fellow introduced himself to us, by name.’





Chapter Two – Connections Make for Strange Bedfellows





‘We may have been introduced, but I still don’t know him,’ Lauren mused, choosing to ignore the references made toward the man as the old woman patted her hand once again.



She then continued to talk, slowly, each word drawn out: “You wanted to know about The Porthole Miss?”



“You know of it? What can you tell me about it? Erm, do you have a copy?” Lauren asked, her words tumbling out, all at once.



And from where he knelt, Kevin’s eyes opened wide beneath the lens of his glasses, as he heard the question.



Smiling a tight-lipped smile, the old woman looked to Lauren, and taking her right hand in her left as she spoke, she patted the back of Lauren’s hand with her right hand, “You’re not the first to ask about that book…”



Lauren shook for a moment, filled with repressed exultation.



Steam rose from Kevin’s wet coat, the damp, dank smell it made further adding to the fusty, musty, dusty smell of the antique book emporium.



Still fascinated, by what he had heard from her, Kevin drew his eyes from the two women, to gaze at the healthy-looking half-moons of flesh, seemingly trying to escape the confines of her black corset with red trim, worn over a white red blouse.



“I think we’re after the same thing, you and me…”



Noting where he was looking Lauren scowled, “Oh, I seriously doubt it.”



Once more the old woman patted Lauren’s hand, as she sighed a distinctly melancholic sigh, as she began to talk again, “Van Gogh, De Vinci, Huxley and Morrison, men of their time… All dreamed of the book, like you…” She began, nodding briefly to Kevin and then Lauren, who looked to him, with surprise evident on her.



‘You as well?’ she mouthed.



Kevin nodded, as the old woman continued talking, “Dreamers all, whilst still having a foot in this world…” And she paused, her eyes closed a moment and smiled, only to open them with a sigh: “Except for poor Vincent…”



“Poor Vincent. Truly a tortured soul…” she mumbled, as a tear rolled down the old woman’s left cheek, “Poor Vincent. Truly a tortured soul…”

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ElectroDolly
07:45 Sep 11 2011

Eeek my name is in this haha. over all really intriguing story~

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Chapter One – A Stranger, till met





The weather had been at its worst and it had rained for hour and would continue to pour. Lauren, a woman of maturity, yet still in her youth, had origins of dark and light. Protected in trench-coat and water proof parasol through the rain, she at last reached the book store hidden in gothic architecture. Safe. Dry. Yet still a bit cold she entered the candle lit welcoming, creepy and medieval-looking bookstore. "What does await me here...?" She mused finding her own way deeper in.



Opening and closing her umbrella a little, to rid it of the excess water, Lauren looked around, amazed that so much dust could sit on the top of a row of books, without bringing the shelf down, beneath it’s weight. She hung the parasol over the lower half of her right arm, then continued walking.



She walked between old and dusty bookshelves, that created an avenue toward the center of the shop, where a woman sat before a small cloth covered table; a small woman, wrapped in silks and robes.



The woman was old-looking, Lauren noted, as she unbuttoned her coat, revealing her daywear; a white blouse, a black A-line skirt and around her waist, a front-fastening black corset, with red trim, that fastened at the front, acting to emphasize her bust, already a generous size, some might say.



On her feet, she wore blood-red high-heels, that echoed, click-click, across the old, uneven stone, which made up the shops floor.



Finally Lauren was within feet of the old woman, hunched over a crystal ball, on a walnut base, her hand’s moving over it in semi-circular motion.



The old woman looked up and, as a slow benign smile spread across the heavily wrinkled face, then she said in a croaky voice, “Yes Lauren, what can I do for you?”



Eyes opening wide with surprise the young woman asked, “How do you know my name, or that I want something?”



At that moment, a cough drew the attention of both women, to a third person, in the old shop and, heads turned to see who had spoken.



From behind a line of shelving, a face appeared between two-parted books peering toward them, gaunt, clean-shaven and wearing, small round glass-frame lenses.



Replacing the books, a figure appeared from behind the shelves; a tall man, wearing a black leather cap, tilted to an angle, a long black coat, fastened tightly at the waist. As he walked to where the two women stood, the fellow opened his coated, to reveal clothing that was bright and style well, in a dark brown and a forest green waistcoat, of threads so metallic, the garment seemed to shine in the dim light hanging over the table.



“You have a fire,” he stated, pointing to a small electric heater near the old woman’s feet, “Would you mind if’n I warm myself up ladies?”



The old woman looked up, as the fellow stepped forward, smiling brightly, “I’m Kevin, Kevin Foster and, boy is it good, to be out of the rain.”



Then, as he knelt by the small fire, warming his hands, Lauren looked toward the old woman with a grin on her face, “Now, you can’t tell me I’ll meet a ‘tall dark stranger’…”



‘After all,’ she thought with more than a trace of wry amusement, ‘the fellow introduced himself to us, by name.’

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ElectroDolly
04:42 Sep 03 2011

I remember my RP anywhere xD

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