Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Waddled to the Bathroom Door

  • by Kentmixes my metaphors like a martini
  • ritualistic signature
  • People are disgusting.
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • removed the latex gloves

Tune in next time part 130                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I waddled to the bathroom door, with Tallulah ecstatically aboard for the ride. Sure enough, no lock. I managed to jam one of my discarded shoes underneath, and then leaned back on the door to use our combined weight as a further impediment to unannounced entrances.

I wanted to ask her why she thought her husband might barge in on us. I wanted to ask her why she tracked me down in Contraria, why all the disguises. I had more questions than a one-armed paper-hanger on a frozen pond. Having sex with Tallulah always mixes my metaphors like a martini on roller skates. So, none of my questions were likely to get asked, much less answered, for a little while.

No longer constrained by hiding within my oversized clothing, she had room to execute her ritualistic signature finishing move. I was glad the door was sturdy, and the floor not too slippery, and that Tallulah toned down her usual yodeling crescendo.

I was on the verge of my own crescendo when one of the stalls swung open. The janitor had been cleaning that toilet the entire time. He tutted, then said, “People are disgusting.” The job in there had evidently been strenuous. He mopped his forehead, then recovered his shiny silk hat and long red cape from the hook on the back of the stall door.

Looking in our direction, he slowly removed the latex gloves. He sneered.

“Um,” I said as Tallulah purred against my neck and writhed against the rest of me. “Is your husband by any chance a janitor?”

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The Whispering Waiter Withdrew

  • by jenfour kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose
  • “I’m going to tell you something, honey.”
  • very enchanting conversational powers
  • “Ooo boy!”
  • a sleek little black bra

Tune in next time part 129                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The whispering waiter withdrew. The name he’d given was a familiar one because it was not his. It was instead one of the standard aliases used by the agency. If I had a dollar for every “Graham Crackers” I had met in the course of my career, I’d be able to buy four kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose.

I nibbled my smore politely and listened to the gossiping of the arms merchants. Inside my jacket, Tallulah began squeezing again. Her message this time was, “I’m going to tell you something, honey.” She may be the most dangerous woman in the world, but she has very enchanting conversational powers when she’s hidden inside ones clothes, and what she told me — well, honey, I’ll just say that it sent me straight back to the restroom.

“Ooo boy!” she cooed as soon as we were alone again. She quickly stripped the both of us.

It took her a while. Underneath the old man costume she’d had the Svetlana getup, and beneath that was the Tessa disguise. Now she wore only her Tallulah uniform, which consisted of a sleek little black bra and nothing else.

“Lock the door,” she ordered. “We can’t risk my husband walking in on us. Or your wife. Or Graham Crackers.”

She clambered aboard and got down to business before I could tell her the door had no lock.

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Tallulah Signalled Me So Frantically

  • by Kentcan’t you hear the thunder?
  • there’s a man with a gun over there
  • with great firmness
  • Our plans worked to perfection
  • his was a familiar name

Tune in next time part 128                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tallulah signalled me so frantically I thought I might need to fake another coughing fit. The message was, “Can’t you hear the thunder?” which I recognized from the agency codebook. The meaning: “Shut up before I strangle you from inside your own fancy clothes!” The agency had a very comprehensive codebook.

The waiter remained calm. He said, “Sir, there’s a man with a gun over there. And over there, and there, and there… all the way around your table.” He plated my dessert with great firmness, and as he set it before he said, “Our plans worked to perfection, but then so did our adversaries’. This is how it is sometimes.” He deftly knocked my fork off the table, and stooping to pick it up put his face near enough my ear introduce himself in a discreet whisper.

His was a familiar name.

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The Young Waiter Flambeed the Smores Tableside

  • by jendied to a faint murmur
  • only trying to protect her son
  • strange, but harmless enough
  • because of their stormy marriage
  • in his velveteen uniform

Tune in next time part 127                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The young waiter flambéed the smores tableside, as is customary in Contraria. In his velveteen uniform he had to take care not to set his sleeves on fire. As he dished our individual portions I studied his face, trying to place that magnificent chin. Beneath my tuxedo jacket, Tallulah began a new series of peculiar pulsations. These squeezes were short and businesslike, not erotic, and in just a few moments I realized she was communicating through Morse Code.

Because of their stormy marriage, Tallulah and her husband often resorted to giving each other the silent treatment. But, being in the line of work they were, they still needed to communicate, so they mastered non-verbal techniques such as this one. It was strange, but harmless enough.

Her message to me was a desperate explanation of all of her prior bad deeds and how she was only trying to protect her son. My son. Our son.

I looked up at the waiter in shock and said, “Is it true? Am I your father?”

The conversations around me died to a faint murmur as I awaited his answer.

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Fortunately the Arms Merchants

  • by Kentlight on the android-cyborg banter
  • wiped clean with a tissue
  • Farming, basically.
  • I fantasize about the hospital
  • very well-defined chin

Tune in next time part 126                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fortunately the arms merchants I was suddenly dining with didn’t expect a lot of conversation from me, and had the decorum to at least pretend not to notice the tantric pulsations of my tuxedo jacket. The man with the blueprints began a meticulous explanation of the weird machine depicted in them, then apologized for forgetting to go light on the android-cyborg banter. “For what it’s worth,” he summed up, “this thing’s a little of both and a little something extra.”

Tallulah squealed and shuddered. I thumped my chest, which was actually her back, and said, “Excuse me.” She ground against my lap, and I could hear her panting. I faked a coughing fit to cover both her noises and my own climactic moment. When I regained my composure I felt myself being wiped clean with a tissue. It was consideration I wouldn’t have expected from Tallulah.

The man to my right said, “That’s a nasty case of Contrary Lung you’re working on. God, I hate this country. There’s nothing to do. Everybody spends all their time on subsistence. Farming, basically. It’s depressing!”

As the next blueprint is discussed, I fantasize about the hospital where all of these jerks would end up when their battle-monkeys turn against them. Then dessert arrived, served by a waiter with a very well-defined chin. He gave me a puzzling look, a knowing kind of stare, careful not to let the weapons dealers notice. I felt like I should recognize him, but I was sure I’d never seen him before in my life.

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You Know How a Guy is Supposed to Think About Baseball

  • by jenexcept his penis
  • you know that’s not allowed
  • applying his left thumb
  • four-limbed, ape-inspired robot
  • blue-gray eyes suddenly keen

Tune in next time part 125                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

You know how a guy is supposed to think about baseball to distract himself? I was like that guy, except his penis (my penis, if we’re being honest) didn’t cooperate. Tallulah didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as I crossed the last few yards to our table, she wriggled almost imperceptibly in time with my waddling stride and suddenly I was engulfed.

I whispered down into my jacket, “You know that’s not allowed!”

Tallulah’s only reply was a tightening of her grip. Her arms clenched my shoulders, her legs squeezed my waist, her… well, you get the picture.

I took both a steadying breath and my seat at the table, hoping Tallulah wouldn’t be too much of a distraction.

The man to my left said, “Your mother sent us.” He pulled a roll of blueprints from his briefcase and spread them out on the table, applying his left thumb to the corner to hold it down.

As Tallulah clenched and unclenched, I tried to make sense of what I was looking at. It seemed to be plans for some sort of crazy four-limbed, ape-inspired robot. And then I remembered Mother and Fleur’s father plotting at my wedding. They wanted to build an army of killbots, all designed to look like the deities of Contraria’s ancient enemies.

I caught my reflection upside-down inside a spoon, my blue-gray eyes suddenly keen. I was surrounded by arms dealers, and, thanks to Tallulah, in a very awkward position.

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“Took You Long Enough”

  • by KentYou think your great big husband will protect you?
  • fanciful scarves and costume jewelry
  • most of you aren’t taking photos of it
  • gripped my stick
  • men in loose-collared business suits

Tune in next time part 124                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Took you long enough,” Tallulah said.

The last thing I could afford was to show fear. Let her think of herself as the cornered one. “You think your great big husband will protect you?” I sneered. “Does he even know you’re here?”

“He’s in a shop two blocks from here, browsing fanciful scarves and costume jewelry. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m up to. The old-man disguise puzzled him, I’m sure, but he didn’t even ask about it.”

“Or about the other disguises underneath?” I asked.

“He didn’t know about those.” She flushed the toilet. “Men love when a woman pretends to be another woman. I’m surprised most of you aren’t taking photos of it all the time, even though they would just look like normal photos, if the disguises were any good.”

Tallulah approached, seeming to think I was going to let her resume her concealment under my coat. I wouldn’t have much choice if she became insistent, of course. Her combat skills were deadly, even more than her sister’s. But I hadn’t seen Tallulah in so long… Or hadn’t I? Her words echoed in my mind. “Took you long enough.” Her Tessa impersonation was impenetrable. How long had it been the wrong sister? When was the last time I had really seen Tessa?

Was there even a real Tessa?

With my state of mind so shattered, I couldn’t protest her move to reclaim her hiding spot. But I wasn’t much help to her, either, so she gripped my stick, as it were, to plant herself firmly in place and also to get my attention.

“Wait,” I spluttered, “what was all that about my son? Was that just to distract me? What’s your game, Tallulah?”

“We have to get back to the table,” she said. I waddled out of the restroom. Our table now held a completely new group, men in loose-collared business suits. I whispered this news to Tallulah.

“Huh,” she said. “They’re early.”

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As I Lumbered Around the Table on My Way to the Loo

  • by jenan extremely rare bluish black color almost unheard of in the US
  • all five of them
  • Boom.
  • when I first let Nathaniel move in
  • in a series of digital manipulations

Tune in next time part 123                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I lumbered around the table on my way to the loo, I was compelled to exchange greetings with a great many people. I knew that Tessa’s bladder was about to burst, so I shook hands in a series of digital manipulations so blindingly fast I got cramps in all of my fingers.

At last I burst into the little gentlemen’s room. After ejecting the attendant, Tessa and I had the space to ourselves. Tessa let go of my neck and slithered out the bottom of my jacket to stand on her own feet again. Her eyebrows rose when she took in the room.

“This reminds me of when I first let Nathaniel move in and he brought his porcelain doll collection,” she said. “Their creepy eyes follow you everywhere.”

As she peed she went on talking about how creepy Contrarian bathroom design is, but I couldn’t follow her. At her mention of Nathaniel my mind broke. Boom. Just broke.

“I thought you hated Nathaniel and all his brothers,” I interrupted. “Last I knew, all five of them were your mortal enemies.”

The person on the toilet, who I was now convinced was not really Tessa after all, stopped talking. She blinked, dislodging one of her tinted contacts and allowing her natural eye color to show through. The eye told me everything I needed to know. It was an extremely rare bluish black color almost unheard of in the US and it could only belong to one person. The most dangerous person I’d ever met. Tessa’s sister.

“Tallulah,” I breathed.

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“Yes, Please Explain”

  • by Kenttoo much Kafka
  • slightly off the perpendicular
  • my irrational optimism
  • tradition would dictate cod here
  • the one who’d peed all over everything

Tune in next time part 122                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Yes, please explain about my son,” I said, hurrying up the avenue to avoid any further encounters with people who might recognize me.

“Don’t bounce me so much,” Tessa complained from inside my borrowed tuxedo jacket. “I had too much Kafka this morning.” It was an old inside joke between us. From back when we were partners. I sympathized with her plight, my own bladder being what she currently used as a saddle. But it was hard to maintain smooth locomotion when my concealed passenger threw my posture slightly off the perpendicular, in more ways than one.

“Talk, it’ll distract you,” I suggested, hoping it would distract me too. “Explain everything.” She drew a deep breath, as if to begin a lengthy monologue.

My irrational optimism about learning about my so-called son was thwarted when a man dressed even more resplendently than I launched himself from the doorway of a bistro. The fussy maitre-d steered me into the establishment and directly to a table with other diners already consuming a complex feast.

“Tradition would dictate cod here,” said the lady at the head of the table. “But you know how it is with Contrarian traditions!”

As the entire table erupted in mirth, Tessa hissed up at me, “Get us to the restroom, unless you want to be remembered as the one who’d peed all over everything.”

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“I Don’t Have a Son, Tessa.”

  • by jeneating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food
  • on such gleaming skin
  • this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew
  • clasping her hands together in dismay
  • she periodically scrunches as she talks

Tune in next time part 121                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t have a son, Tessa,” I said, pinching my nose to stop the bleeding. “At least not yet. Are you talking about one of the children Fleur is carrying?”

Tessa has these muscles in her pelvis that she periodically scrunches as she talks. I’d never been aware of them before, but our current intimate embrace made them very obvious, even with our clothes separating us. Picture someone clasping her hands together in dismay, only, you know, not her hands. I tried to ignore it and focus on what she was saying.

“I’m not talking about your wife’s babies, dumbass. How would I know if they were boys or girls? I’m talking about your son.”

Before I could get her to explain, we were approached by Harry, the amphibian-faced object of Isolde’s affections. “Paul Gruber!” he shouted. “Where is Isolde?”

Paul Gruber was the name of the bodyguard whose jacket I was wearing as a disguise. Harry stomped up to me and his greasy visage underwent a remarkable transformation when he realized that this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew. It was as if no expression could gain traction on such gleaming skin.

I tried to run away before he regained his composure, but Tessa clinging to me like a baby marsupial slowed me considerably. Harry stumbled after me down the street, spluttering.

“You are practically useless,” Tessa grumbled, pelvic muscles clenching. “Why do I even bother with you?” In one fluid motion she detached herself from me and vaulted over my head to land on poor, hapless Harry. By the time I turned around she had him in a headlock and, much against his will, he was eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food she always kept in a zipper baggie in her pocket. It had an oatmeal-like consistency, and I knew from personal experience that it was laced with strong narcotics.

She tucked Harry, now snoring, into the space between two storefronts and, quick as the wind, resumed her place under my jacket.

Her muscles rippled again as she said, “Now, about your son…”

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