Tagged: mime

Tessa Steeled Herself With Another Chomp of Pickle

  • by Kenta lot of maraschino cherries
  • giggling under inappropriate circumstances
  • flirting with my husband forever
  • never done anything more musical than cupping his armpit
  • usually requires special eye drops

Tune in next time part 786      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa steeled herself with another chomp of pickle and continued her tale.

“They knew my mission was hopeless, but they sent me in anyway. They sent me in there for answers, knowing it’s impossible to make mimes talk. Well, I tried my best and all I did was make a bunch of very important enemies. It didn’t take long for them to catch on that I was up to something and lock me up. At first it wasn’t so bad, because they just put me in one of their invisible boxes. But I got sloppy and they figured out I was escaping, so then they used an actual cell.”

“You mean like in a jail?” I asked, smirking.

“It wasn’t jail!” Tessa grumbled. She bit into the pickle again. “You know what this needs? A nice garnish. Most bars have a lot maraschino cherries and shit like that. Can we get some?”

I signalled the bartender while making a rolling gesture to tell Tessa to go on with the story.

“Anyway, it was technically solitary confinement because I was the only one there. And being alone too much made me act weird, like giggling under inappropriate circumstances and hallucinating that I had a husband and then hallucinating that my sisters were flirting with my husband forever. Which, of course is what they would do. But giggling is against the rules, as is shouting at hallucinatory siblings, so my punishment kept getting extended. That’s why I was still there when another malcontent got put in the slammer and suddenly I had a cellmate. His crime: singing.”

I whistled. “That must be verging on treason in the mime community.”

She nodded, then shook her head. “It was a total frame-up. He had never done anything more musical than cupping his armpit, which they all do. It’s why their hands smell.” She glanced around. “Where the hell are those cherries? Whatever. The new guy’s name was Timmuth-E, which he told me in one of the many notes we passed back and forth. We wrote them on thin air with our fingertips, and reading them usually requires special eye drops but we got good at it. Eventually, he shared the information that enabled me to escape.”

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Brady Snapped his Fingers

  • by jenled from the room by a pretty nurse
  • “Still?”
  • another great splash
  • it tickles
  • time is not on our side

Tune in next time part 509      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brady snapped his fingers and I was led from the room by a pretty nurse who entered through the stone door. On the other side of that gaping entry was a lush garden with a fountain full of splashing fish in the center. I recognized it and my legs wobbled. “Slow down, Brady,” I said. “I’m woozy.”

“Still?” he sneered.

Something in the fountain gave another great splash. Maybe it wasn’t a fish at all…

“I took a lot of darts,” I said, playing up my disorientation. “And I spent a long time in the thin air of the Paradoxica Mountains. Down here there’s so much oxygen it tickles my lungs and brain.”

“Well get your shit together,” Brady said as he directed the nurse to seat me in the fountain. “The mimes have signed a treaty with the League of Tap Dancers, and time is not on our side.”

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If the Mime My Brother was Wrestling With had Any Hope of Escape

  • by jenbetter take cover
  • “Should I put my shoes back on?”
  • mere pinpricks
  • orgies are poorly designed experiments
  • use it in a rap song

Tune in next time part 421      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If the mime my brother was wrestling with had any hope of escape, she’d better take covert action, but mimes in general aren’t that well-trained tactically. This one was no exception. She soon took a needle to the neck and slumped in Jim’s arms.

Jem and Jem introduced some new steps to their writhing cobra yoga, circling around the herd of mimes and bunching them together like livestock. Working in unison like lithe corgis, they danced the group into the supply closet and slammed the door behind them.

“Finally,” said Jemma.

“Should I put my shoes back on?” asked Jemima.

“No need,”Jim drawled. “This is a pretty good place to hide out for a while.”

“Anyone want to untie me?” I asked. In truth my tape bonds were loose enough that I could escape if necessary, but I wanted to see how my siblings would treat me now that the mime threat had been neutralized. Were their consciences more than mere pinpricks?

Clyde was still in my lap, still “woofing” at me. Jim scooped him up and put him in a cage that had probably once held an army of lab rats. Jemma got a scalpel from a dissecting tray and began sawing through all the tape around my wrists. At least she was on my side.

Jemima, still barefoot, was reading the lab notes splayed on the worktop. She snorted. “Mime orgies are poorly designed experiments. No scientific rigor! Look at this.” She waved the disturbingly detailed sketches in my face. “What do you think Jason? Can you use it in a rap song?”

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“Jim, How Will We Defend This Place”

  • by Kentrelied more on firepower than martial arts
  • Rock and wiggle. Rock, then wiggle.
  • a contact high
  • taken a few too many painkillers
  • small mouth with crooked teeth

Tune in next time part 420      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Jim, how will we defend this place if the fire eaters attack?” I didn’t bother lisping, because Jim didn’t seem to care whether it was me or Jason taped to the chair. In fact, he hardly seemed to care that I was speaking, all his attention focused on Violet or Harriet Donut. “They’ll send the Draconis Corps, Jim!” The guild’s most fearsome warriors, like ninjas who relied more on firepower than martial arts — the power of literal fire spewing from their faces.

If Jim’s motive truly was to protect our sister, then he should have been treating me as an ally instead of a prisoner of war. Watching him try to argue with a mime, I concluded that if anyone was going to keep Domino from marrying Jem, it was going to have to be me. But I couldn’t do that if I was stuck in this chair, so I focused on working my way free. Rock and wiggle. Rock, then wiggle. Gradually the tape loosened.

Meanwhile, Jim and Violet or Harriet Donut spun through a silent pasodoble as he tried to jab her in the neck with a syringe. Jem and Jem sustained their cobra yoga, effectively neutralizing the rest of the mimes in the chamber. The weirdness of the scene before me made me wonder if I was getting a contact high, like I’d had a blood transfusion from someone who’d taken a few too many painkillers.

The sight of Clyde the mime-dog in my lap only deepened my distrust of my own senses, as he “barked” soundlessly, working his small mouth with crooked teeth bearing the message he had been conditioned not to voice.

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Even With Clyde in My Lap

  • by jenfully aware of the ten sets of eyes
  • His Grace petitioned the Count
  • Now he was bleeding
  • too smart for that school
  • I’d suggest no more than a thousand

Tune in next time part 419      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Even with Clyde in my lap, and Jim waving his camera around, I was fully aware of the ten sets of eyes — mime eyes — that were trained on my dancing sisters. I might still have a hope of escaping as long as Jem and Jem’s hypnotic cobra yoga held them entranced.

I had to make Jim see reason. “Our family has standards, Jim.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your standards, brother,” Jim snarled. “The fire eaters want to claim Jem, and I won’t have it! This is the only way to save her.”

“What’s the Lord Carnevale have to do with any of that?” I asked.

Jim sneered his first words. “His Grace petitioned the Count Flambé, leader of the largest fire eater guild, for Jem’s hand. Their marriage would seal a pact between those heartburn motherfuckers and the masked carnivalistos.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“So,” Jim continued, “I’m showing Lord Domino that we play hardball. If he doesn’t back off, something ugly will happen to Clyde.”

The little dog in my lap bared his teeth again, exposing the “woof” painted thereon.

The bicycling mime reentered the laboratory. Now he was bleeding from one nostril, and he had the Donut sister riding on his imaginary handlebars.

Jim tucked his camera into the pocket of his lab coat and grasped the Donut mime by the wrist. She began to flail about, hurling silent insults at us and at the Academy. The thrust of her nonverbal argument seemed to be that she was too smart for that school, but I distinctly remembered seeing her in its halls.

“Relax Ms Donut,” Jim said, thus perpetuating the mystery of which sister was which. “If you don’t calm down I’ll have to give you an injection.”

“I’d suggest no more than a thousand milliliters, and no less than nine hundred,” said Jemma. “Like most mimes she’s built up quite a tolerance.”

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What Jim’s Camera Couldn’t Capture

  • by Kentpure, undiluted flopsweat
  • a twisted petting zoo
  • I want to think the best of everyone
  • Apart from the masks
  • at his haunted castle

Tune in next time part 418      Click Here for Earlier Installments

What Jim’s camera couldn’t capture was my pure, undiluted flopsweat at the idea that this mime dog’s trainer might be in this very room, a twisted petting zoo where Clyde, the sole exhibit, was perched in my lap. Nobody who knows me would expect that I want to think the best of everyone, but I certainly want to think better of just about everyone than I thought of that mega-mime.

“Jim,” I said in a shaky voice, almost forgetting to lisp, “are you sure you know what you’re doing? Have you really considered all the angles here?”

“There is only one angle, dear brother,” Jim purred. “The right angle. That’s the one I’m workin’. And when Domino sees these pictures, he’ll know I’m not messin’ around.”

Domino, the Lord Carnevale? Apart from the masks, his troopers were just as creepy and overly dramatic as mimes. He trained them at his haunted castle and sent out leaflets now and then threatening to sic them on the unsuspecting populace. Meanwhile, the rumors about his unseemly bond with Clyde were evidently not without some basis.

The knockout gas had almost worn off. “I thought this was about my sem–” I cleared my throat. “My brother’s semen. Why get yet another faction riled up about it? I mean,” I dropped my voice a bit, “it’s bad enough you’re mixed up with the pantomime contingent. What’s happening to this family?”

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Clyde’s Reputation Preceded Him

  • by jenthis is for right now
  • that prisons cannot hold
  • quasi-religion
  • or in this case, the gold medal
  • used a digital camera

Tune in next time part 417      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Clyde’s reputation preceded him. He was, allegedly, a mime-dog. I had always assumed that he was a rumor, that such a creature could not actually exist, and yet here he was in my lap: a silent dog trained by mimes. The wretched thing had letters painted on its teeth, letters that spelled “woof.” My mind was still reeling from the knockout gas and all I could think was, “This is, for right now, my only worry in the world.”

An average mime could not accomplish something like the training of a mime-dog. No, this required the sort of mime that prisons cannot hold, the sort who sees mime as more than a quasi-religion. The mime who trained this dog must have won the grand prize, or in this case, the gold medal in mime-fuckery. But what the hell were my siblings doing with a mime-dog? They clearly were not mimes. Were they using the mimes, or were the mimes using them?

I sure am using the word “mime” a lot, I thought, as Jim moved in front of me and used a digital camera to take what I presume were blackmail photos.

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While All the Mimes Were Hypnotized

  • by Kentwhile intoxicated
  • just a big ol’ velvet trenchcoat
  • and away he went
  • small, hot, damp pillow
  • his tiny painted teeth

Tune in next time part 416      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While all the mimes were hypnotized would have been the perfect time to break free, but no matter how I strained against my bonds I couldn’t tear them. Soon my arms were as rubbery as my tongue. The tape really didn’t look that strong. I concluded that my weakness was from the knockout gas, and that I wouldn’t get far anyway while intoxicated with its residue. The feeling was not at all unpleasant, just a big ol’ velvet trenchcoat draped over my whole body, but my situation was too dire to allow me to enjoy it.

I watched Jem and Jem dancing, hoping that one of them would drop me another coded hint about what was going on here. Movement among the mesmerized mimes drew my eye, and I realized that I recognized one of them. It was Harriet or Violet Donut, and she was sneaking toward the exit.

“Jem!” I shouted in warning. My sisters didn’t stop dancing, but the Donut sister made her move, dashing out the door. One of the other mimes snapped out of his trance, holding his head dramatically with both hands and swaying in a full 360 before giving chase. At last he threw one leg over an invisible bicycle, and away he went with an awkward pedaling gait.

Jim strode in through a door on the opposite side of the lab. He wore a long, white coat, and when it gapped I could see that he also still had on Fleur’s bejeweled garb underneath. Safety goggles and thick purple gloves rounded out his mad-scientist look. He was carrying a lumpy object as he walked directly over to me.

“Hey there, brother,” he drawled. And with that he placed the lump on my lap. It felt like a small, hot, damp pillow, but it was moving. “Meet Clyde.”

The creature, Clyde, raised his snout at me and bared his tiny painted teeth.

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I Didn’t Have Time for Any Rap Battles

  • by jenwithout an inflatable octopus
  • raised a single finger and
  • pregnant with her first child
  • , along with my underpants.
  • except when it suited him to be Russian

Tune in next time part 405      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t have time for any rap battles. I needed to know what my brother Jim was up to. With a sad shake of my head I said, “I’m afraid I can’t perform without an inflatable octopus. It’s in my contract.” I raised a single finger and mimed signing the important paper.

“We’re not asking you to rhyme,” the giant Mingus puppet said. “At least not right now. I thought our message to you was clear. The star charts all indicate that today is the best day for Tatiana to become pregnant with her first child, and that you are the only suitable candidate.”

Not this again! Before I could even voice my protest, Tatiana yanked down my General trousers, along with my underpants. “You said we could use your crystal throne for this,” she said to the Mints.

Myndilynn gave a coy nod.

“Just a second,” I said, dropping the lisp. “There’s something you should know.” I reached for my pants.

“That’s not Jason,” Mingus said, as Myndilynn gave her head a sultry shake.

Tatiana looked me up and down. “If the star charts don’t mind, neither do I.”

John strode out from behind the crystal throne, consulting a large sheet of parchment. I should have known he’d be involved in this. He’s always been super into astrology, except when it suited him to be Russian Orthodox to keep himself in his grandfather’s will.

“The times of their birth are within the same 10 minute window,” he said. “The stars will allow the substitution.”

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The Mimes Began to Circle

  • by jencursed at me and called me a child
  • “I’ve been having relations with your wife.”
  • some perfect mix of ethnicities
  • Boom! You’re officially
  • an allergic reaction to the bite of a basilisk lizard

Tune in next time part 359      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The mimes began to circle, malice in their dead eyes. John seemed unconcerned.

“Olga’s a mime sympathizer, John,” I said. “She’s going to hand that test tube over to the grease-painted scientist they keep trapped in a glass box, and who knows what he’ll do with it!”

“Dr Marceau escaped years ago,” John said. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

I shook my head pityingly. “No mime ever truly escapes the glass box, John. If you care about your sister at all you’ll stop her before she completes her initiation rites. Once she fully joins, she’s theirs for life.”

John cursed at me and called me a childish name that I will not dignify by repeating.

“Oh yeah?” I retorted. “I’ve been having relations with your wife.”

It was often like this between John and me. When things got tense we regressed to juvenile taunts.

“These nephews of mine,” John said, cuddling my four infants, “are some perfect mix of ethnicities that the world has never seen before. I’m going to carry them to safety and let the mimes finish you off.”

Before this week I’d had no children, had never wanted them. And now, in the course of just a few days I was suddenly a father of six and something inside me had shifted. It’s like some animal part of my brain said Boom! You’re officially a protector now! and there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my offspring. There was no way I could let a backstabber like John raise my sons.

My lightning reflexes and years of extensive Academy training kicked in, and in less than a minute the tide pool was littered with the bobbing corpses of so many mimes.

I wiped my hands on my soggy morning suit and turned to see John backing away, still clutching my quadruplets. Years ago John had suffered an allergic reaction to the bite of a basilisk lizard, and ever since he’d lived in mortal fear of that particular reptile. And as I mentioned before, I am able to imitate the call of any bird or beast. I took a deep breath and made the ululating cry of the basilisk lizard.

John’s eyes widened in panic.

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