Tagged: tune in next time

Special Bonus Double Installment!

Our chain story has been wobbling drunkenly along for close to two years now, lurching from one exotic location to another, and expanding our unnamed protagonist’s bizarre circle of friends and family. Just like we did with part 100, we’re celebrating part 200 by writing it together!

The list of prompt phrases is twice as long as usual, and has, for the first time ever, been drawn exclusively from our own published novels. We think this ups the challenge significantly because we both have the novels pretty much memorized and it will be difficult to put these phrases in an unfamiliar context.

Jen will go first, and as soon as she incorporates the first prompt phrase she’ll hand the keyboard over to Kent. He’ll work until the second snippet is incorporated and then hand it back. And so on. Hopefully we will not come to blows.

  • I know how to break
  • dominated coffeehouse debate
  • bordering on smarmy
  • jocularity and baggy shorts
  • “Enough fucking football metaphors
  • drinking way too much Mountain Dew
  • grinding more than rocking
  • rather large, rather ugly
  • intricate designs along her spine
  • slumped over with wheezing laughter

Tune in next time parts 199 & 200                      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I made it back to Dr Belladonna’s bedroom before I heard any sign of pursuit, and I got the door closed and locked just in time. Jem and Jem stood outside, debating loudly about the proper technique for picking the lock. I know how to break through most hypnotic trances, so I decided to take a chance and let the girls in. I’d be much better off if I could get them on my side and away from Jim.

The soft click when I unlocked the door was enough to shush my sisters. I stepped back, prepping my trance-breaking routine. Theirs could be any of three different forms of hypnosis, each with different weaknesses. The best way to rouse someone from a trance had dominated coffeehouse debate at the academy my junior year, so I had lots of ideas to try out. I just didn’t know how much time I’d have to try them.

“We know you’re up to something, big brother.” Jemma’s voice was unctuous, bordering on smarmy.

“And we know what it is,” added Jemima, brazen confidence in her voice.

“So come at me, sis,” I said playfully. The two common elements in all my anti-hypnosis tactics were jocularity and baggy shorts. Too late, I remembered what I was wearing.

I hurtled across the room like David Beckham, hoping to get to the closet before my sisters took me up on my offer. There had to be some baggy shorts in there somewhere, and if I could get them on quickly enough I could save the day like a goalkeeper stopping a game-winning ball.

“Enough fucking football metaphors!” I grumbled to myself. “I’m not even English!”

A pair of Dr Belladonna’s bloomers would have to suffice. I hauled them on over my pants just as Jem (or Jem) thrust the door open. “You look like you’ve been drinking way too much Mountain Dew!” I declared in what I have to say were surpassingly jocular tones. The girls were unaffected, which meant I’d guessed wrong about the nature of the trance.

They entered the room, moving with the uncanny choreography of twins, even though they were triplets. Their hips swayed in unison, grinding more than rocking, which gave me the vital clue: Jim was using some sort of mind-control drug on them. Something other than Mountain Dew.

Jemma stationed herself in front of me in a feline crouch while Jemima went over to the nightstand and hefted the rather large, rather ugly vase. She squinted at me, lining up her throw.

I timed my move just right. When Jemima hurled the vase, I leapt up and grabbed the chandelier. The hefty piece of porcelain flew right beneath my feet, strewing roses, and hit Jemma square in the chest. She toppled, swearing. The water from the vase quickly saturated her white t-shirt, displaying the intricate designs along her spine and ribcage, the tattoos she’d been given as a child to mark her as the youngest female in our family, and therefore the one promised to the Guild of Fire Eaters.

I pumped my legs to get the chandelier swinging. Jemima looked around for something else to throw at me, and Jemma sprang to her feet, dripping. I timed my next move a bit less perfectly, letting go of the chandelier too soon. Rather than clearing the bed, I landed on it and bounced, my momentum sending me sprawling against the wall to slide down head-first onto the floor. Jem and Jem slumped over with wheezing laughter. My less-than-perfect timing had been perfect after all.

Before they regained their composure, I seized the now-empty nightstand and used it to bash the knob off the door. Darting out, I pulled it shut behind me, trapping them in Absinthia’s boudoir.

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If I Went Back the Way I’d Come

  • by jensitting there, all puckered up
  • there was this guy there
  • surreptitiously unbutton the top of your shirt
  • It was implied.
  • “Truly.”

Tune in next time part 201                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

If I went back the way I’d come I’d end up in the rocket surgery with Jim, the Professor’s girlfriend, and the remains of poor Absinthia. I hated the thought of seeing her sitting there, all puckered up and bloody, so I began to search for another exit. There were no other visible doors, but perhaps there was a hidden passageway. I ran my hands along the walls, feeling for seams, and eavesdropping on Jim’s conversation.

“But who was that guy?” asked a feminine voice, probably the Professor’s one-legged girlfriend.

“What guy?” drawled Jim.

“When I got here with the ransom note, there was this guy there with your sisters!” the woman said. “I saw him!”

“I didn’t see a guy,” Jim lied. Whatever his reasons for lying, he was doing me a favor. I kept up my search. Maybe he was in on the Professor’s kidnapping.

“Don’t you surreptitiously unbutton the top of your shirt at me, Jim,” the woman said. “I’m not going to be distracted by your muscles and all of your sexy chest hair. You can’t seduce your way out of this one.”

“Who says I’m trying to seduce you?” Jim purred.

“It was implied. By the striptease. And by the way you’ve got your hands on my hips now.” She sounded distracted.

“I’d never use sex as a distraction,” Jim said. “Truly.”

I heard kissing noises.

Just then my fingers found a hidden button near the top of the wall, which, when pressed, caused a panel to slide open, revealing a fire pole. The problem was I was standing at the base of it. I peered up into the darkness above, trying to gauge how high it was and whether I had the strength to climb it.

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There Is A Trick

  • by Kentbetween the second and third toes
  • coated with motor oil
  • “That’s Charlie.”
  • sprang upon me with a jeweled dagger
  • please take my hand

Tune in next time part 202                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

There is a trick to climbing up a metal pole. There are probably many tricks, but the one they taught me at the Academy consisted of a special way to grasp it between the second and third toes, which hurt like hell and meant, usually, carrying your shoes and socks in your mouth. This time that trick was no help anyway, because this pole was coated with motor oil.

I could still hear the pillow talk of Jim and the one-legged woman, but could no longer discern their actual words. However, a new voice from the darkness overhead came through clearly.

“Someone opened the lower panel,” the voice said.

“That’s Charlie.”

“You ain’t even looked. And it ain’t Charlie, I promise you.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Come look, and then you tell me.”

“Hey,” I called softly, “can you help me?” I had no reason to trust them, whoever they were, but they already knew about me so I really had no choice.

“Charlie!” the second voice cried.

“Sure,” I said. “Pull me up?”

“I told you,” the voice went on. “You think I’d forget the face of a man who thrice sprang upon me with a jeweled dagger? You think so? Well, I tell you, I would not.”

“Maybe we ain’t talking about the same Charlie.”

“Could be we’re not. Very likely, in fact.”

A rope reached down from the blackness, swaying and waving as if sniffing around for me. When it came within reach I started to climb. There were few people upon whom I had ever sprung with a jeweled dagger, and most of them only once. I had used numerous aliases over the years, too many to keep them all straight, but I didn’t recall ever telling anybody my name was Charlie. The puzzle pieces didn’t all fit, but I had a feeling I was going to recognize the owner of at least one of these voices.

I hauled myself up the rope in darkness until one of those voices said, “Here, please take my hand.”

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I Didn’t Want to Take the Proffered Hand

  • by jenget your hands out of your pockets
  • — or a lover
  • Are you two brothers?
  • notwithstanding the absurdity
  • Then things got worse.

Tune in next time part 203                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t want to take the proffered hand until I knew to whom it belonged. For all I knew these clowns had jeweled daggers of their own and wanted to use them on me. I hauled myself higher.

“What the?” said the voice above me. “Are you climbing with your toes? It’d go a lot faster if you’d get your hands out of your pockets.”

There was something so familiar about the voice. Did it belong to an enemy — or a lover? I had so many of each, and many people qualified as both.

I finally did pull my hands from my pockets so that I could grab the floor where these mystery individuals stood and haul myself out of the shaft. I found myself face to face with my identical twin, Jason. Beside him stood a man I’d never seen before.

“Hey wow,” the stranger said. “Are you two brothers?” He elbowed Jason. “You never told me Charlie was your brother.”

“Never seen this guy before,” Jason said without his lisp.

“But he looks just like you!”

Things were looking up, notwithstanding the absurdity of pretending I didn’t see the resemblance between myself and my twin.

Then things got worse.

 

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“Thanks For Helping Me Out Of That Hole”

  • by Kentsheer skill is what’s needed
  • leaped nimbly away toward the females
  • can completely ruin your day
  • I wanted to kiss her and feel her breasts
  • carried it with me for a really long time

Tune in next time part 204                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Thanks for helping me out of that hole,” I said. “If you just direct me toward the surface, I’ll get out of your hair.” When pretending not to stare at your twin brother, sheer skill is what’s needed to avoid detection while you are, in fact, staring, trying to suss out his game.

“Simmer down there, Charlie,” Jason said. “First you have to explain yourself. What were you doing down there?”

I shrugged, to buy time to decide what I should tell them. But then I just enlarged the shrug, because it was the most honest response I could offer anyway. The men glanced at each other suspiciously. A quirked eyebrow, a small nod: they reached a decision about me without saying a word. Jason’s charade of not knowing me was disconcerting in its verisimilitude.

A door opened at the opposite end of their cavernous lair, admitting four women. It distracted the duo for just a second, but a second was more than I needed. I leaped nimbly away toward the females and the still-open doorway. Then I realized who they were.

Tallulah, Taylor, Tara, and Tanya.

A single moment of belated recognition can completely ruin your day. I really wished Tessa were there, too. I wanted to kiss her and feel her breasts on my chest. Not that we’d trade breasts, just that hers would be smushed up against mine.

Fortunately, I moved fast enough and the room was dim enough that the deadly quartet failed to spot me in time and I slipped through the door. I ran up and up the stairway I found on the other side, pausing only to remove Absinthia’s bulky underwear. I carried the pair of lacy shorts with me on my upward trek, carried it with me for a really long time.

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I Climbed the Steps for What Felt Like Hours

  • by jen— like the ones upstairs!
  • awkward sex at your family’s house
  • knives in the back and everything
  • fluorescent fingerprint
  • try to put my eyes out

Tune in next time part 205                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I climbed the steps for what felt like hours, wondering all the while where they would let out. Hopefully not in another dumpster. When I finally reached a landing, I paused to catch my breath. I had two choices: either continue my climb, or grope my way down a darkened corridor to the left. From above I heard a faint rustling and squeaking, while the hallway was silent. I chose the silence, not wanting to encounter any more rats — like the ones upstairs!

The passageway was narrow and unlit. I kept my hands on both walls and felt my way along slowly, probing each step with my feet before committing. It felt more than anything like having awkward sex at your family’s house when you’re a teenager and the Academy is closed for the winter holidays. My family makes it even more awkward than most, of course, what with all the alliances and treaties and double-crosses. We were ruthless. I’m talking knives in the back and everything.

I reached a T intersection and turned right. Suddenly I was dazzled by hundreds of fluorescent fingerprints all over the ceiling. After my dark journey they were so bright I had the urge to try to put my eyes out.

It’s a good thing I didn’t though, because of what those fingerprints signified.

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Although The Size And Color

  • by Kent(except one, but she had chronic yeast infections, so there’s that)
  • six foot four and full of muscles
  • while intoxicated
  • with his face turned towards the wall
  • this female not only has a lewd mind

Tune in next time part 206                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Although the size and color of the glowing prints varied, I realized immediately what they had in common: they were all left little fingers. Which meant there was only one place this could be.

I had stumbled onto the headquarters of the Pinkie Swears. I hadn’t worked with them in years, but if anyone here still remembered me they could be just the ally I needed. As long as I could avoid any serious breaches of decorum.

All of the Pinks I ever rode with had terrible halitosis (except one, but she had chronic yeast infections, so there’s that) which it was forbidden to point out (especially to Gertrude, who was six foot four and full of muscles, and liked to wrestle while intoxicated). I wouldn’t have wanted to be just another chump who suffocated in her bed with his face turned towards the wall, but now I hoped she would be working the door tonight.

Passing under the canopy of fluorescent pinkie prints, I reached the entrance to the hideout. I knocked, and a slit opened.

“Password?”

I could smell that I was in the right place.

“Uh,” I stalled, “uh, this female not only has a lewd mind, she’s got a body to match.”

The door groaned open.

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Standing Just Inside the Door

  • by jengirl with brown hair
  • People do.
  • no one knows where he went
  • “There are balloons.”
  • thinking it was kind of funny

Tune in next time part 207                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Standing just inside the door was a girl with brown hair and a bright orange pinkie on her left hand. That was a sign that she was a very high ranking Pinkie Swear, and also tough. She’d endured the agony of having her entire little finger tattooed a shade of orange too bright for most hunters to look upon. It’s hard to believe that anyone would voluntarily do that, but people do. People do.

“I can tell you’re not Jason,” she said, taking in my crocs, “but you’re probably looking for him. He was here about half an hour ago and no one knows where he went. We were preparing to celebrate his tattoo ritual,” she gestured around the black-lit room. “There are balloons.”

“Yes there are,” I agreed. The floor was knee deep with them, all glowing under the unnatural illumination.

I was thinking it was kind of funny that the Pinks expected Jason to pledge fealty, when for as long as I could remember he’d been more of a thumb wrestling kind of guy. Back at the Academy, he’d been thumb wrestling champion four years running.

If there’s one thing my association with my twin had taught me, it was that you should never trust a thumb wrestler. It takes a certain psychopathy to excel at the sport.

Had Jason’s foray in this group been benign? Was he merely studying this foreign faction the way Dian Fossey studied gorillas? Or had his mission been more sinister?

I looked around at all the fanciful balloons. What might Jason have hidden beneath their glowing childish joy?

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Throughout The Room

  • by Kent— a floury thing in a three-sided husk —
  • her pants were on backwards
  • without a consultation fee
  • “Here’s a subpoena for you.”
  • into the umbilical ramp

Tune in next time part 208                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Throughout the room, other Pinks milled around in the balloons. Most had drinks, but I saw one munching on one of their weird delicacies, something called an oscillatta — a floury thing in a three-sided husk — and I wondered if she knew her pants were on backwards. Given how into bizarre forms of insignia the Pinkie Swears were, it probably indicated high rank, or meant no one could ask her what time it was without a consultation fee.

I set off wading through the layer of inflated whimsical orbs to the bar, noting that no one was dancing. They were all wearing earbuds, and some were discreetly bobbing their heads. It was the saddest silent disco I had ever seen.

The bartender held up a hand to silence me when I tried to order. She sized me up, nodded, and then started pouring liquors into a shaker. When the gold-purple concoction was fizzing in a tall glass, she slid it across to me and said, “Here’s a subpoena for you.” She winked. “You’ve been served.”

“Thanks.” I took a swig. It was surprisingly good, but seemed strong as hell. “Hey, I’m a gatecrasher at this thing, not on purpose, but still. Any chance you’d be able to help me get out before the guest of honor returns?”

“Finish your drink, then we’ll talk.”

“After this drink I won’t be able to complete a sentence.”

“Drink up. While you do that, here’s something to engage your mind.”

She laid her phone on the bar, playing a video clip of the presidential zeppelin. It was docking, but I didn’t recognize the mooring stand. The resolution was too low for me to tell who was moving into the umbilical ramp to board the blimp. The bartender wouldn’t let me try to zoom in unless I was also taking a big slurp of my subpoena, which made it impossible to improve the image clarity.

Finally, with the drink three-quarters gone, I managed to recognize one of the faces on the screen. But that was impossible!

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My Father Had Been Dead for Years

  • by jenWait, what?
  • “preferably dead,” she added.
  • sang the last line of the song
  • just toast, maybe a boiled egg
  • a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices

Tune in next time part 209                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

My father had been dead for years, but there he was, boarding my brother’s presidential zeppelin. I drained my subpoena and smacked the glass down on the bar, upside down as per Pinkie Swears tradition. My head was swimming. I tried to focus on the image on the tiny phone screen. It couldn’t really be my father, could it?

I realized the bartender was speaking, and had been for some time.

“Wait, what?” I said.

She sighed heavily. “After the sex scandal, we thought we were done with your father. We thought he’d be disgraced, imprisoned,” her eyes darted to the door, “preferably dead,” she added.

“That’s a bit harsh,” I slurred, wishing I had some food to counteract the alcohol. “Everyone involved was a consenting adult. Even Freya.” I hiccuped.

“Jason’s here.” She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and hauled me over the bar where I sprawled on the floor. Out amongst the balloons I heard all the Pinks take up a chorus of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. The bartender stood up and sang the last line of the song along with the rest of them.

Staying low, I made my way through the door into the kitchen. I was hoping to find something to eat. Nothing fancy — just toast, maybe a boiled egg. I found neither of those, but I did see a frozen daiquiri machine and a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices.

As I stuck my head under the daiquiri nozzle and opened my mouth, the bartender came through the door. “Now’s our chance to get out of here,” she said, pulling me away from the machine, “while they’re all distracted. We need to get to that zeppelin and stop your father!”

Her breath in my face was even more flammable than my own, and I realized I was tangling with a representative of the Guild of Fire Eaters. I couldn’t let her know that Jemma was just downstairs.

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