How old is Charming compared to Jack? Many of the characters look relatively young, yet they're obviously not. I could see Jack being interested in knowing he has a sister - even if it's only so he can get some money off her :P By the way, I also read you're other piece below, which was entertaining, in a slightly down sort of a way. Which is good, even though it might not sound it.
All I ever say is Thanks, but I mean it each time! I've decided to make Charming actually care that he has kids. As far as I know, Charming … moredoesn't know Jack is his son, but Jack knows Charming is his father. I doubt Jack cares about Charming anyway, but I think he'd be surprised to find out he had (Another) sister, lol.
Hey, let me introduce myself.. My name is Robby and apparently, according to some people I'm an outlaw, a thief, a fool. Some people see me as a hero fighting for what is right and hell some people even called me the green arrow once because of the colors I wear. I rarely use my bow and arrow though. My weapon of choice is my sword I got from this old man. It makes me agile, more clever and more courageous, just like my ancestor. Now enough about that for now. Let me tell you how I became this "outlaw" this "hero". Have a seat, you're in for a treat..
After my parent's died me and my brother Walter went to live with our crazy uncle in the U.S. At first I didn't like but after a while I got use it. I met cool people there and hell even ran into talking animals there. Yes talking animals.. don't ask. There was one time I went camping with my brother and uncle up in the Appalachians and I seen some kind of creature... It was hairy, humanoid... I don't know.... but it didn't bother us.
A couple years later, I began discover my "ability". I read books on my ancestor Robin Hood and studied him. I trained hard strengthening myself to move just like him. After awhile my archery skills improved, then I picked up a sword and began training with it.
I started to realize who I am, and what I could do help those in need. So i decided to put my skills to the test.
My first move in my quest was to liberate my neighborhood. It's filled with crime, poverty, prostitution and so many homeless children roaming the street. Its separated in two districts, The Gold District and the Rust District, in other words rich and poor district, not even a middle class.
The leader of the Gold District is a no good con named Barney. Before he came to power he was the adviser of the previous mayor. No wonder why this place went to hell....
But whatever, I'm putting a end to his reign of terror one way or another. He just sits there in his fucking mansion while everyone else suffers. He is also involved in the Chinese mafia and also takes donations from someone by the name of "Bluebeard"? His name sound familiar, I think he was a pirate or something, but whatever.
I'm taking back what belongs to this community and i'm going to expose this bastard for the con he really is, but first i need to find a way into that mansion.... Hmm there's a window open.. I can get in from those tree's but I don't know what's waiting for me on other side..
Good evening, I'm really quite new to these forums, but I saw this thread while lurking and seeing what peope thought of the newest entry, a… morend I quite liked the idea. I'd like to give it a shot. Not sure if i'll continue it but it was fun to write up.
The Twisted Tale of Delmare
Old tales fade are supposed to fade like sunlight on a horizon; slowly but surely, warmly lit with just an inch of wind blowing in as if to remind people of the warmth they will soon be missing. But I never really shined- in fact, I think I was a relatively small tale told in some area that these mundies never carried on into this era, so I'm not sure why I feel like I deserve that kind of exit. Maybe it's my long life lived speaking, urging me to rise to something, despite my graying hairs. Maybe its me just wishing I could I could rest into nothing- speed up the process.
Can you blame me though? I am supposed to be a demigod.
You don't know that tale? Of… [view original content]
Suddenly, I was aware. Before I was aware, I simply 'was'. I existed, and I use the term loosely, as an entity of mere instinct, driven sole… morely by a hunger that was all-encompassing. The sickly sweet rush of a silent scream, the satisfying snap of bone was all I lived for. Looking back, now, I wish someone would have stopped me. I still don't know how or why I aquired my current state of awareness, but I pray it hasn't been wasted on me. The first thing I remember is an unfortunately detailed account of my previous state. I've done such horrible things.
(More to come, typing without a keyboard on an Xbox One is a pain. Is this worth persuing? Input is always appreciated!)
NOTE: This will have a lot of drug refrences and language. Be prepared, folks.
Enjoy
Dear Diary: Fuck its hot in this club. Hans Junior needs to hurry up and fix the AC. I've got girls and guys comin' in for tryouts. Need some younger, lookin' faces around here. Felicia thinks its a ridiculous idea but no offense-who is the one sittin' in the chair, makin' these decisions? That's right. Me, bitch. Fuck my head hurts like fuckin' hell still. Feels like someone took a hammer and tossed it into my skull. Uh. Its going to be a long day. Fuckin' Katie...textin' me...fucks sake.
I finally found out why my fuckin' head hurt and there was a large gash on my cheek. DErugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Oh. And some guy pissed me off.
I can't recall, to tell you the truth. I was so fuckin' high that night. I had just done a line of coke off some random chick's ass. Hell, I don't remember a damn thing. All they told me was this-he pissed me off, I chased him down and fought him in the alley. After he crawled away to find help, guess I was ready to fight once more. I ended up in an apartment, doing crack this time and fought the dealer in the bathroom. That would explain the gash. And the blood. Oh-and this headache.
Whatever. Must not have been THAT much fun, if I can recall the incident. That was long gone now. I had too much to do today. The new line up of girls and guys are coming by for me to inspect. Need some new faces around here. Something different.
My sister tried calling earlier. God love Katie but not in the mood to hear her bullshit right now. "Emily, when you get the chance please call me! Mom and dad told me what happened to you. lease. I'm worried about you. Love you." Please. Not in the mood for this shit.
As I sit down in my chair and look out into the stage, Felicia brings me a stack of files. There are seven of them; three girls and four boys. They look half way decent and can't complain. As I fli through their photos, she brings me an ice cold beer. God love Felicia but for some reason, she is annoying me right now.
"Daddy, you need anything else?" She sounds so worried and concerned. For fuck's sake, woman. Leave me be!
"No, I'm good Felicia. Thank you."
"Are you sure? You need Asprin. A cushion for your seat. Maybe another shot of Tequila and-"
"FELICIA! Stop! I have everything..." Her facial expression said it all. She looked devestated and turned away quickly and headed into the kitchen. I sighed and tried to ignore the image.
The group would be arriving in five minutes. I had time. I rushed off into the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet. I lifted the tank lid and fished out a baggie taped to the side. I pulled out a spoon and lighter and spooned out a handful of crack. God, love this stuff. I quickly flicked the bic and watched as the flames danced against the spoon. I injected the liquid and sat for a minute. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. After I had a chance to relax, I left the bathroom.
Good. No one was here yet. Henry, however, stood against the wall and watched me stumble. Think he knew what I had just done. 'Stop loooking at me like that,' I thought. 'Go away.'
Thr group showed up, just as I sat down and the drug began to relax my nerves. The girls were good looking and the men were handsome and well toned. I pulled out the first name. Alyssa.
"So, you want to dance for me at the Pudding & Pie, right?"
"That's right..."
"Why? And don't you fuckin' tell me because it looks like fun."
Alyssa just stood there, staring at me. She lloked lost and confused. All I could do was sigh. Was it that hard to answer?
"Look, if your here to waste my time-ANY OF YOU-the fuckin' door is right there! Take it and don't come back. So WHY do you want to dance for me?! Let's try it again!"
"I...I just-you see..."
I had no patience today. None. These stuid assholes were pissing me off. Felicia must have noticed because she ran in awfully quick to my side. In her hand she had a bottle of tequila. I grabbed it and tossed it into the group. The girls all shrieked, like they had just seen a mouse scurry across the floor.
"You just what, HUH?! You think this is a fuckin' joke? You think all of this will pay for a fuckin' tit job or a fancy car or your fuckin stupid ass pony that you never got when you were six?! HUH!? IF you do not have a legit answer for me, right now, there is the fuckin' door!"
Alyssa and the others had nothing to say. They all were silent and watching me kick chairs, throw bottles and continue to knock them down a few pegs.
"You need to relax," said one of the girls.
"Excuse me?"
"Look. We are new to this. Some of us have bills and kids. You don't need to be yelling at us like-"
"You know what YOU are doing?"
"I've danced before-"
"I don't count Ballet, love. This is NOT Ballet."
"No, not Ballet. I've taken various dance classes in high school. I don't understand why you need to point out all the flaws, when I can do circles around you. You don't know talent. Neither did your father-"
"Heather, right?"
"Yes..."
"Everyone sit down. I need to see what Heather is TRYIN' to tell me."
Heather stood on stage alone; the others stood behind me and watched this poor girl shake and tremble. She began to use the pole as a crutch and watched as I took a seat at the edge of the stage.
"Go on, then! SHOW me what you can do."
"I...uh...well..."
"NOW!"
Heather did some weird grinding thing against the pole. She spun around, managed to make a complete circle but fell down. She tried to stand up but I could tell she had not worn high heels before. She was mortified, as she tried to hide her face.
"So, you have talent, huh?"
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. She was face to face now with me. I could feel her tremble, the fear locked in her eyes.
"Where the fuck is the talent, Heather? Hm? I DON'T SEE TALENT! All I see, is some stupid blonde bitch, that THINKS she can dance! And ALL you have to back it up, is high school! Who the fuck cares, if you DANCED in high school! This is a mother fuckin' strip club! Look at you-you ain't even got the fuckin' hips! The fuckin' tits to be showin' your face in my club! My father....you fuckin' bitch..."
"Daddy-you need to relax, Emily-"
"SHUT UP, FELICIA! THIS is a dance club! WE have a business, WE have to make money. WE also have bills! You are wasting my FUCKIN' time, you stupid fuckin' bitch! How DARE you come into MY club and tell ME how to run MY fuckin' business-"
I wanted to hit this girl so bad. For punishment? No. Because I had the authority at that moment? No. Because I was Emily Caitlynn Porgie? Probably.
"Hey, Porgie. Why don't you pick on someone a little bit tougher then that poor creature?"
That voice. I know that voice. I threw Heather down, turned and found him leaning against the wall. Felicia stood wide eyed and bewildered by his presence. I could not believe it-Malcom Crenshaw.
"The fuck you doin' here, wolf?"
Felicia was at my side, shoving a paper into my arm. I snatched it from her and scanned it. 'Interested in working for the Pudding & Pie. No prior experience but willing to learn.' Was he fucking serious? So. THIS is what she was telling me earlier.
"You...want to work for me?"
"Seems like you are lookin' for a 'punching bag.' I've got all the experience you are looking for. Go ahead-try me."
His cocky smile made me want it more. This guy. I remember him now.
"I need this, Emily. I...I will do whatever you want..."
The others looked at him like he was insane. He was being led to the slaughter house and did not seemed bothered by it. I took a seat in my chair and tossed the other files aside. Felicia took a seat beside me. The drug was kicking in bad now. I was ready.
"Okay, Malcom. Show me and the others how its done. Give ME what I want..."
I lit a cigarette and watched as he took off his shirt.
His desperate pleas were all I needed. This was going to be good.
The hell! MALCOM wants to join the Pudding and Pie??
That was a twist! Can't wait to see where this goes! Love the pictures to, btw. Really puts in the emotions I felt as well. Man. Can I tell you Emily is so twisted and cruel! Love it!
I invision him more or less as the boogeyman. Not sure what to call him. May have him simply select a name he overhears and likes as his own, while the reader knows whom, or what he really is.
Chapter 1 Beginning
Hey, let me introduce myself.. My name is Robby and apparently, according to some people I'm an outlaw, a thief, a fo… moreol. Some people see me as a hero fighting for what is right and hell some people even called me the green arrow once because of the colors I wear. I rarely use my bow and arrow though. My weapon of choice is my sword I got from this old man. It makes me agile, more clever and more courageous, just like my ancestor. Now enough about that for now. Let me tell you how I became this "outlaw" this "hero". Have a seat, you're in for a treat..
After my parent's died me and my brother Walter went to live with our crazy uncle in the U.S. At first I didn't like but after a while I got use it. I met cool people there and hell even ran into talking animals there. Yes talking animals.. don't ask. There was one time I went camping with my brother and uncle up in the Appalachians and I seen some kind of creature... I… [view original content]
I invision him more or less as the boogeyman. Not sure what to call him. May have him simply select a name he overhears and likes as his own, while the reader knows whom, or what he really is.
Emily Porgie
Part 2
"Emily and the Wolf"
NOTE: This will have a lot of drug refrences and language. Be prepared, folks.
Enjoy… more
Dear Diary: Fuck its hot in this club. Hans Junior needs to hurry up and fix the AC. I've got girls and guys comin' in for tryouts. Need some younger, lookin' faces around here. Felicia thinks its a ridiculous idea but no offense-who is the one sittin' in the chair, makin' these decisions? That's right. Me, bitch. Fuck my head hurts like fuckin' hell still. Feels like someone took a hammer and tossed it into my skull. Uh. Its going to be a long day. Fuckin' Katie...textin' me...fucks sake.
I finally found out why my fuckin' head hurt and there was a large gash on my cheek. DErugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Oh. And some guy pissed me off.
I can't recall, to tell you the truth. I was so fuckin' high that night. I had just done a line of coke off some random chick's ass. Hell, I don't remember a damn… [view original content]
The hell! MALCOM wants to join the Pudding and Pie??
That was a twist! Can't wait to see where this goes! Love the pictures to, btw. Rea… morelly puts in the emotions I felt as well. Man. Can I tell you Emily is so twisted and cruel! Love it!
Good job again, pie!!
I had heard of some strange things occuring in my life time. Mine was standing before me, half naked, hands clutched against his chest. My eyes drifted to the nervous wolf, quivering in agitation, knowing the possibility of his fate was in my hands.
I loved knowing this. I didn't feel any hesitation at that moment. He was clay in my hands; a lump of cold, old, wet clay that remained in my grasp, waiting to be molded into a masterpiece.
I had forgotten about the others for a few minutes. Their files and portfolio pictures were carpeting my floors. I could hear small conversations being carried out behind me; Heather's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She terminated the conversation the instant I turned to face her. She appeared alarmed and remaind soundless. I'm assuming my sudden movement and vexed facial expression were enough.
I glanced around at the others. They all stood perfectly still, as the blue and pink neon lights reflected off their skin and seemed to ricochet back into the club. My focus returned to Malcom. They remaind motionless the remaining of the time. I slipped back into my seat and focused my eyes on the massive beast before me.
"So, you want to join my club, eh?"
"Yes..."
"Why?"
"You know why, Emily..."
"My grandfather send you?"
"He has no idea I'm here."
I knew about Malcom. I knew what he previously did before in the 'good old' days. At one time, Malcom could decide the fate and outcome of a Folker that failed to cooperate with the rules and laws. Mom and Papa briefly explained to me his role; I lost all interest and became angry when I found out the truth. He, along with others, were responsible for the chaos they created for my parents and godparents; my uncle Gren and Aunt Carla still receive death threats from remaining Council members. Malcom was dominant in social and professional situations. He was once part of a powerful group. Now, here he was, a enervated, broken down wolf, asking me for help.
How I was loving every second of this.
Malcom seemed uneasy, as I examined his file. He was not a bad looking man for his age. He must have been well into his mid 100's; close to fifty in mundy years. I studied his picture. He was indeed gorgeous and someone with his build would certainly bring in the green.
"You want to remain anonymous?"
"Please, Emily. This HAS to remain a secret..."
"Ashamed are we? I don't know about all this hiding bullshit..."
"Emily, please. I can't-you know why. Please. Can't you just do this?"
"Askin' for a lot of favors, dog. Remember who is holding the leash right now."
"I'm...I'm sorry..."
I listened and waited for him to continue. He never did. For a tiny second, I felt sympathy for Malcom. I tolerated him; not because of what he did for my family at one time but devotion and constant support he had for our little slice of Heaven. He remained loyal to my grandfather and stood by our side, even after his banishment from 'that side.'
I signaled at Felicia, who quickly proceeded in my location. She handed me my iphone; the room remained silent, as I moved around the music files. Malcom was inanimate. His eyes were watching me, trying to figure out my next move.
"Do you know how to dance?"
"No..."
"Oh for fuck's sake! Really?"
"I can learn...what do you want?"
"God fuckin' dammit! Sexy, people! Eye contact! Move your hips, do some twirls-flash some tits, whip it out! Make them pour their hard earned money all over this fuckin' place and all over your sweaty bodies!" Yeesh, dad...go back and hide in the shadows.
I needed a drink. Layers of cocaine. Something. I was feeling infuriated. Malcom looked down in the direction I was pointing at; he examined his arms and chest area. He seemed muddled by my actions.
"My chest hair?"
"No. The fuckin' color of your eyes-YES! The goddamn chest hair!"
"What about it?"
"Take care of it! This is not the 'Pudding & Pie Lawn care services.' Wax, trim, shave-whatever! All of it but what sits on the top of your head!"
This poor wretched man looked at me with disbelief. His dark yellow eyes looked so pathetic. When I refused to speak again after that, he simply gave in and agreed.
"Perfect. Have it done by tomorrow." I found the song just for Malcom. Despite his lack of skills and knowledge of the art of 'adult' entertainment, I showed some compassion and gave him a chance. When 'It's raining men' began to echo among the club's walls, the idiot continued staring at me; he seemed shocked and confused. Now I was displeased and losing what patience I had left. Was he that stupid?
"Go on, then!"
I sat back into my chair, iphone in hand, as Malcom began grinding into the pole, eyes concentrating on my reaction. He managed to lift his massive legs up and wrap them around the pole. He slid down, eyes still remaining on me and twirled twice around. We watched, as Malcom walked off stage and to my direction. I could hear gasps behind me.
'It's raining me. Hallejuah, its raining men! I'm gonna go out and let myself get absolutly soaking wet...
I didn't budge, as he began to gyrate against my lap; his cavort movements speeding up and in tune with the rhythm of the music. Everyone watched, as the music ended and Malcom finished his arobatic performance on the pole. I stood up and clapped; everyone, including Felicia, were stunned to see a smile on my face.
"YES! Yes, yes, yes! Now THAT is fuckin' sexy! THAT is what we do, folks! All of you fuck off! Welcome to the Pudding & Pie, Malcom!"
I gave him a friendly slap on the ass and walked away. He continued to stand there; from the corner of my eye, I saw Felicia taking him and showing him the men's dressing room. I was pleased, as I locked the door and made a thick line of cocaine. I rolled up a $100 bill and took it all in. Ugh! God! This is what I needed! A rush to end what just took place. Was it power clouding my mind? Shit, maybe. Knowing WHO was working for me...who was now the bitch.
VEEERRRN! VEEEEERN! VEEEEERN!
Fuck! It was my phone! I looked down; it was mom. I'd call her back in a bit. Right now, I wanted to embrace myself in this moment, for I was in control. I had the power.
For I, was Emily Caitlynn Porgie.
Up next: Debating between Penny or Peter. We will just have to wait and see who I pick.
Wow! That was very descriptive and fun to read. I could see Emily, just like Georgie used to be, sitting in the exact chair, yelling at the dancer. (This time, its Malcom.)
Emily is now one of my favorite Fable characters you have created. (Next to Lyla and even though she is NOT a Fable, Miss Carla Grendel. ) The pictures are brilliant like always and have a very 'comic book' feeling to them. Must be the design of them.
I actually would LOVE to hear Peter's story next, since we now know who REALLY fathered him and I'm anxious to see how that turns out. Something tells me there is more to this...keeping my eye on you, Pie! Keep up the good work, dude!!
Emily Porgie
Part 3
Not bad for an old guy
I had heard of some strange things occuring in my life time. Mine was standing befor… moree me, half naked, hands clutched against his chest. My eyes drifted to the nervous wolf, quivering in agitation, knowing the possibility of his fate was in my hands.
I loved knowing this. I didn't feel any hesitation at that moment. He was clay in my hands; a lump of cold, old, wet clay that remained in my grasp, waiting to be molded into a masterpiece.
I had forgotten about the others for a few minutes. Their files and portfolio pictures were carpeting my floors. I could hear small conversations being carried out behind me; Heather's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She terminated the conversation the instant I turned to face her. She appeared alarmed and remaind soundless. I'm assuming my sudden movement and vexed facial expression were enough.
I glanced around at the others. They all stoo… [view original content]
Thank you, Jones. That is what I was trying to aim for. She has always looked up to Georgie and when the time came, she snatched up the club and made it her own. It would have gone to Junior but that will be explained in his story.
Glad you like the pics. Trying different methods. And I might start with Peter. Have a lot of ideas for him but we will see when the time comes.
Wow! That was very descriptive and fun to read. I could see Emily, just like Georgie used to be, sitting in the exact chair, yelling at the … moredancer. (This time, its Malcom.)
Emily is now one of my favorite Fable characters you have created. (Next to Lyla and even though she is NOT a Fable, Miss Carla Grendel. ) The pictures are brilliant like always and have a very 'comic book' feeling to them. Must be the design of them.
I actually would LOVE to hear Peter's story next, since we now know who REALLY fathered him and I'm anxious to see how that turns out. Something tells me there is more to this...keeping my eye on you, Pie! Keep up the good work, dude!!
Emily Porgie
Part 2
"Emily and the Wolf"
NOTE: This will have a lot of drug refrences and language. Be prepared, folks.
Enjoy… more
Dear Diary: Fuck its hot in this club. Hans Junior needs to hurry up and fix the AC. I've got girls and guys comin' in for tryouts. Need some younger, lookin' faces around here. Felicia thinks its a ridiculous idea but no offense-who is the one sittin' in the chair, makin' these decisions? That's right. Me, bitch. Fuck my head hurts like fuckin' hell still. Feels like someone took a hammer and tossed it into my skull. Uh. Its going to be a long day. Fuckin' Katie...textin' me...fucks sake.
I finally found out why my fuckin' head hurt and there was a large gash on my cheek. DErugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Oh. And some guy pissed me off.
I can't recall, to tell you the truth. I was so fuckin' high that night. I had just done a line of coke off some random chick's ass. Hell, I don't remember a damn… [view original content]
Romance! Okay, not quite. A tiny hint of, though, so I guess pudding_pie and Emypess' work is starting to rub off. Part four of the Vacation tale is at the end of page 25; this is part five; and we're almost at the end. Hope y'all like it!
Edit: There's too much for one post, so it's one part split over two sections.
At an hour in the morning where eyes are particularly bleary, when any communication above an assenting grunt is a tall order, Jack Horner, Rose Red, and Mr Weasel are standing on an old fishing boat that plies it's way down the Tatai river. Only a few days ago were these three and two more, Colin and Bufkin, taking that very same boat up-river to their accommodation. Now, with Colin and Bufkin taken by an unknown individual/s, the three make this journey in a determined effort to rescue their friends.
In silence, they lean on the edge of the boat next to each other, looking to the east.
"Is it me," asks Weasel, who is the first to strike conversation today, "or is it hot?"
"It's always hot here," Rose replies, who props her head up with her chin, "though it does seem a little more humid than usual."
"Yeah," agrees Jack. "I seem to be sweating out more than I'm putting in." He disconcertedly looks at his armpits.
A few moments pass.
"Shouldn't the sun be rising about now?" Weasel leads the small talk charge again, and he's correct that the sun should be visible.
"It is still a bit dark," Rose concurs.
Turning round, the woman piloting the boat speaks up. "I don't think you will see much sun today," with any apparent sinister intent not intended.
"What do you mean?" Inquires Rose.
"It's the rain season: there are many clouds in the sky." She points upwards after saying this, making sure to get her point across to the t-shirt wearing trio.
Sure enough, as the sun rises a little more, grey clouds can be seen above them, with patches of light breaking through. These are not ordinary grey clouds, however; they do not lie flat on the sky for hours on end as if too tired to move, and nor are they the sort that seem to menace from a distance, yet pass by without action. These are storm clouds, and they mean business.
Appearing as great, looming leviathans; towering masses harbouring unappeasable wrath; where no light reaches they seem to be weighed down by their dark mass, and where illumination takes place they seem to rise, such as mighty castles, scorning the peasantry below. That's how Mr Weasel sees them, at least.
As the three gaze at the spectacle in the sky - for a spectacle it is - great globulars of rain are set free from their prison above, at first in a trickle, and then in a heavy downpour. Suffice it to say, the three passengers get very wet, very quickly.
"Balls," is all Mr Weasel has to say about it.
The pilot turns round again and takes pity on what has quickly become a bedraggled trio in the rain. "There's space in here," she says, referencing the small cabin she commands from, "for one of you."
The travellers take a look at each other.
"You're not going to let a lady get wet are you, guys?" Weasel and Jack contemplate Rose's question; at a time of less stress and dampness they may have thought of - in their own opinion - what would be a witty remark as to the questioner's qualifying as a lady. They are both - thankfully - aware that now is not the moment at which to strike up such banter, as it would easily go out in the rain.
"Go ahead, Rose," Jack and Weasel agree.
Rose proceeds to scoot into the cabin, where a bulb in the ceiling does not make all that much difference to the light quantity, or quality. She looks at her companions with something of an apologetic smile; they look at her wide-eyed and sad-faced, such as how a dog might stare into a dry home on a wet day, and only one with a heart of stone could not feel a little sorry for anything with that expression. This made no difference to who stood in the cabin and who stood in the rain, however, and they continued in silence until they reached the riverbank.
There, after disembarking upon a wooden jetty that serves as a dock, they struggle to make it through the mud that has become saturated with the rain. The earth sticks to their boots as they stand on it, a coagulated glue; Jack's left foot is held fast, and despite his efforts he cannot move it without his right foot then getting stuck. Rose attempts to help him, pulls him forward while desperately avoiding getting herself trapped, and Jack's foot does come free. Actually, it comes free quite a lot, and the combined force of Rose pulling and Jack lifting propels the foot forward, taking Jack in the same direction and head-on into Rose, who then falls onto her side in the slimy mud, with Jack on top of her. One of the two is a little excited by this, while the other of the two glares with seemingly more menace than any storm cloud could hope to conjure, turning excitement of the one into an amount of fear for the other, and desperate scrabbling ensues - not the kind that involves a board and letter tiles, either. That would be a most unhelpful activity when stuck in the mud.
Mr Weasel, accepting the duty of finding a route fraught with fewer muddy dangers for their luggage, - while the others take the direct route to the bus stop so as to avoid missing said transport - has ventured along the riverbank some five minutes before coming across a spot where the trees have provided enough shelter from the rain that crossing the ground looks to prove relatively easy. He doubles back and starts ferrying their various cases over the spot he has found, leaving the items in the care of the trees while going back to get the other things; and considers it not his business as to why Rose and Jack should be rolling about in the mud together.
After fifteen minutes pass for what most would consider a fifteen second journey, the trio are sat on a bench, under a tree, awaiting the bus. Rose and Jack are covered in mud, while Weasel has been forced to the end of the bench - due to his lack of mud - where water collects and streams from the pointed leaves of the tree above, finally proceeding to go down his back. When there is this much water coming from the sky, it is pointless to worry about it going down one's back. All are a little tired, despite the day still being young, and all are entirely fed up.
The faded blue bus that will take them to Siem Reap arrives shortly, and our three would-be rescuers get on board, squelching with the mud on their boots to the back of the bus, where they sit down on the long and threadbare seat. Few people occupy the other seats and the emptiness lends something of a ghostly feel, yet those that are present, being living locals, feel sorry for and, at the same time, take amusement at the disheveled three.
Despite their already soaked state, Rose, Jack and Weasel decide to dig about in their quickly-packed cases for rain coats, and successfully manage to shed a lot of the water into the bags. As the bus, unhappy with the state of affairs beneath it's tires, is forced to move forwards, Mr Weasel's attention is brought to his bag of glamours, and the alarming lack of tubes therein.
"We have a problem," he says to Rose and Jack, who sit in that order next to him. "All but three of my glamours are gone, and I packed more than enough before we came."
"Why is that a problem for us?" Asks Jack, who's ability to consider the plight of another's situation has been truly dampened in the rain.
"Because," responds Rose, jabbing Jack in the ribs with her elbow, "he's our friend who probably doesn't want to be stuck as a weasel for the rest of our trip." She turns to face Weasel. "What do you mean by gone? Aside from no longer being there, of course."
"I noticed it for sure yesterday, before we -- oh, damn! I forgot to check the hair."
"The hair?" Jack sounds puzzled.
"Yeah. I stuck a hair into the draw and was going to check if it had moved while we were out, to know if someone had opened it. Guess I forgot to look what with all that happened."
His two friends look at him with expressions which, Weasel understands by noting shared facial movements, entirely concur on a state of disbelief and bemusement.
"What?" He asks, with a hint of defensiveness.
"Sticking a hair to your draw?" Begins Jack. "It's a little - I don't know - ridiculous, isn't it?"
"I saw it in a Mundy movie! Something to do with spies and --"
"Next time you say you're staying in for the night, I'm dragging your butt down to the Trip Trap," interrupts Jack, with an earnest glare at Weasel to finish his point.
Rose, however - whilst sharing some of Jack's sentiments towards Weasel's imitation of movies - recognizes the implications of what Weasel is suggesting about the glamours.
"Are you saying someone's been stealing them?"
"I am now. In fact, I'd stake these last three tubes on it." He holds them up for Rose and Jack to see, before placing them in the side pocket of his shorts and zipping the compartment up with emphasis. Though by doing so, he quite clearly isn't going to be staking them to anything.
"Might it be Bufkin? He was acting a little unusual," Rose wonders.
"No, I subtly asked him and he was telling the truth."
Six and a half hours is the approximate length of the journey they're taking. Three hours into it and having gone up through forests and along mountainous roads, they begin to descend. Here they are met with an obstacle.
________________________________________________________________ _____________________________
"Hey, the bus is stopping," says Jack, looking up from his water-curled magazine regarding the pursuit of off-roaring. Rose and Weasel look around.
A voice announces - not via a tannoy, as the bus is too small for that - that there has been a mudslide on the road ahead, and that there is no option other than to stop and wait for it to be cleared by the kind locals. This, comments the voice, will take a long time.
Grumbling at the hold up, the three Fables get off the bus - leaving their baggage and coats behind after assurances that it will be guarded by the bus driver, who seems like a trustworthy fellow - and follow a line of people along the side of the road to what appears to be a pop-up cafe. The road itself is against a hill face on one side, and winds along a narrow plateau that drops significantly down the other side; the cafe is in the home of a family who live off the land, and stands at a precarious position between the road and the drop. Trees cover the area, so that some shelter from the rain can still be attained.
The cafe is formed simply because there is viable custom available in the people waiting for the mud to be cleared; and after Rose, Jack and Weasel select their choice of beverage from the admittedly small selection - though it is augmented by a choice of biscuits, much to Mr Weasel's delight - the three go outside to stand against a wooden wall of the house, onto which a tarpaulin canvas sticks out providing cover. The rain, though constant, changes in rate of amount, while always falling through the muggy air and letting everything below know it's still present.
"Urgh, I hope they get this stuff cleared soon. We don't have time to waste," Rose complains, before proceeding to take a sip from her white and wide mug.
"This never would have happened if we'd gone to the Musée du Parfum," says Jack, with an unmasked air of know-it-all-ism.
Weasel, being the one who put forward the suggest of Cambodia, doesn't take happily to the perceived insinuation that he is in any way responsible for the situation regarding Colin and Bufkin. "Oh, that's very helpful," is his reply. So strongly, in fact, does Jack's remark effect him, that he is obliged to balance his plate with three biscuits atop a flat fence post next to him, for fear of consigning them to a muddy fate. "We don't even know who's taken Colin and Bufkin; they really might have gone on their own!"
Rose doubts this point, however she decides the best choice she could currently make is to be quiet and drink, and so she does.
"Yeah, well, the French don't do this sort of thing." Retorts Jack. "At least, I don't think they do," he quickly adds, making his initial comeback effectively fall face down into the mud in which they stand.
"Why did you even want to go there!? You don't do perfume. You don't do flowers. Everyone who's ever had the experience of meeting you is more than aware of these facts!"
"You really want to know!?" Moods have have been exasperated with the temperature.
"I wouldn't bloody ask otherwise, would I?"
"Because of her!" He points sharply at Rose Red, who stops mid sip and widens her eyes.
"Wha?" Is all she can manage to say through a mouth half full of liquid.
Jack, who's calmed down a degree, looks at the soft ground, uncomfortable at meeting anyone else's gaze.
"You're Rose Red. I've been trying to get you on a date with me for ages and I thought - what with you're name and all - that flowers and perfume and stuff might work because everything else has failed and I just don't know what to do anymore and I think I might love you" That sentence is ended as breathless as it should appear, for it is also said with feeling.
Rose is silent. She's not quite sure what to say because she's not quite sure what to make of things: of course she'd noticed most of Jack's attention, however she just thought it was lascivious. Nothing to do with love. And there was the question now: was Jack being honest, or just trying another course of action for action?
Weasel, feeling somewhat responsible (as he should do) for this blurting out of ostensibly ardent yearning, hurriedly considers what he can do to break the tension. 'Biscuits!' He realizes. 'Is there anything they cannot do!?'
Swinging his arm and successfully grabbing the plate, he triumphantly shoves said article in front of Jack and Rose.
"I'm going to see how they're getting on," is Jack's only response, and he walks off dejectedly into the rain.
The answer is therefore, yes: biscuits cannot solve the feelings of the heart. Consider that a friendly warning.
Rose did take one and thank him, however.
"That was awkward," comments the biscuit profferer while Rose bites into one, producing a stale crunch.
After finishing the biscuit, she merely replies: "Yeah."
Weasel sips his drink. "How do you feel about it? If you don't mind my asking."
"Not sure. I always figured he was just horny--"
"Probably still is."
"--yet what if he's being honest, Weasel?"
"How were things between you two before I met you?"
She shrugs, followed by, "bits of flirting, nothing serious. He never showed any real interest; not for a while at, least."
"What does your heart say?"
Rose giggles. "You really have been watching too many Mundy movies."
It takes a few hours for the mud to be cleared and the road deemed safe enough to travel across once more. Rose and Weasel spend the time talking and wandering around the area; Rose sometimes drifts into contemplation, during which Weasel takes in the scenery - such as worn statues acting as protectors stopping people from plummeting over the side of the road - with the aid of his camera. As for Jack, he pitches in to help clear the road block; and none speak as they trod back onto the bus, and sit apart.
While they who intend to take back their friends travel towards their destination, crossing through farmland and villages in the course of doing so, we will pass the time by shifting our attention once more to New York.
Snow White sits at her desk in the Business Office, mulling over what to do next. It had been a long day, or at least felt like one in the heat of the summer. She pulls her sleeve up a little to check her watch, the silver of which glints in the reflection of the light against her pale skin. 'The evening's well and truly here,' she thinks. 'Might as well go home.'
As she reaches down for her bag and stands up the phone on her desk rings, breaking the warm silence with a demanding shrill. Snow hesitates for just a moment, hoping that whoever is on the other end decides that what they're trying to contact her about isn't so important after all. That doesn't happen. With a resigned sigh she picks up the receiver.
"Business Office, Snow White speaking."
"Hi Snow, it's me" - a brief pause for effect - "Bigby."
"Oh. Hello, Bigby." There was surprise followed by concern in her voice, as the Sheriff rarely rung, and when he did so it was usually regarding a matter of importance.
"I need you to come over. It's... something personal."
"Personal?" That was unexpected. "Can't you come here?"
"Not really. It won't take long, though." She considered debating the location, then decided not to. Bigby had rung her - he wouldn't do that if it was about any old thing.
"Okay. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
"Thanks." He puts the receiver down.
True to her word, Snow White is knocking on Bigby Wolf's front door two minutes later. The grey door seems unaffected by her touch at first, and then abruptly opens.
"Hey, Snow. Come in." Snow notices that he's still wearing his usual summer outfit of the white shirt and black tie combo. She walks over the threshold, bag in hand, as Bigby holds the door open for her, and closes it once she's in.
He walks into the living room without any other sign, leaving Snow to presume that he wishes her to follow him. Standing next to his windowledge and looking directly at her, he asks her what she thinks of something he vaguely nods at.
"It's very beautiful, " she answers, wondering if he really did mean the sunset that shines in through the window and bathes her in a warm orange glow.
"Really?" He seems surprised.
"Yes. The colours are so intense and the sky seems alive. It's, erm, very romantic." Almost imperceptibly her heart flutters.
Bigby stands, momentarily captivated by the way the light defines Snow's delicate features, before saying:
"No. This!" He points at something withered on the ledge.
Snow is confused. "Wh... Hang on." She moves forward to get a better view. "It's a plant. A very dead one." What was going on? What about the sunset?
Bigby winces at the mention of 'dead'. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
"Oh, brother." He places his hand to his forehead.
"Did you call me over to look at your dead plant?"
"Sort of. It's not my dead plant, though I pretty much killed it."
Snow White is annoyed with this misleading of feelings, feelings which hurt to be mislead.
"Well, who's is it? And why do you care if you killed it?"
"It's Colin's; and because I said I'd look after it while he's away."
"So? Just tell him you failed." Even Bigby could detect the dig in the last word.
"Because he'll just go on about the time I blew down his house, and what am I supposed to do about that now!? So I said I'd water his plant."
There's something about his tone that Snow can't quite place.
"Are you saying that watering his plant was to make up for blowing down his home?"
The Sheriff looks uncomfortable. "Kind of, yeah."
Snow laughs, despite the earlier misunderstanding. "The Big Bad Wolf is trying to make up for past deeds?"
"I don't know. Not entirely. I mean, he built it out of straw, for crying out loud! Straw! I was doing him a favour by blowing it down, because, honestly, who builds a house out of just straw? An idiot, that's who! Still -" another Bigby pause "- I thought this might make up for it, or something."
Snow shows a sly, yet friendly smile as she replies. "Well, Bigby, you've honestly surprised me there."
"Thanks. I think. Anyway, do you know what sort of plant this is? Or was?"
(For any readers wondering at this point: the sun has, in many ways, set by now.)
"I think it might be a sort of bamboo," advises Snow.
"Bamboo, huh?"
"Why do you want to know? Are you going to buy another?"
"I was thinking of." He looks plain-faced at her.
She smiles again. "Oh, Bigby."
(Perhaps, then, there are a few rays left yet.)
Many hours the later, the bus carrying Rose, Jack, and Weasel arrives at it's destination: Siem Reap. There were no other delays after the mud-slide, and as the rain eased off the bus was at least a little more able to cope with the terrain; much of which now covers the vehicle's side.
"Ahh, my back," says a subdued Rose. "Guess I ain't gonna be crowd surfing for a while." She looks at her companions from the back seat, one two seats down the left row, one a seat to the right. None of them had spoken much to each other in the past hours, but Rose knew that now had to change if they wanted to get Bufkin and Colin back. Which they did.
Noticing that they're both asleep, she rolls her eyes. Jack she shakes awake first, who then mumbles a thanks and gets his things. Mr Weasel, on the other hand, proves more difficult to wake up. He simply murmours snatches of words when she moves him, so, Rose decides, a friendly slap is in order.
TSHH (that's the slap, by the way)
"WHA - TURTLES!?" Cries Mr Weasel, jumping up and startling the few still on board. After a dazed second he looks around embarrassed. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Strange dream."
Rose eyes him with a raised eyebrow, after which they get off the bus.
The air is hot still, and the humidity carried through it remains. Such a quantity of rain has had some effect, though, as it does appear to be a mite cooler.
The buildings around them do not reach for the sky, being about three levels high at most, and are built with no gap between the arches of the entrances. The street is wide and tarmacked, though murky water lurks around the sides of it, and plant life grows in borders on the side-walks. The sun has shot through a few of the clouds, and the bright colours of the buildings and life shine back.
Motorized rickshaws - replacing human-power with motorbike power - whizz up and down, while what was briefly the trio's bus drives off to join the cars that wend through the lights of the city.
"Come on," says Rose. "Let's find our hotel."
It does not take them too long to find what is, in actuality, advertised as a villa, by looking at their map. Passing underneath the gold-lettered entrance sign that hangs above an open, yet heavy looking gate, the lamps that glow in and next to the palm trees make for a surreal sensation in the gathering dusk; especially after the gloomy journey to get there. The white villa that they approach seems inviting, with shuttered arched windows from behind which comes a glow, and a balcony overlooking a bar and dining area. A long pool can be seen as they enter, with tropical trees and plants around the side.
There's a friendly greeting by the man behind a wooden counter, and they check into their rooms with ease. Climbing a sturdy staircase on the villa's side to reach the next floor, the three part ways as they retire to their rooms for a much needed shower and rest. It's doubtful if they could ever have got Colin and Bufkin into the place, even if they were stealthy about it.
Thirty minutes later, refreshed and unpacked, Weasel heads down to the bar, alone, and orders a Hanuman cocktail - a fruity mixture with a twist. Sitting on a stool, he sees the sky transform - similar to the way it did in New York - and is uplifted by it.
"Would you like some tourist advice?" Asks the woman behind the bar.
"Sure," replies Weasel.
"Get a rickshaw to the temples. It's enchanting at sunset."
Mr Weasel, keen to take beneficial advice when it appears, thanks her for the suggestion, and says he was going to follow it.
"No problem." She replies. "I will save your drink for when you get back." This was rather kind of her, Weasel thought.
He popped back to his room to acquire his camera, and stopped in on both Roses' and Jack's to see if they would like to join him. Both said no, thanks; one a little more hospitably than the other.
The rickshaw ride was relatively smooth compared to the bus, though it was noisy. Ten minutes and it was over, however, and after a brief walk, there stood, in striking contrast, the silhouette of Angkor Wat. With the sky in such a display, he takes a picture.
He stays until darkness becomes overwhelming, listening to the birds' call to each other, and then heads back to the villa, where he resumes his cocktails and talks pleasantly with the woman who kept it.
After a night of recuperating in rooms with cream coloured walls and teak floors, - and a few extra hours resting in the morning, for even Fables require a break after a bumpy bus ride - Rose Red, Jack Horner, and Mr Weasel take breakfast in the outdoor restaurant. This done with in a more amicable mood, they remove to a spacious lounge with similar teak fittings to their rooms, a bright orange and brown sofa to plan how they should go about their day.
"How are we supposed to find Colin and Bufkin in a city like this? It's huge," ponders Jack.
"The note said to come here," replies Rose.
"It's not like a talking pig and flying monkey are everyday occurrences." Weasel chips in.
"You're saying that it might not be Mundies who took them?" Asks Jack.
"Maybe," is all Weasel says.
"Let's just think a minute. What's in this city that might relate to a talking pig and flying monkey?"
There is an "ahem" behind them, though it is too quiet to be heard.
"Ermm," is the noise Weasel makes while he thinks.
"AHEM." This time it is loud enough to gain attention, and the three turn around on the sofa to see a man, wearing a certain type of sunglasses, between them and a bamboo screen.
"Wait a second," Jack whispers, recognizing the glasses.
"I think it might be me you're looking for," the man says. He raises the glasses up a little to reveal two startling eyes.
"Good grief." Mr Weasel is taken aback.
It is Rose, though, who first recognizes the man.
"Tezoth? Is that you?"
The man shows a satisfied smile, and lowers the glasses.
That is DragonButter's Tezoth, and I'm rather hoping he doesn't mind me borrowing him for a little while, as I said I would do.
That was amazing, Noir, it was most certainly worth the wait! The comic references were good and you did justice to my character. Thanks so much for including him for a brief moment! :P
Part five point two!
Snow White sits at her desk in the Business Office, mulling over what to do next. It had been a long day, or at le… moreast felt like one in the heat of the summer. She pulls her sleeve up a little to check her watch, the silver of which glints in the reflection of the light against her pale skin. 'The evening's well and truly here,' she thinks. 'Might as well go home.'
As she reaches down for her bag and stands up the phone on her desk rings, breaking the warm silence with a demanding shrill. Snow hesitates for just a moment, hoping that whoever is on the other end decides that what they're trying to contact her about isn't so important after all. That doesn't happen. With a resigned sigh she picks up the receiver.
"Business Office, Snow White speaking."
"Hi Snow, it's me" - a brief pause for effect - "Bigby."
"Oh. Hello, Bigby." There was surprise followed by concern in her voice, as the Sheriff rarely rung, … [view original content]
Romance! Okay, not quite. A tiny hint of, though, so I guess pudding_pie and Emypess' work is starting to rub off. Part four of the Vacation… more tale is at the end of page 25; this is part five; and we're almost at the end. Hope y'all like it!
Edit: There's too much for one post, so it's one part split over two sections.
At an hour in the morning where eyes are particularly bleary, when any communication above an assenting grunt is a tall order, Jack Horner, Rose Red, and Mr Weasel are standing on an old fishing boat that plies it's way down the Tatai river. Only a few days ago were these three and two more, Colin and Bufkin, taking that very same boat up-river to their accommodation. Now, with Colin and Bufkin taken by an unknown individual/s, the three make this journey in a determined effort to rescue their friends.
In silence, they lean on the edge of the boat next to each other, looking to the east.
"Is it me," asks Weasel, who… [view original content]
This is not a story entry. I've been having major writer's block now. But I have a question for you, Pie.
I'm sure you've see the trailer for the 5th episode. But, while watching it, you crossed my mind. What will you do, IF Georgie is killed off? Will you continue writing the Fable fanfics or are you going to end it and switch it up? It was just a question and HOPE you still continue these. I like them a lot! Just a question. You can ignore this if you want.
I enter the mansion and find myself in the office of that con Barney, but no one is there. It's quiet, too quiet... Not a guard in sight, hell I even take a peek outside of the room and see not one soul. This is too easy, but whatever. Let's see what this crooked bastard is hiding here.
I began to look through the papers on Barney's desk. It was exactly what I expected, money laundering, human trafficking, extortion. The list goes on, and what the hell is Fable Town?
Also this name 'Bluebeard' keeps showing up, who the hell is this guy, and why is he giving money to Barney? Just what the hell is going on here, but whatever. I have enough proof to bring Barney down. But before I do that I need to give back to my community what Barney stole. Lets crack open this safe...
I manage to recovered over 870,000 dollars from Barney's safe. Most of this is from Barney's 'taxes' he collected from the community. I'm taking this and giving it back to the community, and sending Barney right to his jail cell. Now let's get out of here... wait someones coming I need to hide somewhere..
Using the power of my magical sword I hid in a nearby closet out of sight and watched 3 people enter the room. One of them is that slime ball Barney lighting his cheap cigars. The second is his right hand man Redd who is accompanied by his wolf dog, Sheba. And the third man is a middle aged man, shaved head with a beard and is wearing a pair of expensive glasses..
The three men are arguing over something, then suddenly a alarm goes off. Barney walks to his security screen and slams his fist onto the desk in frustration. Someone else is breaking into the mansion but who?
Barney marches out of the room and the bald man with glasses follows him and grins, however Redd remains behind after seeing Sheba growl at the closet where I am hiding. My heart is pounding fast. I'm looking into the eyes of this dog, and I don't see no ordinary dog. I see something monstrous, vicious. A cold heart killing machine.
I was holding all of this money and documents with me, so I had no time to fight. I took out a home made smoke bomb and threw it towards them. They were stun which gave me enough time to make my escape....
I ran out of the room down into the hall and from a distance I seen a window where I can make my elegant escape. As I about to exit, I am pulled into a dark room by someone...
Muhaha! You have been struck by the pudding_pie and Emmy train! XD lol
I'm loving the detail and images created in my head as I read this… more. If Mr. Weasel needs some romance tips, just ask Georgie Porgie or Gren.
I especially enjoyed Weasel trying to 'woo' Rose with the whole 'what does your heart say' bit. This was fun and can't wait to read more. Good job!
Thanks for saying so xD he will be back for part six, if that's okay, as I was planning on making him the one who explains what's going on. Glad you thought it did him justice, though
That was amazing, Noir, it was most certainly worth the wait! The comic references were good and you did justice to my character. Thanks so much for including him for a brief moment! :P
Chapter 2 Lion's Den
I enter the mansion and find myself in the office of that con Barney, but no one is there. It's quiet, too quiet...… more Not a guard in sight, hell I even take a peek outside of the room and see not one soul. This is too easy, but whatever. Let's see what this crooked bastard is hiding here.
I began to look through the papers on Barney's desk. It was exactly what I expected, money laundering, human trafficking, extortion. The list goes on, and what the hell is Fable Town?
Also this name 'Bluebeard' keeps showing up, who the hell is this guy, and why is he giving money to Barney? Just what the hell is going on here, but whatever. I have enough proof to bring Barney down. But before I do that I need to give back to my community what Barney stole. Lets crack open this safe...
I manage to recovered over 870,000 dollars from Barney's safe. Most of this is from Barney's 'taxes' he collected from the community. I'm taki… [view original content]
No. Nothing will ever change, no matter the outcome of the 5th episode. Although, depending on the whole 'Vivian' thing, I MIGHT have to change Junior's story. That is why I'm waiting. But hell...who knows.
Funny how anything with Georgie now, everyone asks me! XD You're not the 1st since the trailer came out.
This is not a story entry. I've been having major writer's block now. But I have a question for you, Pie.
I'm sure you've see the trailer… more for the 5th episode. But, while watching it, you crossed my mind. What will you do, IF Georgie is killed off? Will you continue writing the Fable fanfics or are you going to end it and switch it up? It was just a question and HOPE you still continue these. I like them a lot! Just a question. You can ignore this if you want.
Thanks for saying so xD he will be back for part six, if that's okay, as I was planning on making him the one who explains what's going on. Glad you thought it did him justice, though
Chapter 2 Lion's Den
I enter the mansion and find myself in the office of that con Barney, but no one is there. It's quiet, too quiet...… more Not a guard in sight, hell I even take a peek outside of the room and see not one soul. This is too easy, but whatever. Let's see what this crooked bastard is hiding here.
I began to look through the papers on Barney's desk. It was exactly what I expected, money laundering, human trafficking, extortion. The list goes on, and what the hell is Fable Town?
Also this name 'Bluebeard' keeps showing up, who the hell is this guy, and why is he giving money to Barney? Just what the hell is going on here, but whatever. I have enough proof to bring Barney down. But before I do that I need to give back to my community what Barney stole. Lets crack open this safe...
I manage to recovered over 870,000 dollars from Barney's safe. Most of this is from Barney's 'taxes' he collected from the community. I'm taki… [view original content]
Psh. Yeah right! I KNOW when I've been defeated! XD I'd be a FOOL to go up against Pie when it comes to the artsy fartsy stuff! Wait-there was a holiday challenge for the 4th of july?! XD
Comments
How old is Charming compared to Jack? Many of the characters look relatively young, yet they're obviously not. I could see Jack being interested in knowing he has a sister - even if it's only so he can get some money off her :P By the way, I also read you're other piece below, which was entertaining, in a slightly down sort of a way. Which is good, even though it might not sound it.
Chapter 1 Beginning
Hey, let me introduce myself.. My name is Robby and apparently, according to some people I'm an outlaw, a thief, a fool. Some people see me as a hero fighting for what is right and hell some people even called me the green arrow once because of the colors I wear. I rarely use my bow and arrow though. My weapon of choice is my sword I got from this old man. It makes me agile, more clever and more courageous, just like my ancestor. Now enough about that for now. Let me tell you how I became this "outlaw" this "hero". Have a seat, you're in for a treat..
After my parent's died me and my brother Walter went to live with our crazy uncle in the U.S. At first I didn't like but after a while I got use it. I met cool people there and hell even ran into talking animals there. Yes talking animals.. don't ask. There was one time I went camping with my brother and uncle up in the Appalachians and I seen some kind of creature... It was hairy, humanoid... I don't know.... but it didn't bother us.
A couple years later, I began discover my "ability". I read books on my ancestor Robin Hood and studied him. I trained hard strengthening myself to move just like him. After awhile my archery skills improved, then I picked up a sword and began training with it.
I started to realize who I am, and what I could do help those in need. So i decided to put my skills to the test.
My first move in my quest was to liberate my neighborhood. It's filled with crime, poverty, prostitution and so many homeless children roaming the street. Its separated in two districts, The Gold District and the Rust District, in other words rich and poor district, not even a middle class.
The leader of the Gold District is a no good con named Barney. Before he came to power he was the adviser of the previous mayor. No wonder why this place went to hell....
But whatever, I'm putting a end to his reign of terror one way or another. He just sits there in his fucking mansion while everyone else suffers. He is also involved in the Chinese mafia and also takes donations from someone by the name of "Bluebeard"? His name sound familiar, I think he was a pirate or something, but whatever.
I'm taking back what belongs to this community and i'm going to expose this bastard for the con he really is, but first i need to find a way into that mansion.... Hmm there's a window open.. I can get in from those tree's but I don't know what's waiting for me on other side..
To be continued...
An interesting read and premise; surely you aren't going to leave us wondering how Bigby will go about such a deed? Anyway, welcome!
Creepy! Yet intriguing.
Also, well done for typing all that out without a keyboard on an Xbox One. I get fed up with all the clicking just using a search engine.
Emily Porgie
Part 2
"Emily and the Wolf"
NOTE: This will have a lot of drug refrences and language. Be prepared, folks.
Enjoy
Dear Diary: Fuck its hot in this club. Hans Junior needs to hurry up and fix the AC. I've got girls and guys comin' in for tryouts. Need some younger, lookin' faces around here. Felicia thinks its a ridiculous idea but no offense-who is the one sittin' in the chair, makin' these decisions? That's right. Me, bitch. Fuck my head hurts like fuckin' hell still. Feels like someone took a hammer and tossed it into my skull. Uh. Its going to be a long day. Fuckin' Katie...textin' me...fucks sake.
I finally found out why my fuckin' head hurt and there was a large gash on my cheek. DErugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Oh. And some guy pissed me off.
I can't recall, to tell you the truth. I was so fuckin' high that night. I had just done a line of coke off some random chick's ass. Hell, I don't remember a damn thing. All they told me was this-he pissed me off, I chased him down and fought him in the alley. After he crawled away to find help, guess I was ready to fight once more. I ended up in an apartment, doing crack this time and fought the dealer in the bathroom. That would explain the gash. And the blood. Oh-and this headache.
Whatever. Must not have been THAT much fun, if I can recall the incident. That was long gone now. I had too much to do today. The new line up of girls and guys are coming by for me to inspect. Need some new faces around here. Something different.
My sister tried calling earlier. God love Katie but not in the mood to hear her bullshit right now. "Emily, when you get the chance please call me! Mom and dad told me what happened to you. lease. I'm worried about you. Love you." Please. Not in the mood for this shit.
As I sit down in my chair and look out into the stage, Felicia brings me a stack of files. There are seven of them; three girls and four boys. They look half way decent and can't complain. As I fli through their photos, she brings me an ice cold beer. God love Felicia but for some reason, she is annoying me right now.
"Daddy, you need anything else?" She sounds so worried and concerned. For fuck's sake, woman. Leave me be!
"No, I'm good Felicia. Thank you."
"Are you sure? You need Asprin. A cushion for your seat. Maybe another shot of Tequila and-"
"FELICIA! Stop! I have everything..." Her facial expression said it all. She looked devestated and turned away quickly and headed into the kitchen. I sighed and tried to ignore the image.
The group would be arriving in five minutes. I had time. I rushed off into the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet. I lifted the tank lid and fished out a baggie taped to the side. I pulled out a spoon and lighter and spooned out a handful of crack. God, love this stuff. I quickly flicked the bic and watched as the flames danced against the spoon. I injected the liquid and sat for a minute. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. After I had a chance to relax, I left the bathroom.
Good. No one was here yet. Henry, however, stood against the wall and watched me stumble. Think he knew what I had just done. 'Stop loooking at me like that,' I thought. 'Go away.'
Thr group showed up, just as I sat down and the drug began to relax my nerves. The girls were good looking and the men were handsome and well toned. I pulled out the first name. Alyssa.
"So, you want to dance for me at the Pudding & Pie, right?"
"That's right..."
"Why? And don't you fuckin' tell me because it looks like fun."
Alyssa just stood there, staring at me. She lloked lost and confused. All I could do was sigh. Was it that hard to answer?
"Look, if your here to waste my time-ANY OF YOU-the fuckin' door is right there! Take it and don't come back. So WHY do you want to dance for me?! Let's try it again!"
"I...I just-you see..."
I had no patience today. None. These stuid assholes were pissing me off. Felicia must have noticed because she ran in awfully quick to my side. In her hand she had a bottle of tequila. I grabbed it and tossed it into the group. The girls all shrieked, like they had just seen a mouse scurry across the floor.
"You just what, HUH?! You think this is a fuckin' joke? You think all of this will pay for a fuckin' tit job or a fancy car or your fuckin stupid ass pony that you never got when you were six?! HUH!? IF you do not have a legit answer for me, right now, there is the fuckin' door!"
Alyssa and the others had nothing to say. They all were silent and watching me kick chairs, throw bottles and continue to knock them down a few pegs.
"You need to relax," said one of the girls.
"Excuse me?"
"Look. We are new to this. Some of us have bills and kids. You don't need to be yelling at us like-"
"You know what YOU are doing?"
"I've danced before-"
"I don't count Ballet, love. This is NOT Ballet."
"No, not Ballet. I've taken various dance classes in high school. I don't understand why you need to point out all the flaws, when I can do circles around you. You don't know talent. Neither did your father-"
"Heather, right?"
"Yes..."
"Everyone sit down. I need to see what Heather is TRYIN' to tell me."
Heather stood on stage alone; the others stood behind me and watched this poor girl shake and tremble. She began to use the pole as a crutch and watched as I took a seat at the edge of the stage.
"Go on, then! SHOW me what you can do."
"I...uh...well..."
"NOW!"
Heather did some weird grinding thing against the pole. She spun around, managed to make a complete circle but fell down. She tried to stand up but I could tell she had not worn high heels before. She was mortified, as she tried to hide her face.
"So, you have talent, huh?"
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. She was face to face now with me. I could feel her tremble, the fear locked in her eyes.
"Where the fuck is the talent, Heather? Hm? I DON'T SEE TALENT! All I see, is some stupid blonde bitch, that THINKS she can dance! And ALL you have to back it up, is high school! Who the fuck cares, if you DANCED in high school! This is a mother fuckin' strip club! Look at you-you ain't even got the fuckin' hips! The fuckin' tits to be showin' your face in my club! My father....you fuckin' bitch..."
"Daddy-you need to relax, Emily-"
"SHUT UP, FELICIA! THIS is a dance club! WE have a business, WE have to make money. WE also have bills! You are wasting my FUCKIN' time, you stupid fuckin' bitch! How DARE you come into MY club and tell ME how to run MY fuckin' business-"
I wanted to hit this girl so bad. For punishment? No. Because I had the authority at that moment? No. Because I was Emily Caitlynn Porgie? Probably.
"Hey, Porgie. Why don't you pick on someone a little bit tougher then that poor creature?"
That voice. I know that voice. I threw Heather down, turned and found him leaning against the wall. Felicia stood wide eyed and bewildered by his presence. I could not believe it-Malcom Crenshaw.
"The fuck you doin' here, wolf?"
Felicia was at my side, shoving a paper into my arm. I snatched it from her and scanned it. 'Interested in working for the Pudding & Pie. No prior experience but willing to learn.' Was he fucking serious? So. THIS is what she was telling me earlier.
"You...want to work for me?"
"Seems like you are lookin' for a 'punching bag.' I've got all the experience you are looking for. Go ahead-try me."
His cocky smile made me want it more. This guy. I remember him now.
"I need this, Emily. I...I will do whatever you want..."
The others looked at him like he was insane. He was being led to the slaughter house and did not seemed bothered by it. I took a seat in my chair and tossed the other files aside. Felicia took a seat beside me. The drug was kicking in bad now. I was ready.
"Okay, Malcom. Show me and the others how its done. Give ME what I want..."
I lit a cigarette and watched as he took off his shirt.
His desperate pleas were all I needed. This was going to be good.
The hell! MALCOM wants to join the Pudding and Pie??
That was a twist! Can't wait to see where this goes! Love the pictures to, btw.
Really puts in the emotions I felt as well. Man. Can I tell you Emily is so twisted and cruel! Love it!
Good job again, pie!!
I invision him more or less as the boogeyman. Not sure what to call him. May have him simply select a name he overhears and likes as his own, while the reader knows whom, or what he really is.
Very good, Stone, very good indeed...
Alright, cool.
I just have to say that picture is so badass of Emily, excellent job pudding.
Hey. Thanks a lot. Trying some new things.
Yeah. Bet you didn't see that coming.
Thank you. Glad you and everyone else is enjoying it.
Emily Porgie
Part 3
Not bad for an old guy
I had heard of some strange things occuring in my life time. Mine was standing before me, half naked, hands clutched against his chest. My eyes drifted to the nervous wolf, quivering in agitation, knowing the possibility of his fate was in my hands.
I loved knowing this. I didn't feel any hesitation at that moment. He was clay in my hands; a lump of cold, old, wet clay that remained in my grasp, waiting to be molded into a masterpiece.
I had forgotten about the others for a few minutes. Their files and portfolio pictures were carpeting my floors. I could hear small conversations being carried out behind me; Heather's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She terminated the conversation the instant I turned to face her. She appeared alarmed and remaind soundless. I'm assuming my sudden movement and vexed facial expression were enough.
I glanced around at the others. They all stood perfectly still, as the blue and pink neon lights reflected off their skin and seemed to ricochet back into the club. My focus returned to Malcom. They remaind motionless the remaining of the time. I slipped back into my seat and focused my eyes on the massive beast before me.
"So, you want to join my club, eh?"
"Yes..."
"Why?"
"You know why, Emily..."
"My grandfather send you?"
"He has no idea I'm here."
I knew about Malcom. I knew what he previously did before in the 'good old' days. At one time, Malcom could decide the fate and outcome of a Folker that failed to cooperate with the rules and laws. Mom and Papa briefly explained to me his role; I lost all interest and became angry when I found out the truth. He, along with others, were responsible for the chaos they created for my parents and godparents; my uncle Gren and Aunt Carla still receive death threats from remaining Council members. Malcom was dominant in social and professional situations. He was once part of a powerful group. Now, here he was, a enervated, broken down wolf, asking me for help.
How I was loving every second of this.
Malcom seemed uneasy, as I examined his file. He was not a bad looking man for his age. He must have been well into his mid 100's; close to fifty in mundy years. I studied his picture. He was indeed gorgeous and someone with his build would certainly bring in the green.
"You want to remain anonymous?"
"Please, Emily. This HAS to remain a secret..."
"Ashamed are we? I don't know about all this hiding bullshit..."
"Emily, please. I can't-you know why. Please. Can't you just do this?"
"Askin' for a lot of favors, dog. Remember who is holding the leash right now."
"I'm...I'm sorry..."
I listened and waited for him to continue. He never did. For a tiny second, I felt sympathy for Malcom. I tolerated him; not because of what he did for my family at one time but devotion and constant support he had for our little slice of Heaven. He remained loyal to my grandfather and stood by our side, even after his banishment from 'that side.'
I signaled at Felicia, who quickly proceeded in my location. She handed me my iphone; the room remained silent, as I moved around the music files. Malcom was inanimate. His eyes were watching me, trying to figure out my next move.
"Do you know how to dance?"
"No..."
"Oh for fuck's sake! Really?"
"I can learn...what do you want?"
"God fuckin' dammit! Sexy, people! Eye contact! Move your hips, do some twirls-flash some tits, whip it out! Make them pour their hard earned money all over this fuckin' place and all over your sweaty bodies!" Yeesh, dad...go back and hide in the shadows.
I needed a drink. Layers of cocaine. Something. I was feeling infuriated. Malcom looked down in the direction I was pointing at; he examined his arms and chest area. He seemed muddled by my actions.
"My chest hair?"
"No. The fuckin' color of your eyes-YES! The goddamn chest hair!"
"What about it?"
"Take care of it! This is not the 'Pudding & Pie Lawn care services.' Wax, trim, shave-whatever! All of it but what sits on the top of your head!"
This poor wretched man looked at me with disbelief. His dark yellow eyes looked so pathetic. When I refused to speak again after that, he simply gave in and agreed.
"Perfect. Have it done by tomorrow." I found the song just for Malcom. Despite his lack of skills and knowledge of the art of 'adult' entertainment, I showed some compassion and gave him a chance. When 'It's raining men' began to echo among the club's walls, the idiot continued staring at me; he seemed shocked and confused. Now I was displeased and losing what patience I had left. Was he that stupid?
"Go on, then!"
I sat back into my chair, iphone in hand, as Malcom began grinding into the pole, eyes concentrating on my reaction. He managed to lift his massive legs up and wrap them around the pole. He slid down, eyes still remaining on me and twirled twice around. We watched, as Malcom walked off stage and to my direction. I could hear gasps behind me.
'It's raining me. Hallejuah, its raining men! I'm gonna go out and let myself get absolutly soaking wet...
I didn't budge, as he began to gyrate against my lap; his cavort movements speeding up and in tune with the rhythm of the music. Everyone watched, as the music ended and Malcom finished his arobatic performance on the pole. I stood up and clapped; everyone, including Felicia, were stunned to see a smile on my face.
"YES! Yes, yes, yes! Now THAT is fuckin' sexy! THAT is what we do, folks! All of you fuck off! Welcome to the Pudding & Pie, Malcom!"
I gave him a friendly slap on the ass and walked away. He continued to stand there; from the corner of my eye, I saw Felicia taking him and showing him the men's dressing room. I was pleased, as I locked the door and made a thick line of cocaine. I rolled up a $100 bill and took it all in. Ugh! God! This is what I needed! A rush to end what just took place. Was it power clouding my mind? Shit, maybe. Knowing WHO was working for me...who was now the bitch.
VEEERRRN! VEEEEERN! VEEEEERN!
Fuck! It was my phone! I looked down; it was mom. I'd call her back in a bit. Right now, I wanted to embrace myself in this moment, for I was in control. I had the power.
For I, was Emily Caitlynn Porgie.
Up next: Debating between Penny or Peter. We will just have to wait and see who I pick.
Hope you enjoyed this tale.
Wow! That was very descriptive and fun to read. I could see Emily, just like Georgie used to be, sitting in the exact chair, yelling at the dancer. (This time, its Malcom.)
Emily is now one of my favorite Fable characters you have created. (Next to Lyla and even though she is NOT a Fable, Miss Carla Grendel.
) The pictures are brilliant like always and have a very 'comic book' feeling to them. Must be the design of them.
I actually would LOVE to hear Peter's story next, since we now know who REALLY fathered him and I'm anxious to see how that turns out. Something tells me there is more to this...keeping my eye on you, Pie!
Keep up the good work, dude!!
Thank you, Jones. That is what I was trying to aim for. She has always looked up to Georgie and when the time came, she snatched up the club and made it her own. It would have gone to Junior but that will be explained in his story.
Glad you like the pics. Trying different methods. And I might start with Peter. Have a lot of ideas for him but we will see when the time comes.
That is some impressive writing.
Romance! Okay, not quite. A tiny hint of, though, so I guess pudding_pie and Emypess' work is starting to rub off. Part four of the Vacation tale is at the end of page 25; this is part five; and we're almost at the end. Hope y'all like it!
Edit: There's too much for one post, so it's one part split over two sections.
At an hour in the morning where eyes are particularly bleary, when any communication above an assenting grunt is a tall order, Jack Horner, Rose Red, and Mr Weasel are standing on an old fishing boat that plies it's way down the Tatai river. Only a few days ago were these three and two more, Colin and Bufkin, taking that very same boat up-river to their accommodation. Now, with Colin and Bufkin taken by an unknown individual/s, the three make this journey in a determined effort to rescue their friends.
In silence, they lean on the edge of the boat next to each other, looking to the east.
"Is it me," asks Weasel, who is the first to strike conversation today, "or is it hot?"
"It's always hot here," Rose replies, who props her head up with her chin, "though it does seem a little more humid than usual."
"Yeah," agrees Jack. "I seem to be sweating out more than I'm putting in." He disconcertedly looks at his armpits.
A few moments pass.
"Shouldn't the sun be rising about now?" Weasel leads the small talk charge again, and he's correct that the sun should be visible.
"It is still a bit dark," Rose concurs.
Turning round, the woman piloting the boat speaks up. "I don't think you will see much sun today," with any apparent sinister intent not intended.
"What do you mean?" Inquires Rose.
"It's the rain season: there are many clouds in the sky." She points upwards after saying this, making sure to get her point across to the t-shirt wearing trio.
Sure enough, as the sun rises a little more, grey clouds can be seen above them, with patches of light breaking through. These are not ordinary grey clouds, however; they do not lie flat on the sky for hours on end as if too tired to move, and nor are they the sort that seem to menace from a distance, yet pass by without action. These are storm clouds, and they mean business.
Appearing as great, looming leviathans; towering masses harbouring unappeasable wrath; where no light reaches they seem to be weighed down by their dark mass, and where illumination takes place they seem to rise, such as mighty castles, scorning the peasantry below. That's how Mr Weasel sees them, at least.
As the three gaze at the spectacle in the sky - for a spectacle it is - great globulars of rain are set free from their prison above, at first in a trickle, and then in a heavy downpour. Suffice it to say, the three passengers get very wet, very quickly.
"Balls," is all Mr Weasel has to say about it.
The pilot turns round again and takes pity on what has quickly become a bedraggled trio in the rain. "There's space in here," she says, referencing the small cabin she commands from, "for one of you."
The travellers take a look at each other.
"You're not going to let a lady get wet are you, guys?" Weasel and Jack contemplate Rose's question; at a time of less stress and dampness they may have thought of - in their own opinion - what would be a witty remark as to the questioner's qualifying as a lady. They are both - thankfully - aware that now is not the moment at which to strike up such banter, as it would easily go out in the rain.
"Go ahead, Rose," Jack and Weasel agree.
Rose proceeds to scoot into the cabin, where a bulb in the ceiling does not make all that much difference to the light quantity, or quality. She looks at her companions with something of an apologetic smile; they look at her wide-eyed and sad-faced, such as how a dog might stare into a dry home on a wet day, and only one with a heart of stone could not feel a little sorry for anything with that expression. This made no difference to who stood in the cabin and who stood in the rain, however, and they continued in silence until they reached the riverbank.
There, after disembarking upon a wooden jetty that serves as a dock, they struggle to make it through the mud that has become saturated with the rain. The earth sticks to their boots as they stand on it, a coagulated glue; Jack's left foot is held fast, and despite his efforts he cannot move it without his right foot then getting stuck. Rose attempts to help him, pulls him forward while desperately avoiding getting herself trapped, and Jack's foot does come free. Actually, it comes free quite a lot, and the combined force of Rose pulling and Jack lifting propels the foot forward, taking Jack in the same direction and head-on into Rose, who then falls onto her side in the slimy mud, with Jack on top of her. One of the two is a little excited by this, while the other of the two glares with seemingly more menace than any storm cloud could hope to conjure, turning excitement of the one into an amount of fear for the other, and desperate scrabbling ensues - not the kind that involves a board and letter tiles, either. That would be a most unhelpful activity when stuck in the mud.
Mr Weasel, accepting the duty of finding a route fraught with fewer muddy dangers for their luggage, - while the others take the direct route to the bus stop so as to avoid missing said transport - has ventured along the riverbank some five minutes before coming across a spot where the trees have provided enough shelter from the rain that crossing the ground looks to prove relatively easy. He doubles back and starts ferrying their various cases over the spot he has found, leaving the items in the care of the trees while going back to get the other things; and considers it not his business as to why Rose and Jack should be rolling about in the mud together.
After fifteen minutes pass for what most would consider a fifteen second journey, the trio are sat on a bench, under a tree, awaiting the bus. Rose and Jack are covered in mud, while Weasel has been forced to the end of the bench - due to his lack of mud - where water collects and streams from the pointed leaves of the tree above, finally proceeding to go down his back. When there is this much water coming from the sky, it is pointless to worry about it going down one's back. All are a little tired, despite the day still being young, and all are entirely fed up.
The faded blue bus that will take them to Siem Reap arrives shortly, and our three would-be rescuers get on board, squelching with the mud on their boots to the back of the bus, where they sit down on the long and threadbare seat. Few people occupy the other seats and the emptiness lends something of a ghostly feel, yet those that are present, being living locals, feel sorry for and, at the same time, take amusement at the disheveled three.
Despite their already soaked state, Rose, Jack and Weasel decide to dig about in their quickly-packed cases for rain coats, and successfully manage to shed a lot of the water into the bags. As the bus, unhappy with the state of affairs beneath it's tires, is forced to move forwards, Mr Weasel's attention is brought to his bag of glamours, and the alarming lack of tubes therein.
"We have a problem," he says to Rose and Jack, who sit in that order next to him. "All but three of my glamours are gone, and I packed more than enough before we came."
"Why is that a problem for us?" Asks Jack, who's ability to consider the plight of another's situation has been truly dampened in the rain.
"Because," responds Rose, jabbing Jack in the ribs with her elbow, "he's our friend who probably doesn't want to be stuck as a weasel for the rest of our trip." She turns to face Weasel. "What do you mean by gone? Aside from no longer being there, of course."
"I noticed it for sure yesterday, before we -- oh, damn! I forgot to check the hair."
"The hair?" Jack sounds puzzled.
"Yeah. I stuck a hair into the draw and was going to check if it had moved while we were out, to know if someone had opened it. Guess I forgot to look what with all that happened."
His two friends look at him with expressions which, Weasel understands by noting shared facial movements, entirely concur on a state of disbelief and bemusement.
"What?" He asks, with a hint of defensiveness.
"Sticking a hair to your draw?" Begins Jack. "It's a little - I don't know - ridiculous, isn't it?"
"I saw it in a Mundy movie! Something to do with spies and --"
"Next time you say you're staying in for the night, I'm dragging your butt down to the Trip Trap," interrupts Jack, with an earnest glare at Weasel to finish his point.
Rose, however - whilst sharing some of Jack's sentiments towards Weasel's imitation of movies - recognizes the implications of what Weasel is suggesting about the glamours.
"Are you saying someone's been stealing them?"
"I am now. In fact, I'd stake these last three tubes on it." He holds them up for Rose and Jack to see, before placing them in the side pocket of his shorts and zipping the compartment up with emphasis. Though by doing so, he quite clearly isn't going to be staking them to anything.
"Might it be Bufkin? He was acting a little unusual," Rose wonders.
"No, I subtly asked him and he was telling the truth."
"How do you know?"
"He gets nose bleeds when he lies."
_____________________________________ ________________________________________________________
Six and a half hours is the approximate length of the journey they're taking. Three hours into it and having gone up through forests and along mountainous roads, they begin to descend. Here they are met with an obstacle.
________________________________________________________________ _____________________________
"Hey, the bus is stopping," says Jack, looking up from his water-curled magazine regarding the pursuit of off-roaring. Rose and Weasel look around.
A voice announces - not via a tannoy, as the bus is too small for that - that there has been a mudslide on the road ahead, and that there is no option other than to stop and wait for it to be cleared by the kind locals. This, comments the voice, will take a long time.
Grumbling at the hold up, the three Fables get off the bus - leaving their baggage and coats behind after assurances that it will be guarded by the bus driver, who seems like a trustworthy fellow - and follow a line of people along the side of the road to what appears to be a pop-up cafe. The road itself is against a hill face on one side, and winds along a narrow plateau that drops significantly down the other side; the cafe is in the home of a family who live off the land, and stands at a precarious position between the road and the drop. Trees cover the area, so that some shelter from the rain can still be attained.
The cafe is formed simply because there is viable custom available in the people waiting for the mud to be cleared; and after Rose, Jack and Weasel select their choice of beverage from the admittedly small selection - though it is augmented by a choice of biscuits, much to Mr Weasel's delight - the three go outside to stand against a wooden wall of the house, onto which a tarpaulin canvas sticks out providing cover. The rain, though constant, changes in rate of amount, while always falling through the muggy air and letting everything below know it's still present.
"Urgh, I hope they get this stuff cleared soon. We don't have time to waste," Rose complains, before proceeding to take a sip from her white and wide mug.
"This never would have happened if we'd gone to the Musée du Parfum," says Jack, with an unmasked air of know-it-all-ism.
Weasel, being the one who put forward the suggest of Cambodia, doesn't take happily to the perceived insinuation that he is in any way responsible for the situation regarding Colin and Bufkin. "Oh, that's very helpful," is his reply. So strongly, in fact, does Jack's remark effect him, that he is obliged to balance his plate with three biscuits atop a flat fence post next to him, for fear of consigning them to a muddy fate. "We don't even know who's taken Colin and Bufkin; they really might have gone on their own!"
Rose doubts this point, however she decides the best choice she could currently make is to be quiet and drink, and so she does.
"Yeah, well, the French don't do this sort of thing." Retorts Jack. "At least, I don't think they do," he quickly adds, making his initial comeback effectively fall face down into the mud in which they stand.
"Why did you even want to go there!? You don't do perfume. You don't do flowers. Everyone who's ever had the experience of meeting you is more than aware of these facts!"
"You really want to know!?" Moods have have been exasperated with the temperature.
"I wouldn't bloody ask otherwise, would I?"
"Because of her!" He points sharply at Rose Red, who stops mid sip and widens her eyes.
"Wha?" Is all she can manage to say through a mouth half full of liquid.
Jack, who's calmed down a degree, looks at the soft ground, uncomfortable at meeting anyone else's gaze.
"You're Rose Red. I've been trying to get you on a date with me for ages and I thought - what with you're name and all - that flowers and perfume and stuff might work because everything else has failed and I just don't know what to do anymore and I think I might love you" That sentence is ended as breathless as it should appear, for it is also said with feeling.
Rose is silent. She's not quite sure what to say because she's not quite sure what to make of things: of course she'd noticed most of Jack's attention, however she just thought it was lascivious. Nothing to do with love. And there was the question now: was Jack being honest, or just trying another course of action for action?
Weasel, feeling somewhat responsible (as he should do) for this blurting out of ostensibly ardent yearning, hurriedly considers what he can do to break the tension. 'Biscuits!' He realizes. 'Is there anything they cannot do!?'
Swinging his arm and successfully grabbing the plate, he triumphantly shoves said article in front of Jack and Rose.
"I'm going to see how they're getting on," is Jack's only response, and he walks off dejectedly into the rain.
The answer is therefore, yes: biscuits cannot solve the feelings of the heart. Consider that a friendly warning.
Rose did take one and thank him, however.
"That was awkward," comments the biscuit profferer while Rose bites into one, producing a stale crunch.
After finishing the biscuit, she merely replies: "Yeah."
Weasel sips his drink. "How do you feel about it? If you don't mind my asking."
"Not sure. I always figured he was just horny--"
"Probably still is."
"--yet what if he's being honest, Weasel?"
"How were things between you two before I met you?"
She shrugs, followed by, "bits of flirting, nothing serious. He never showed any real interest; not for a while at, least."
"What does your heart say?"
Rose giggles. "You really have been watching too many Mundy movies."
It takes a few hours for the mud to be cleared and the road deemed safe enough to travel across once more. Rose and Weasel spend the time talking and wandering around the area; Rose sometimes drifts into contemplation, during which Weasel takes in the scenery - such as worn statues acting as protectors stopping people from plummeting over the side of the road - with the aid of his camera. As for Jack, he pitches in to help clear the road block; and none speak as they trod back onto the bus, and sit apart.
While they who intend to take back their friends travel towards their destination, crossing through farmland and villages in the course of doing so, we will pass the time by shifting our attention once more to New York.
Part five point two!
Snow White sits at her desk in the Business Office, mulling over what to do next. It had been a long day, or at least felt like one in the heat of the summer. She pulls her sleeve up a little to check her watch, the silver of which glints in the reflection of the light against her pale skin. 'The evening's well and truly here,' she thinks. 'Might as well go home.'
As she reaches down for her bag and stands up the phone on her desk rings, breaking the warm silence with a demanding shrill. Snow hesitates for just a moment, hoping that whoever is on the other end decides that what they're trying to contact her about isn't so important after all. That doesn't happen. With a resigned sigh she picks up the receiver.
"Business Office, Snow White speaking."
"Hi Snow, it's me" - a brief pause for effect - "Bigby."
"Oh. Hello, Bigby." There was surprise followed by concern in her voice, as the Sheriff rarely rung, and when he did so it was usually regarding a matter of importance.
"I need you to come over. It's... something personal."
"Personal?" That was unexpected. "Can't you come here?"
"Not really. It won't take long, though." She considered debating the location, then decided not to. Bigby had rung her - he wouldn't do that if it was about any old thing.
"Okay. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
"Thanks." He puts the receiver down.
True to her word, Snow White is knocking on Bigby Wolf's front door two minutes later. The grey door seems unaffected by her touch at first, and then abruptly opens.
"Hey, Snow. Come in." Snow notices that he's still wearing his usual summer outfit of the white shirt and black tie combo. She walks over the threshold, bag in hand, as Bigby holds the door open for her, and closes it once she's in.
He walks into the living room without any other sign, leaving Snow to presume that he wishes her to follow him. Standing next to his windowledge and looking directly at her, he asks her what she thinks of something he vaguely nods at.
"It's very beautiful, " she answers, wondering if he really did mean the sunset that shines in through the window and bathes her in a warm orange glow.
"Really?" He seems surprised.
"Yes. The colours are so intense and the sky seems alive. It's, erm, very romantic." Almost imperceptibly her heart flutters.
Bigby stands, momentarily captivated by the way the light defines Snow's delicate features, before saying:
"No. This!" He points at something withered on the ledge.
Snow is confused. "Wh... Hang on." She moves forward to get a better view. "It's a plant. A very dead one." What was going on? What about the sunset?
Bigby winces at the mention of 'dead'. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
"Oh, brother." He places his hand to his forehead.
"Did you call me over to look at your dead plant?"
"Sort of. It's not my dead plant, though I pretty much killed it."
Snow White is annoyed with this misleading of feelings, feelings which hurt to be mislead.
"Well, who's is it? And why do you care if you killed it?"
"It's Colin's; and because I said I'd look after it while he's away."
"So? Just tell him you failed." Even Bigby could detect the dig in the last word.
"Because he'll just go on about the time I blew down his house, and what am I supposed to do about that now!? So I said I'd water his plant."
There's something about his tone that Snow can't quite place.
"Are you saying that watering his plant was to make up for blowing down his home?"
The Sheriff looks uncomfortable. "Kind of, yeah."
Snow laughs, despite the earlier misunderstanding. "The Big Bad Wolf is trying to make up for past deeds?"
"I don't know. Not entirely. I mean, he built it out of straw, for crying out loud! Straw! I was doing him a favour by blowing it down, because, honestly, who builds a house out of just straw? An idiot, that's who! Still -" another Bigby pause "- I thought this might make up for it, or something."
Snow shows a sly, yet friendly smile as she replies. "Well, Bigby, you've honestly surprised me there."
"Thanks. I think. Anyway, do you know what sort of plant this is? Or was?"
(For any readers wondering at this point: the sun has, in many ways, set by now.)
"I think it might be a sort of bamboo," advises Snow.
"Bamboo, huh?"
"Why do you want to know? Are you going to buy another?"
"I was thinking of." He looks plain-faced at her.
She smiles again. "Oh, Bigby."
(Perhaps, then, there are a few rays left yet.)
Many hours the later, the bus carrying Rose, Jack, and Weasel arrives at it's destination: Siem Reap. There were no other delays after the mud-slide, and as the rain eased off the bus was at least a little more able to cope with the terrain; much of which now covers the vehicle's side.
"Ahh, my back," says a subdued Rose. "Guess I ain't gonna be crowd surfing for a while." She looks at her companions from the back seat, one two seats down the left row, one a seat to the right. None of them had spoken much to each other in the past hours, but Rose knew that now had to change if they wanted to get Bufkin and Colin back. Which they did.
Noticing that they're both asleep, she rolls her eyes. Jack she shakes awake first, who then mumbles a thanks and gets his things. Mr Weasel, on the other hand, proves more difficult to wake up. He simply murmours snatches of words when she moves him, so, Rose decides, a friendly slap is in order.
TSHH (that's the slap, by the way)
"WHA - TURTLES!?" Cries Mr Weasel, jumping up and startling the few still on board. After a dazed second he looks around embarrassed. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Strange dream."
Rose eyes him with a raised eyebrow, after which they get off the bus.
The air is hot still, and the humidity carried through it remains. Such a quantity of rain has had some effect, though, as it does appear to be a mite cooler.
The buildings around them do not reach for the sky, being about three levels high at most, and are built with no gap between the arches of the entrances. The street is wide and tarmacked, though murky water lurks around the sides of it, and plant life grows in borders on the side-walks. The sun has shot through a few of the clouds, and the bright colours of the buildings and life shine back.
Motorized rickshaws - replacing human-power with motorbike power - whizz up and down, while what was briefly the trio's bus drives off to join the cars that wend through the lights of the city.
"Come on," says Rose. "Let's find our hotel."
It does not take them too long to find what is, in actuality, advertised as a villa, by looking at their map. Passing underneath the gold-lettered entrance sign that hangs above an open, yet heavy looking gate, the lamps that glow in and next to the palm trees make for a surreal sensation in the gathering dusk; especially after the gloomy journey to get there. The white villa that they approach seems inviting, with shuttered arched windows from behind which comes a glow, and a balcony overlooking a bar and dining area. A long pool can be seen as they enter, with tropical trees and plants around the side.
There's a friendly greeting by the man behind a wooden counter, and they check into their rooms with ease. Climbing a sturdy staircase on the villa's side to reach the next floor, the three part ways as they retire to their rooms for a much needed shower and rest. It's doubtful if they could ever have got Colin and Bufkin into the place, even if they were stealthy about it.
Thirty minutes later, refreshed and unpacked, Weasel heads down to the bar, alone, and orders a Hanuman cocktail - a fruity mixture with a twist. Sitting on a stool, he sees the sky transform - similar to the way it did in New York - and is uplifted by it.
"Would you like some tourist advice?" Asks the woman behind the bar.
"Sure," replies Weasel.
"Get a rickshaw to the temples. It's enchanting at sunset."
Mr Weasel, keen to take beneficial advice when it appears, thanks her for the suggestion, and says he was going to follow it.
"No problem." She replies. "I will save your drink for when you get back." This was rather kind of her, Weasel thought.
He popped back to his room to acquire his camera, and stopped in on both Roses' and Jack's to see if they would like to join him. Both said no, thanks; one a little more hospitably than the other.
The rickshaw ride was relatively smooth compared to the bus, though it was noisy. Ten minutes and it was over, however, and after a brief walk, there stood, in striking contrast, the silhouette of Angkor Wat. With the sky in such a display, he takes a picture.
He stays until darkness becomes overwhelming, listening to the birds' call to each other, and then heads back to the villa, where he resumes his cocktails and talks pleasantly with the woman who kept it.
After a night of recuperating in rooms with cream coloured walls and teak floors, - and a few extra hours resting in the morning, for even Fables require a break after a bumpy bus ride - Rose Red, Jack Horner, and Mr Weasel take breakfast in the outdoor restaurant. This done with in a more amicable mood, they remove to a spacious lounge with similar teak fittings to their rooms, a bright orange and brown sofa to plan how they should go about their day.
"How are we supposed to find Colin and Bufkin in a city like this? It's huge," ponders Jack.
"The note said to come here," replies Rose.
"It's not like a talking pig and flying monkey are everyday occurrences." Weasel chips in.
"You're saying that it might not be Mundies who took them?" Asks Jack.
"Maybe," is all Weasel says.
"Let's just think a minute. What's in this city that might relate to a talking pig and flying monkey?"
There is an "ahem" behind them, though it is too quiet to be heard.
"Ermm," is the noise Weasel makes while he thinks.
"AHEM." This time it is loud enough to gain attention, and the three turn around on the sofa to see a man, wearing a certain type of sunglasses, between them and a bamboo screen.
"Wait a second," Jack whispers, recognizing the glasses.
"I think it might be me you're looking for," the man says. He raises the glasses up a little to reveal two startling eyes.
"Good grief." Mr Weasel is taken aback.
It is Rose, though, who first recognizes the man.
"Tezoth? Is that you?"
The man shows a satisfied smile, and lowers the glasses.
That is DragonButter's Tezoth, and I'm rather hoping he doesn't mind me borrowing him for a little while, as I said I would do.
That was amazing, Noir, it was most certainly worth the wait! The comic references were good and you did justice to my character. Thanks so much for including him for a brief moment! :P
Muhaha! You have been struck by the pudding_pie and Emmy train! XD lol
I'm loving the detail and images created in my head as I read this. If Mr. Weasel needs some romance tips, just ask Georgie Porgie or Gren.
I especially enjoyed Weasel trying to 'woo' Rose with the whole 'what does your heart say' bit. This was fun and can't wait to read more. Good job!
This is not a story entry. I've been having major writer's block now. But I have a question for you, Pie.
I'm sure you've see the trailer for the 5th episode. But, while watching it, you crossed my mind. What will you do, IF Georgie is killed off? Will you continue writing the Fable fanfics or are you going to end it and switch it up? It was just a question and HOPE you still continue these. I like them a lot!
Just a question. You can ignore this if you want.
Chapter 2 Lion's Den
I enter the mansion and find myself in the office of that con Barney, but no one is there. It's quiet, too quiet... Not a guard in sight, hell I even take a peek outside of the room and see not one soul. This is too easy, but whatever. Let's see what this crooked bastard is hiding here.
I began to look through the papers on Barney's desk. It was exactly what I expected, money laundering, human trafficking, extortion. The list goes on, and what the hell is Fable Town?
Also this name 'Bluebeard' keeps showing up, who the hell is this guy, and why is he giving money to Barney? Just what the hell is going on here, but whatever. I have enough proof to bring Barney down. But before I do that I need to give back to my community what Barney stole. Lets crack open this safe...
I manage to recovered over 870,000 dollars from Barney's safe. Most of this is from Barney's 'taxes' he collected from the community. I'm taking this and giving it back to the community, and sending Barney right to his jail cell. Now let's get out of here... wait someones coming I need to hide somewhere..
Using the power of my magical sword I hid in a nearby closet out of sight and watched 3 people enter the room. One of them is that slime ball Barney lighting his cheap cigars. The second is his right hand man Redd who is accompanied by his wolf dog, Sheba. And the third man is a middle aged man, shaved head with a beard and is wearing a pair of expensive glasses..
The three men are arguing over something, then suddenly a alarm goes off. Barney walks to his security screen and slams his fist onto the desk in frustration. Someone else is breaking into the mansion but who?
Barney marches out of the room and the bald man with glasses follows him and grins, however Redd remains behind after seeing Sheba growl at the closet where I am hiding. My heart is pounding fast. I'm looking into the eyes of this dog, and I don't see no ordinary dog. I see something monstrous, vicious. A cold heart killing machine.
I was holding all of this money and documents with me, so I had no time to fight. I took out a home made smoke bomb and threw it towards them. They were stun which gave me enough time to make my escape....
I ran out of the room down into the hall and from a distance I seen a window where I can make my elegant escape. As I about to exit, I am pulled into a dark room by someone...
To be continued..
It's taking me on a one-way trip to Romance-ville :P
Georgie trying to teach Weasel the act of wooing would probably be quite comical, and I'm very pleased you're enjoying it
Thanks for saying so xD he will be back for part six, if that's okay, as I was planning on making him the one who explains what's going on. Glad you thought it did him justice, though
Happy Independence Day, American people!
Sorry, never had the chance to do that before ^_^
stands up to clap
Nice, dude. Very nice! The detail in this is brilliant and can't wait to see what happens with Robby and the others.
Thanks!
Happy 4th of July from the Porgie and Grendel family!
Have fun and PLEASE be safe!
No. Nothing will ever change, no matter the outcome of the 5th episode. Although, depending on the whole 'Vivian' thing, I MIGHT have to change Junior's story. That is why I'm waiting. But hell...who knows.
Funny how anything with Georgie now, everyone asks me! XD You're not the 1st since the trailer came out.
You have my most appreciated permission, go for it!
To you as well!
Robby IS the new Corvo Attano. XD
Wow, what an unexpected surprise! Be safe too, man!
What is unexpected, dude?
Have fun today!
Oh I love the cute little family pictures but wait...Carla and Gren had two more?? 0.o WHEN??
Happy 4th to you, Pie and everyone else. Be safe!
I was caught by surprise that you made a 4th of July-themed picture, is all.
Bet this guy has themed pictures for EVERY holiday! XD
Have a great day, Jones!
Damn, he may win every holiday challenge that I think up. That is, unless YOU can beat him Jones, bwahahah! XD
Psh. Yeah right! I KNOW when I've been defeated! XD I'd be a FOOL to go up against Pie when it comes to the artsy fartsy stuff! Wait-there was a holiday challenge for the 4th of july?! XD