A Wee Bit O' Fiction: A MobileRead [strike]Abomination[/strike] Collaboration

[Slite]

stealth-pshrynk maybe?

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

Hugh looked in the general direction of the smoke. Then sniffed. And looked thoughtful. Then sniffed some more. He grinned slightly. And sniffed a bit more. Fiona offered him a tissue.

"No no - don't you see?" he exclaimed, even though it was a question, "or rather, don't you smell?"

The look Fiona gave him was definitely on the glacial side of icy.

"Not you, it. Don't you smell it?" Hugh was practically dancing on the spot now.

Fiona sniffed, cautiously. "I smell... popcorn?" she offered.

"Exactly! Don't you see, Fifi? It worked!"

Fiona raised an eyebrow at the "Fifi". It looked armed and dangerous, and was pointing at Hugh, who was oblivious to the mistake he'd made. Then he started humming.

Fiona frowned, then grimaced as she recognised the tune.

"No, Hugh, Oh no. No, no, no. Stop, before it's too late!"

But Hugh couldn't help himself, and started singing
"nother little llama. Llama, llama..."

Just before Hugh finished that line, and just in time, Fiona threw herself to the ground"

"...duck"

She covered her ears, but still heard the THWACK!

"Ow?" asked Hugh, dazedly.

[dreams]

Originally Posted by ShortNCuddlyAm

"Ow?" asked Hugh, dazedly.

.............

[vivaldirules]

There's just no escaping them.

[dreams]

kudos to nomesque for the dancing llamas...

Wait... What? Are they popping the "Llama llama corn" ?

[montsnmags]

There's (seriously) an app for that:

http://appshopper.com/entertainment/llama-sounds

I've just downloaded it.

Cheers,
Marc

[LazyScot]

Algernon reached the bottom of the stairs. Leading forward was a white corridor, off each side were four doors. After walking to the end of the corridor, Algernon opened the final door on the right, and surveyed the room he had entered. The room was about eight meters square, the walls directly in front and to the left of him were covered by giant white fan-fold shutters, clearly motorised. Throughout the room were assorted benches, in white. The first on the right was covered by a huge pile of dirty washing reaching all the way down to the floor, the others in more normal looking scientific equipment of indeterminate, but probably not philanthropic, purpose. On the right-hand wall, were three large fume cupboards.

"Professor Herr Nachdenken?" asked Algernon to the apparently empty room. The huge pile not so much uncrumpled and stood up as re-crumple and reshaped itself, turning towards Algernon. The resultant reshaped bundle of washing could, with a stretch of imagination be interpreted as a man wearing a lab coat. This lab coat was, it can safely be said, very unique. It had vast numbers of pockets, that appeared to have been stuffed full of unidentifiable bulges. The coat itself was covered in about seventeen lunches, nine dinners, innumerable breakfasts and one small ecosystem. Professor Herr Nachdenken himself was equipped with three chins, six pairs of glasses (covered in varying layers of dust) and haircut suffering multiple identity crises.

"Ah, Algernon. It goes well," he replied in the most perfect received pronunciation.

"The tests?"

"We have one final formula to test out. The current best lasts for at least nine months, and is permanent in about five percent of the population. Here, let me show you," and with that he went to a fume cupboard and took out a tiny, cheap, plastic tat in the shape of a tiny toy car.

"Is that safe?" asked Algernon, somewhat nervously.

"Hmmm?" said Algernon wandering over to a control panel by the shutters. "Oh. It's perfectly safe. Only triggered by laughter." He pressed various buttons and the lights dimmed and the shutters on the left folded back revealing a presumably two-way mirror into a room set out like a lounge. Sitting in the middle lounging on the sofa, happily idling away the time, giggling at some book, was the test subject. Professor Herr Nachdenken placed the plastic car into a rotating canister and rotated it into the test room. A few seconds later, the subject laughed and a small puff of smoke was released.

The test subject sniffed the air briefly frowned, and his expression changed and slowly went blank. He placed his book down on the table, stood up, and walked over to a table where a computer was set out. He promptly took out various piles of paper, and started up various programs. As near as any viewer could determine, the subject was doing accounts.

"Excellent," said Algernon.

"And they are immune to the normal infection vectors as well," said Professor Herr Nachdenken, as he pressed another button. With that, the TV in the test room turned on and started playing the "llama llama duck" video. The subject looked up, stood up and moved, almost zombie like, over to the TV and turned it off, before returning to the desk and accounts.

"I am extremely hopeful that next formula will have a minimum duration of thirty-six months and achieve permanency in about 65% of the population. I'm also attempting to reverse engineer that infectious video meme and suspect we may have some positive results to show you in a few days."

"Wonderful. Have you had any success with Smythe-Bottom?"

"Sadly, no." The professor closed the first shutters and opened the second. In this, Smythe-Bottom was sitting reading from a liseuse, laughing almost continuously. "Despite our best attempts, we have not managed to cure him. If anything he appears to be deteriorating. For instance he now seems addicted to the most inane stories. He is currently enthralled by a series call "The Hugo and Lefty Adventures"; I believe the current one is called Hugo and Lefty and the Missing Hobnob, and he recently finished one entitled Mitten Hari and the Purl Plan: A Hugo and Lefty Adventure. Worryingly, he also seems immune to our current formula."

"Hmmm. Will you still be ready on schedule?"

"If the tests progress as planned, yes."

"Then transfer the formula to the production facility as soon as you have the test results." And with that Algernon left.

[LazyScot]

Meanwhile, Winstanley had at last managed to summon the courage to complete dialing Torquilmina's number.

"Torquilmina? It's Winstanley. We need a small—"

"Winstanley?" boomed out Torquilmina in a tone designed to intimidate battleships. "You and Algernon still haven't paid the quarter of a million pounds into my slush fund for the last favour. If you think—"

Winstanley took the phone away from his ear and sighed. He wandered over to the car and got into the back, settled down, poured himself a drink and placed the phone down in it holder whilst setting it to loud speaker.

"—so there is just no way we can get the support of the Friday Supporters unless you are willing to provide funding. And then there is the fiasco over that Greek Island inspection visit you arranged for—"

Winstanley tuned out Torquilmina. Her success in politics, and her value to both himself and Algernon, was in no small part due to her ability to talk. Her last favour had involved filibustering a certain piece of legislation. She had talked continuously for over thirty seven hours in a single stretch (and that was not even her personal best), and was only stopped when it was noticed that a front-bench spokesman, Horace Hiccup-Hardcourt, was dead in his wheelchair. Having been found dead in the House, work had to be suspended but no-one could decide if it was the work on the Monday, when Torquilmina had started talking or the Wednesday when she was interrupted. Eventually the speaker overruled the debate and decided it would be the Wednesday session. Unfortunately, since Torquilmina had taken the lead in the debate, it was Friday evening, and as the House was no longer sitting most of the members had disappeared, together with their researchers, on research trips to investigate the impact of warmer climes on certain biological functions.

Winstanley picked up one of his folders and slowly worked through it, signing various letters firing staff and cutting salaries. Eventually Algernon returned and Winstanley hit the mute button.

"Torquilmina's complaining about her filibustering fee. Or more accurately the fact it is missing."

"Why do people get so upset about small change? Oh well." And with that he took out his iPhone and started a banking application, and proceeded to transfer half a million pounds. He turned the phone off mute.

"—and if you think my sister Effluvia and I are going to—"

"Torquilmina, I'm terribly sorry. I've transferred twice the agreed fee, and it is in the account now, if you wish to check. We'll provide the same funds again if you can place the Ministry on the Terrorist Organisation List, and send over a copy of the entire files you hold on that organisation."

"MI-11 will need some pretence for this."

"Smythe-Bottom. It was clearly an assassination attempt. He's been reduced to," he paused and spat out the final word with all the venom most people reserved when talking about his profession, "silliness."

"In that case, I'll see what I can do. Send over any documentation you have."

"Excellent," and he hung up.

"Can't you keep her under control?" Algernon asked Winstanley, somewhat rhetorically (Winstanley did sometimes wonder if Algernon had a soft spot for Torquilmina and her sister since he arranged that fact finding mission for three weeks to a remote Fijian island). "James, to the factory at Middle Wallop."

Actually, Algernon had no idea if their chauffeur's name was James. Given that he was contained within the privacy glass enclosed front compartment, they had no-idea if James was even a he. For that matter, for all they knew it "James" might have been a team of highly trained squirrels, a llama or a robotic vacuum cleaner with ideas above its station, a full set of extension tools and internet access. But all that mattered to Algernon was that he was cheap. Strangely this didn't seem to worry either of them given that "James" was driving them at just above the speed limit, barely feet from a huge lorry. A lorry with a very strange logo, comprising of the colour blue, a digit and an aquatic vertebrate.

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by LazyScot

The test subject sniffed the air briefly frowned, and his expression changed and slowly went blank. He placed his book down on the table, stood up, and walked over to a table where a computer was set out. He promptly took out various piles of paper, and started up various programs. As near as any viewer could determine, the subject was doing accounts.

"Excellent," said Algernon.

what nefarious deeds are these ???

He is currently enthralled by a series call "The Hugo and Lefty Adventures"; I believe the current one is called Hugo and Lefty and the Missing Hobnob, and he recently finished one entitled Mitten Hari and the Purl Plan: A Hugo and Lefty Adventure. Worryingly, he also seems immune to our current formula."

"The Hugo and Lefty Adventures" are many things to many people but little did we know they are also the antidote to the dreaded KillJoy Gas !

(i can't wait to read "Hugo and Lefty and the Missing Hobnob" and "Mitten Hari and the Purl Plan: A Hugo and Lefty Adventure" )

Originally Posted by LazyScot

Strangely this didn't seem to worry either of them given that "James" was driving them at just above the speed limit, barely feet from a huge lorry. A lorry with a very strange logo, comprising of the colour blue, a digit and an aquatic vertebrate.

the plot thickens.

[LazyScot]

The scene changes to what appears to be an exotic island beach. Golden sands gentle lapped by the quiet wash of waves. Almost clear blue sky dotted with a few cotton wool clouds. Scattered artistically along the shoreline are groups of two or three palm trees. A gentle breeze cools, and moves the fronds. This idyllic scene was somewhat strangely interrupted by two people sitting on typical office chairs. Their chairs themselves were sitting on a typical, hard office floor that decidedly did not comprise of paradise island sand. Then behind them a typical computer "bing" bonged.

One of the people wheeled his chair round and back to a desk at which sat a small number of computers, and behind which was a glass wall opening onto a large machine room full of a Hollywood executives idea of a computers, next to which was a door.

"Message from the boss," said 'D'. We shall call him 'D' both for the convenience of a name and to convey the air of mystery that working in a secret, shadowy, government organisation is supposed to bring. Any indication that his is because the author is completely unable to come up with interesting names should be completely ignored

"What now?" asked 'A' with an air of weary resignation, bringing her chair to the desk. Again, we shall use 'A' in place of a name to maintain the air of mystery.

"An email from Torquilmina." At which point both 'A' and 'D' uttered naught words, and the door handle rotated.

And instantly the tropical island disappeared. Briefly, three white walls appeared, which where then covered with a wide range of status screens and other meaningless scrolling numbers, all projected from a wide range of ceiling mounted projectors. The more expert viewer, when combined with the range of meaningless bings and whirrs, would conclude that they are watching "The Boss Button DVD vol 3". And that it was automatically triggered when the door was opened.

A head appeared round the door.

"Hard at it, I see. Well don't think I'm reducing your time in the room after you took the credit for the last discovery. Anyway, I've just got an email from Torquilmina. Have a look at it and do whatever she asks. And use my code this time, not your own. I don't want you getting more brownie points with her." And with that his head disappeared, the door closed and the tropical scene reappeared.

"What is it?"

"A 1Mbyte reminder we shouldn't have put the speech to text app on her iPhone," replied 'D' slowly ploughing through the message, before giving up and feeding the whole lot into a synopsis engine. A few seconds later the message was reduced to "Put M.U.S. on the terrorist list."

"Why would we want to put the M.U.S. on the terrorist list?"

"M.U.S. That could be mistranscribed as Emuss," said 'D'.

"Emuss? Isn't that the Electronic Monetary Underwriting Service Syndicate."

"Yup…. Hmmm," said 'D' looking various items up. "Apparently it is headed up by our old friend Algernon Smythe-Wilcox."

"The one with the boring clothes?"

"The very same."

"I suppose that there could have been a corruption in the message."

"Indeed," agreed 'D' whilst making edits to all sorts of computer records.

"So we'd better put Emuss on the terrorist watch list using the boss' code."

"And I'm doing just that."

"Oh look," said 'A' indicating a watch screen. "We've just found Algie's car."

"So we'd better dispatch someone. Who's available?"

"Squadron Eleventy," giggled 'A'.

'D' stared at 'A', "I though squadron eleven were still on sick leave after their unfortunate encounter with the llamas."

"They're back on service now. They've been having therapy."

"And how has that been going?"

'A' giggled again.

"I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

'A' continued giggling.

"Well, I suppose we should dispatch them to intercept Algie's car," and with that 'D' issued the relevant commands.

And from some military base deep in southern England, two Apache helicopters took off accompanying two troop carriers; all four craft stuffed full of people suffering from an advanced fear of llamas.

[LazyScot]

A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark ill-lit—

<"Actually, the room is very well lit, and the so-called shadowy—"

"Shut up! I'm trying to create some dramatic atmosphere here."

"Well I've got to edit and provide continuity. How can I do that—"

"Look, you're just a minor editor. Just make sure my seplling is correct, and keep quite. Now, were was I.">

A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark, ill-lit room that could have been anywhere in the world—

<"But it clearly says Uni—"

"SHUT UP. I'm drying to keep some sense of anticipation here."

"But how can I—"

"Listen, you'll do what I say. What do you think you are? A director?"

"Well, actually I also—"

"I don't care. Just let me get on with the story.">

A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark, ill-lit room that could have been anywhere in the world. The screen in front held a single message, flickering—

<"It can't flicker. LCDs don't flicker. Can't—"

"LOOK I'm writing this. Shut up or write it yourself. Now."

"Oh for heaven's sake," exclaimed the figure from the chair. "If you can't get your script together, I'm going back to my Winnebago. And if you don't get it sorted out, I quit." And with that the figure uncurled from the chair, leapt off. As he stalked off, he shook his head and triggered his Bluetooth headset. "Hello, Silvester? It's Felix D'Omesticus here; this gig is awful. Is that basement cat gig still open? I need something I can get my teeth into."

"Wait, wait…" shouted the editor/director running after Felix.

"Good. Now maybe I can get on with this now—">

"The producers would like to apologise for the disruption to this thread of the story. Rest assured that the author and editor/director have been sent to both therapy and a highly reputable conciliation service. In the unlikely event that they survive both with mind and wallets intact, we will attempt to include this story thread in future."

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

Eeek - will do my next installment tonight or tomorrow - sorry

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by ShortNCuddlyAm

Eeek - will do my next installment tonight or tomorrow - sorry

/looks at date of post.

/looks at today's date.

/

/

[ShortNCuddlyAm]

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

/looks at date of post.

/looks at today's date.

/

/

/looks innocent

[montsnmags]

Originally Posted by ShortNCuddlyAm

/looks innocent

Luke Skywalker.