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Wk 00.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/23 01:59 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP tosses some cushions around and gets comfortable. She waves her arms in the air like she just don't care...does she doesn't she? Whinnies like an old gray mare...the air sometimes gets a little stale in the old stink---ballroom. It's alright. It's alright. Frank's on. Jesus in his maid suit huffs a Java and shuffles from one sockless boot to the other. Nervous, for a big hairy accomplished guy..]

Who knows where the wind blows, eh Jesus? You have no straws, d'accord. Who needs a straw when you own the bottle factory. Je ne sais pas quoi. I've cactus juice if you need it. Please sip responsibly. Mothers inventing nearby. Caramel corn in the oven. Take it or leave it.

[A projector screen emerges from a dark place in the ceiling. It's seen better days, circa 1972 but Frank won't mind. These are tumultuous and meagre times.]

Do you know how to run this thing, almighty?

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/23 02:03 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus breathes deep, closes his eyes. He reaches up and scratches his briered chin. He sucks on the Java, he mulls, and then he exhales, making the glint off the mirrorball just a little more subtle]

I've...ideas how to make it work, Ms. DePlancher. But, it hangs high. Can't get my hands on it. I believe it might need a dose of fish oil, ease its joints. And then, pretty sure we can hit the lever I espy on its side there, and it might just play whatever movie's wrapped in its reel. Mayhap. Dunno.

[Jesus gazes at the projector hanging from the rafters. He burps. The iPhone vibrates on the cherrywood's desktop. It's an incoming call. Jesus thumbs the speaker button]

Jesus Christ.

[The iPhone responds]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/23 02:06 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[the iPhone rattles against the desktop, and lots of noise cracks from the tiny speaker, a sizzling evolves, with an occasional pop, a violent pop, and behind all that we can hear a voice, a girl's voice...]

are you friends of boligard doomey?

[sounds of small bodies, maybe chickens, being thrown forcibly to a concrete street, again and again. a young boy is screaming, mostly garble, but hints of "bellybutton" and "pressing my skull" and "my legs" and "don't pull that anymore!" and now we hear rain, massive rain. or is it mechanics, saws of some sort. someone says "we're not dead". and much wind whips through, and it sounds like someone is getting his/her throat cut deep, gurgling, gasping, spitting. hooves scrape against cobbles. a door creaks. and then something crawls up close to the microphone, and it's breathing heavy, and it says haltingly]

do you know boligard doomey?

[the thing on the other end of this phone call breathes chunkily. a few seconds go by, and then...]

we have boligard doomey. and you do not get him back. ever.
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/23 02:10 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus stares at the iPhone resting on the cherrywood's desktop. He sees the phone call is dead, so he kills it with his thumb, and he breathes deep]

Shit just got weird.

[He purses his lips, and he looks down at the desktop]

Hm.

[He thumbs the Bose remote, cues up Billy Joel, and the speakers warm up with through the long night. Jesus breathes]

Okay. So we might need to send someone to Seattle. And, as you all know, I would volunteer, but I've particular deeds to focus on in these next few days and weeks, sorry. And so...

[Jesus slaps the lit Java to his maw and clamps down on it with his medium-sized teeth, and he pulls in some heavenly smoke, and then he blows it out]

I elect Theodore Rorchalk to go find Boligard.

[Jesus leans forward and aims his gaze DePlacher's way]

So Ms. DePlancher, how do you vote? Could be we send you to the Emerald City. What say you? Though we all know you do go afar at times, and often. Should we send Rorschalk after Doomey? Eh?
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/23 02:30 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[On a golden chariot, the Rorschalk descends from the dark whatever it is that is up there beyond the spinning mirror ball toward the unseen ceiling of the Floor. Halfway past the mirrorball, the chariot jolts to an unceremonious halt. The Rorschalk (straddling the conveyance whilst pulling himself up on the ropes from which the whole spectacle suspends)loses touch with reality and tumbles free, splatting down upon the tiles like a wet bag of cement, but cartoonishly rebounding from the spill with nary a bump]

Well, so much for a smooth divine intervention! Hm

[He springs to his feet and, taking chin in hand,strikes a most inquisitive pose]

Hmmmmmm hm hm hm hm. Mr. Doomey is in some kind of, shall we say, misunderstanding in the land of the Jimi Hendrix' grave. So sad.

But what did my Uncle Stableford say to me? Never a rescuer nor a sucker be. But then again, he was not a very well put together man.

[So saying, the buffed Rorschalk hits an impressive double biceps pose after coming out of his THINKER]

Just look at my bi's yah! I am huge! God damn him ... Elon Musk thinks this is all just some kind of fucking game! The fever dream of an alien tween jerking off his 18 outer spaceman johnsons by making us trip through this seeming to the bloody end, and another go round is intermissioned with the cacheing of some fucking BlothorX Glockmeister Hand cannon? Is that the nature of reality?!

[Rending the collar of his shirt and throwing ashes up in the air like a confetti-tossing Rip Taylor of days of yore, the Rorschalk rears back and sez...]

Of course, I will do it. Lay on straw devil jesus, and together we will find our yellow brick road.

[Glancing over at Dep he chimes in ...]

and Dep, forgive me for my 'ism, whatever it may be, but you fit the profile yes ma'am you do, to be our stalwart Dorothy.

[Doubling back with prancing steps, he hooks sweet Jesus Christ and bemused Deplancher by their arms and off a skipping they do go ... into the gloaming fanfuckintastical shifting vistas of TQR]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/25 01:24 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus, smiling, skips his bristly face right into the wall beside the wardrobe. He bounces off it, disarming Theodore and DePlancher, and he falls backward and lands on his ass. He looks around]

Okay, that would have been nice, Rorschalk, but...

[He wags his finger at the bossman]

It's you that are going to get Boligard. The ticket's waiting for you at the terminal. Go to the Alaska desk. They'll set you right, mister. Get through the deluge outside, which is just godawful of late, and you'll be fully Depp'd, know what I mean.

[Jesus gets to his sandled feet, shakes his body and his head]

Wow. How in Hades did you get to skip across the glass tiles like that, Rorschalk. Do you have magical powers?
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/25 02:59 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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Apparently not...

[The Rorschalk tugs on one flyaway dred as he reluctantly accepts the Alaskan Airlines ticket the messiah has proffered him...]

coach? Couldn't you at least afford business class for.... ah but what the hell, eh?

[Winking at the bedraggled prophet and bowing to the always straight and demure Deplancher, he walks down off the tiles and disappears into the gloom...]

If I don't return, don't ask why, Jesus you know this one you martyred bastard ... to conquer death, you only have to die.

[to be continued]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/25 17:22 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP stands duckfooted and hiphanded watching Jesus straighten his dress and The Great Cheveux de Bleu slide off to save the day. There's nothing much left to say. She feels...purposeless, in the way. How do you spell Tchaikovsky? That's what dancing DeP hears in her ears.]

Oui, it's what I hear. So was I looking forward to adventure and dazzle and zing like Dorothy on a Moon drop or at least a rented Vespa. Ay-yiyi. Nothing to do but fade...I mean twirl and dance light footed to the Tchai. Do you know, Jesus, can you do you think will you lift me when or if I run and leap?

I voted by secret ballot, btw. But you know I voted for the best thing, d'accord Jes? Always always the best thing. Not left. Not right. The best. Because the best is always balanced. Remember that and you will never fall off any curb no matter the wind or the threats of The Guys With No Lips. Their pants never fit properly. They have learned no manners. And never learned how to spell 'discourse' or 'diplomacy' without snickering. These realizations are important, Jesus. I know you know most of it but...dark closets and lengthy drunken sleeps, sloppy personal habits. These all diminish possibilities so. Try to drink more lemon water.

[She flutters, lifts her arms up high, eyes following as if there's something bolder better much shinier than a faulty dirty old disco mirrorball rotating up there. Dreaming. Dreaming is free.]

Give way pour ma petite fouetté!

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/26 01:29 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus sighs]

Ms. DePlancher. Oh, I am so glad Mr. Rorschalk took that ticket. Hard times are ahead of that rasta, I am sure. But the important thing is that he took it, and he went. When did we last see Rorschalk go off on a quest of his own? The work will build the man, I say. We've done our share, my friend. I'm still sore from our last misadventure, hm?

[Jesus sits at the cherrywood, and he grabs up the remote. He thumbs in Mike Patton's Mondo Cane, and he thumbs up the volumn. He looks at the small pile of of capital on the corner of the desk]

Looks like we've work to attend to. Idle hands, what not.

[Jesus cues up Scalinatella by Mike Patton. He thumbs play]

Listen to this, Ms. DePlancher. This, I think, should be our theme song. Hm?

[Jesus grabs up the current cap, looks it over as Mike's velvet vocals swirl around the Floor. Jesus winces]

So, see here? A suit does not cover a dude, right? A suit adorns a dude, it hangs off a dude, it becomes a dude. So there's that.

[Jesus examines the capital]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/26 01:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP listens to Mike Patton's sweet Italia though she knows not what he sings about. Still, Jesus's selection has moved her to click her heels and slip into a flamenco mesmer. Soon she humming...although understandably in the direction of her desk where capital has arrived in some disarray. She hums and sways along her way.]

Well, it does have a certain tingle to it, dear Jesus. Theme song? Well, I...

Longa longa longA....zinc zuc zuc

Eh scallopinia..etceterinia

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/26 02:12 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus pops a Java into his maw. He laps some hot fire onto the quivering tip, igniting the fiberous tobacco thereon, and he sucks, sucks, sucks. He gets the cigar well lit. Paton's Sinza Fine roars from the Bose speakers. Jesus exhales, and he waves the cigar about till the song's end. And then he fumbles up the remote and thumbs in Wish You Were Here. He thumbs up the volumn to eleven. Jesus pulls a couple pint-glass vanilla scented candles from a lower desk drawer, and he lights them with tip of the Java. He breathes deep]

Okay. Maybe we should make this our theme album? Up to you. You are the boss on the Floor right now. Do you have a theme idea? Music? Uniform? Scent? Wallpapper? Hm.

[Jesus sucks on the Java, and the he refocuses on the current cap]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/27 02:22 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[Seattle, the jungle, in media res...]

Why yes, don't mind if I do...?

[The Rorschalk has fallen in with a hard crowd, but even before his current dicey set of circumstances was threatening to lay him low, his run of bad luck didn't just begin there, his seatmate in coach was a borscht belt rent-a-bride with screaming babushka that hadn't had its diaper changed until the peanuts were handed out by the cracked out stewardess,Alaskan lost his luggage, the Sudanese cabbie didn't have correct change to break his Benjamin, you get the picture ... by the time he hit the jungle he'd been running on fumes since he'd been 38,000 feet over Green River Falls...]

Haven't smoked this shit since I was a lad away at the academy...

[The heroin dealer thinks he's about to gain another disciple, as this blue-haired wannabe sits still enough to let the bic enlight the bowl. Unfazed by the moans and half-alive soundings of the bodies scattered across the floor of this open-air abode, the fine gentelman stumbled into asking after some cocksucker named Doomey, thought he could have free run through this tollway, without expecting some gat or a one way ticket to speedball heaven]

That's right, Mister, just suck on the stem and take a nice long ride.

[the Rorschalk turns his head, bumping his temple against the muzzle of the dealer's .40 gat glock motherfucker upper, which was being utilitzed as insurance against any false moves. Glancing up into the dealer's eyes, the Rorschalk blinks]

You know I abhor violence...

[Quicker than he has a right to be, the old showman sits back abruptly at the same time snatching at the gun, hoping his crav maga classes weren't just for fun ...]

Oh my face!

[lo! the gun discharges, perhaps taking a minuscule chunk of nose with the tip of its speeding bullet, and the whole world squirting blood as well as ringing like a temple bell at noon or midnight, just gonging for gong's sake, drowning out the chaotic sound of screaming voices almost, which fill the quarter note breaks with suggestions of the most brutal medieval renderings of hell, and all he can think to do is keep a hold of the hot metal in his hand and roll forward or crawl or shimmy, however it can be done, until he is back on his feet and able to run, run run]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/28 01:40 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus raises his eyes from the current capital. He looks around the Floor. He gazes DePlancherward]

Did you hear someone warbling just then?

[Jesus sucks some sweet, sweet smoke from the Java, and he sets the capital down on the desktop. He stands, and his phone, desktopped, starts to vibrate. Jesus thumbs the speaker]

Jesus Christ.
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/28 02:06 By: doomey Status: Admin  
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[lots of static, and alot of crashing about, and the feel of finding a place under some other solid stuff, a place to reflect and mull]

christ. i'm in the Field.

[the voice coming over the tiny speaker of the phone whispers, like maybe the doomster is in danger]

this is just one tack on the map that the Jungle has relocated to. this is no longer not serious. the fucking homeless have become the new mafia, sister.

[rustling of clothing, settling in, a solid fart]

though the Mafia were never this god awful. these fuckers, these camping homeless, are trafficing little girls, hombre. oh, but first they rape these children, and then they put them on the menu for the other doped-up freaks that kneel and pray in this nasty garbage pit. and good fucking christ, the garbage.

[the voice from the phone dips below the whisper i'd held onto till now, difficult to grab onto, hard to hear]

good christ, the garbage. how can they live like that?

[through the phone speaker we can hear some controlled breathing]

i must find this girl. i've come here to find this girl. and i hope to all the Gods that've spoke to me, she isn't one of the raped, traded, god-fucked girls that crowd this horrible homeless camp.

[the phone fizzes and dies]
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Re:Wk0.1 @th Floor brought to u by Ernest Hemingway
Date: 2017/02/28 08:38 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP lifts a leafy branch from the tree that's appeared around her desk overnight. She's been sitting under it and, yes, she does like the shade even though more shade is hardly what's needed right now on The Floor.]

Why yes, Jesus with a Java stuck in the side of your maw, I did hear a little growl or an agonized peep rattle a few minutes ago. There must be lightning striking in Seattle. Maybe a message coming through from Doomey. Or Rorschalk. I forget the plot though...who is rescuing who?

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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