Slowly turning the doorknob he entered, his memory hazy. He was met with befuddlement by a young woman in her early twenties who greeted him from across the farmhouse table "Hello pops" she said looking up from her painting
Another memory trigger engaged as it assessed this new situation. Rather than a defensive countermeasure it consolidated his position and produced a suitable passive countermeasure for him. As he had surveyed the building, the surrounding area, and his attire he had mentally filled in the gaps with probability and fact and came to the following conclusions.
‘Hi honey.’ He said softly as he knelt down on the porch and took his muddy boots off.
He made his way over to the wash basin in the kitchen and began to scrub his hands clean.
‘The carrots are coming along nicely, and we should have a good crop of rhubarb this year’ he said nonchalantly as he surveyed the room in a slow, measured and relaxed state. ‘I don’t know about the potatoes though, they could be blighted’.
His eyes and his mind however were absorbing information at a frightening rate. The letters on the table, the calendar on the wall, the photos, the dog hair on the carpet, the smell of perfume, the layout of the room, the engagement ring on Sarah’s hand, the little scar on her nose she had from when she fell from the barn window when she was five. Data, data, data, data, data… filling him up like a bag on a vacuum cleaner, but rather than bursting the bag the Benn assimilated the information and built on its implications.
‘How’s it coming along?’ he asked as he dried his hands and walked over to look at her handy work.
The picture was of a dusk seascape; a rocky cove with looming cliffs where a couple were sitting together on the hull of a rowing boat further up a shingle beach. Towels and other beach paraphernalia were arrayed on the ground before them, with a small glowing wood fire that gave out a faint wisp of smoke, mostly obscured by the approaching evening. They were looking over at another smaller figure that stood knee deep in the calm rippling water; who was staring out to a hazy horizon where the suns rays were failing into deep oranges and reds, setting off a nacreous effect to the closely packed clouds that were reflected in the sea.
Sarah turned to him awaiting his response with a far away look in her grey eyes. She looked so much like her mother, Miranda he thought, who they had lost to cancer when Sarah was only six.
Ben kissed her forehead, lost in more emerging memories.
‘It’s really good’ he said lamely with a wistful smile.
This seemed to satisfy her, and she turned back to the painting and picked up the brush.
‘Its strange how I can seem to remember this holiday we had. What was I? Four?
‘You were five.’ He answered. ‘It sometimes happens like that. You can remember snap shots of the distant past, even though there seems no reasoning or connections behind it.’ He explained.
‘Tell me more about that day.’ She asked; her posture still, pausing with a brush stroke. Sarah had been leading the question.
She turned and found that her Dad had left the room.
The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
Moderators: Podmore, arcanus, Otto
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
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- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
-
Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
Data, data, data.
He swiftly walked through the passage way and climbed the stairs. He was bombarded with images of their wedding; Sarah being born, her first words and steps, and Miranda’s last words at her death bed. The memories kept on coming mercilessly, with all the objects and rooms in the house.
And behind it all, he had the deep seated certainty, that these were not his memories at all but fabrications.
In this deep introspection, where new memories of joys were ultimately followed by frustration, grief and loss; he finally realised he was sat on a small three legged stool in what was/is his bedroom.
He raised his hands to his face and to his surprise slowly brushed away tears. With a puzzled fascination he turned his hand to look at the water as it fell to the floor and was absorbed into his skin. Finally, he dragged his hands from his eyes, shook them disdainfully and looked around.
The room was airy with folding sliding window doors that led out onto a large wood tiled balcony with a table and two chairs that overlooked part of the orchard. He also noted the ashtray on the table, and plant pots which held light pink roses. The large double bed was old but serviceable, and was made up with a frilly beige cover, pillowslips and quilt. The walls were decorated in a cream wallpaper with swirling light purple pastel floral patterns, of which was now starting to curl in places. There was a large walk in wardrobe which Miranda had loved; but he refrained for now from going in to look more closely. The carpet was a light blue shag pile affair which had seen better days. Family and art pictures were hung on the walls, where his wife had placed them.
‘Are you ok Dad?’ Sarah’s concerned voice drifted up the stairs.
‘I’m fine. I’ll be down in a mo’. He called down in a calm measured tone completely belying his shattered emotions to the girl. ‘I just need a shower first’.
He swiftly walked through the passage way and climbed the stairs. He was bombarded with images of their wedding; Sarah being born, her first words and steps, and Miranda’s last words at her death bed. The memories kept on coming mercilessly, with all the objects and rooms in the house.
And behind it all, he had the deep seated certainty, that these were not his memories at all but fabrications.
In this deep introspection, where new memories of joys were ultimately followed by frustration, grief and loss; he finally realised he was sat on a small three legged stool in what was/is his bedroom.
He raised his hands to his face and to his surprise slowly brushed away tears. With a puzzled fascination he turned his hand to look at the water as it fell to the floor and was absorbed into his skin. Finally, he dragged his hands from his eyes, shook them disdainfully and looked around.
The room was airy with folding sliding window doors that led out onto a large wood tiled balcony with a table and two chairs that overlooked part of the orchard. He also noted the ashtray on the table, and plant pots which held light pink roses. The large double bed was old but serviceable, and was made up with a frilly beige cover, pillowslips and quilt. The walls were decorated in a cream wallpaper with swirling light purple pastel floral patterns, of which was now starting to curl in places. There was a large walk in wardrobe which Miranda had loved; but he refrained for now from going in to look more closely. The carpet was a light blue shag pile affair which had seen better days. Family and art pictures were hung on the walls, where his wife had placed them.
‘Are you ok Dad?’ Sarah’s concerned voice drifted up the stairs.
‘I’m fine. I’ll be down in a mo’. He called down in a calm measured tone completely belying his shattered emotions to the girl. ‘I just need a shower first’.
-
Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
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- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
Assistant Research Head Ackland looked down at the restrained prone form strapped to a field bed.
"How is he?" he enquired
The Medic looked up from his charts "Stable, in deep sleep, although oddly his brain waves indicate REM activity"
"Not so odd for this one" replied Ackland, who's eyes inspected the man like a specimen, which indeed he was, the scientist looked over at the severe looking younger man stood across the room from the MP guard and prisoner, the man was gaunt, angular featured with curious growths running along the curvature of his jaw, Ackland raised an eyebrow
The man dressed in smart trousers and shirt, although unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, winced his eyes rolling and then grimaced in pain again "His minds like a wall, surface impressions, some rural scenery difficult to pick any detail" he man reported in a laboured tone
"How sweet, lets apply some stimulus" Ackland opened a small case on an adjacent surgical trolley, producing a large steel syringe, holding up a vial of drugs he drew several hundred CCs, tapped a vein he injected the subject.
The Assistant Research Head leant down, his mouth close to the specimens ear "I would say happy trails, however they won't be!"
"How is he?" he enquired
The Medic looked up from his charts "Stable, in deep sleep, although oddly his brain waves indicate REM activity"
"Not so odd for this one" replied Ackland, who's eyes inspected the man like a specimen, which indeed he was, the scientist looked over at the severe looking younger man stood across the room from the MP guard and prisoner, the man was gaunt, angular featured with curious growths running along the curvature of his jaw, Ackland raised an eyebrow
The man dressed in smart trousers and shirt, although unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, winced his eyes rolling and then grimaced in pain again "His minds like a wall, surface impressions, some rural scenery difficult to pick any detail" he man reported in a laboured tone
"How sweet, lets apply some stimulus" Ackland opened a small case on an adjacent surgical trolley, producing a large steel syringe, holding up a vial of drugs he drew several hundred CCs, tapped a vein he injected the subject.
The Assistant Research Head leant down, his mouth close to the specimens ear "I would say happy trails, however they won't be!"
-
Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old,
and darker days are drawing near,
the winter winds will be much colder,
now you're not here.
I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
and one by one they disappear
I wish that I was flying with them,
now you're not here
like the sun through the trees you came to love me
like a leaf on a breeze you blew away
through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way
you always loved this time of year
loose fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
cos you're not here
like the sun through the trees you came to love me
like a leaf on a breeze you blew away
a gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
as if to hide a lonely tear
my life will be forever autumn
cos you're not here
Justin Hayward : Forever Autumn 1978
He stood, and went to the balcony sliding glass door and opened it. Stepping outside he closed his eyes and sucked in a huge lung full of the sweet summer air and stretched. He looked out at the orchard. The birds called and chirped cheerfully as the soft breeze buffeted his hair. Mastering his feelings as no ‘human’ could he reconciled his position and leaned against the railing, deep in thought. Peering at the ashtray, a sudden latent craving for a cigarette suddenly overcame him. He cracked a wry smile, and continued his surveying of his land.
Then he felt it; a powerful feeling as if he had been immersed in freezing cold water. He physically swayed, gripping the rail tightly to prevent himself from falling; as from the corner of his vision he noticed the potted pink roses swiftly curl up, wither and die; their petals forlornly falling to the ground. Nausea assailed him, a familiar feeling he noted.
Compensating for his moment of vulnerability he recovered his faculties and stared out at the scene unfolding. A sudden howling wind had formed and tore through the orchard creating a wavelike effect through the trees that threw branches, fruit and other debris at a ferocious rate towards the house. Quickly he dashed into the bedroom and closed the door as the detritus struck the glass, cracking but not breaking it.
Then with a sudden unearthly groan, the floor disappeared from beneath him and gravity sent him with it. Bricks, wood and mortar fell around him, and struck his body as he fell.
It was a sensation not dissimilar to falling heavily into arctic waters, not only the searing frigidity of sub zero emersion but the collision within jagged pieces of solid ice.
The lake, house and sanctuary ran like melting wax, as he fell he clenched his teeth and at times closing his eyes, he plummeted into the mouth of the abyss.
Triad : Lateralus : Tool 2001
and darker days are drawing near,
the winter winds will be much colder,
now you're not here.
I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
and one by one they disappear
I wish that I was flying with them,
now you're not here
like the sun through the trees you came to love me
like a leaf on a breeze you blew away
through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way
you always loved this time of year
loose fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
cos you're not here
like the sun through the trees you came to love me
like a leaf on a breeze you blew away
a gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
as if to hide a lonely tear
my life will be forever autumn
cos you're not here
Justin Hayward : Forever Autumn 1978
He stood, and went to the balcony sliding glass door and opened it. Stepping outside he closed his eyes and sucked in a huge lung full of the sweet summer air and stretched. He looked out at the orchard. The birds called and chirped cheerfully as the soft breeze buffeted his hair. Mastering his feelings as no ‘human’ could he reconciled his position and leaned against the railing, deep in thought. Peering at the ashtray, a sudden latent craving for a cigarette suddenly overcame him. He cracked a wry smile, and continued his surveying of his land.
Then he felt it; a powerful feeling as if he had been immersed in freezing cold water. He physically swayed, gripping the rail tightly to prevent himself from falling; as from the corner of his vision he noticed the potted pink roses swiftly curl up, wither and die; their petals forlornly falling to the ground. Nausea assailed him, a familiar feeling he noted.
Compensating for his moment of vulnerability he recovered his faculties and stared out at the scene unfolding. A sudden howling wind had formed and tore through the orchard creating a wavelike effect through the trees that threw branches, fruit and other debris at a ferocious rate towards the house. Quickly he dashed into the bedroom and closed the door as the detritus struck the glass, cracking but not breaking it.
Then with a sudden unearthly groan, the floor disappeared from beneath him and gravity sent him with it. Bricks, wood and mortar fell around him, and struck his body as he fell.
It was a sensation not dissimilar to falling heavily into arctic waters, not only the searing frigidity of sub zero emersion but the collision within jagged pieces of solid ice.
The lake, house and sanctuary ran like melting wax, as he fell he clenched his teeth and at times closing his eyes, he plummeted into the mouth of the abyss.
Triad : Lateralus : Tool 2001
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
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- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
The man wasn’t sure if he was moving at all, or if it was just the illusion of movement. He tried to penetrate the vortex that surrounded him with no success. He tried to control his ‘movement’ to no avail. He continued to plunge through an endless night, as he tried to hold onto the brief good, precious moments he had recently experienced to no avail. The memories slipped through his metaphysical fingers to dissolve into the nothingness; purged from his soul and ejected into the night.
As if in tune with his attempts at resistance a strange metallic rumbling began around him, which grew in intensity and volume as he fought his imprisonment. The sound stung him to the core of his being, triggering some primal knowledge that he knew, but was forever beyond his comprehension.
Suddenly he received a huge bolt of pain, which was not dissimilar to receiving a large electric shock his analytical mind coldly considered as he physically screamed without a sound escaping his lips.
His whole body shook spasmodically, forcing him to arch his back as he clawed the air above his head.
>Stand by for tasking Benn 85426-1…………………<
>OPERATION CEDAR FALLS <
>LOCATION……………………………….CU CHI…VIETNAM…1967…..<
>TASKING……………….SEARCH AND DESTROY<
>TASKING………………..DISRUPT SUPPLY CHAIN<
>TASKING………………..WADE IN THE GORE OF YOUR ENEMIES…….<
>Stand by for data download……..<
>Pity is for the weak, as is Love….<
As if in tune with his attempts at resistance a strange metallic rumbling began around him, which grew in intensity and volume as he fought his imprisonment. The sound stung him to the core of his being, triggering some primal knowledge that he knew, but was forever beyond his comprehension.
Suddenly he received a huge bolt of pain, which was not dissimilar to receiving a large electric shock his analytical mind coldly considered as he physically screamed without a sound escaping his lips.
His whole body shook spasmodically, forcing him to arch his back as he clawed the air above his head.
>Stand by for tasking Benn 85426-1…………………<
>OPERATION CEDAR FALLS <
>LOCATION……………………………….CU CHI…VIETNAM…1967…..<
>TASKING……………….SEARCH AND DESTROY<
>TASKING………………..DISRUPT SUPPLY CHAIN<
>TASKING………………..WADE IN THE GORE OF YOUR ENEMIES…….<
>Stand by for data download……..<
>Pity is for the weak, as is Love….<
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
All at once, the darkness dissipated and the semblance of colour and life began to fill his eyes once more as he suddenly struck ‘wherever’ with significant force.
His legs folded underneath him as the impact took his breath away. His hearing (if he had ever in fact lost it) seemed to return and was greeted to the sudden roar and hubbub of many voices around him that assailed his senses, as did the remnants of a dinner table he had obviously hit and a strange rain of gaily coloured party streamers and silvery paper, coupled with smoke that fell and whirled around him as if in slow motion.
The strong smell of alcohol and tobacco hit him like a sledgehammer as he reeled and staggered to his feet, his head lolling onto his chest as he waded through the pile of broken crystal glasses and plates of food.. Through the smoky haze he noticed he was wearing what appeared to be an expensive pair of black shoes which now stood on a varnished and shiny oak floor.
The voices became more distinct, powerful and meaningful. And rose like a tempest around him.
‘Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!’
With this announcement, the voices grew to a crescendo, accompanied by the blowing of whistles and the striking up of what sounded like a brass band. With this, the man stood bolt upright as if he had just been rudely awoken from a deep sleep.
His feelings and perceptions of slow motion suddenly ceased.
‘Fucking Hell... .’ He slowly exclaimed to himself, as he brushed away pieces of masonry and rose petal off the shoulder pads of his well made dark blue suit he was wearing; as with a look of deep consternation he took in the scene.
It was seemingly the deck of a large sailing ship at night time. A huge mainmast that spanned at least one hundred feet high greeted his eyes; on it hung garlands of flowers, evergreen branches, tinsel and Christmas decorations. A large section of sail cloth stated in gaily written letters:
The ships staff and CREW of SS Broomwell wish all our passengers a Happy New Year! Farewell to 2181!
He shook his head and then suddenly noticed the throng of humanity that was around him in various states of revelry. There were hundreds of people it seemed. Dancing, laughing, cheering, kissing hugging and the inevitable emotion that comes from seeing another year out. The clattering and bouncing of the deck from the multitude shook the tables that were stacked high with food and drinks which added to his overall disorientation.
They were dressed in their best party dresses and suits, the style archaic but tinged with strange modernity. The ladies wore flowing colourful dresses, whilst the men folk wore prim dinner suits. As he looked he realised that the fabrics of the clothes slowly changed colour of their own volition like fibre optics that set the night afire with fairy lights, and reflected off the women’s made up faces and the men’s heavy set beards and moustaches
They were all wearing hats and bonnets of various shapes and sizes rimmed with Christmas lights that moved and swayed with the music that the fifty piece brass band played. The band was arrayed in a three tiered semi circular pattern either side of the main mast which acted as the main stage.
Fighting nausea, he struggled through the masses to get to the ships side. Finally, after pushing his way through the preoccupied mob he grasped the gunwale of the starboard side and emptied his stomach.
It was only then he realised that he must be suffering the effects of drunkenness as the strong smell of beer hit his nostrils as he retched.
Coughing and spluttering he opened his eyes, and took a huge gasp of breath.
There was no sea. It also was not night time as he knew it. This ship sailed with the stars! He staggered back and took in the whole panorama of the ‘Broomwell’ and what it was, and was promptly sick again; inconveniently over his own shoes and the deck this time.
Figuratively and literally, a whole world sat off the ships port quarter, albeit obviously many thousands of miles away; but a whole new world nonetheless.
How was this possible he thought with amazement? The man hoped reasoning would come soon, like a comforting blanket.
‘Ernest Emerson me old stoat; there you are you bounder!’ a loud but friendly voice shouted in his direction. ‘You never could take your ale!’ footsteps approached behind him and a hand gently rested on his shoulder to steady him.
‘Happy New Year!’ the voice announced in amusement.
His legs folded underneath him as the impact took his breath away. His hearing (if he had ever in fact lost it) seemed to return and was greeted to the sudden roar and hubbub of many voices around him that assailed his senses, as did the remnants of a dinner table he had obviously hit and a strange rain of gaily coloured party streamers and silvery paper, coupled with smoke that fell and whirled around him as if in slow motion.
The strong smell of alcohol and tobacco hit him like a sledgehammer as he reeled and staggered to his feet, his head lolling onto his chest as he waded through the pile of broken crystal glasses and plates of food.. Through the smoky haze he noticed he was wearing what appeared to be an expensive pair of black shoes which now stood on a varnished and shiny oak floor.
The voices became more distinct, powerful and meaningful. And rose like a tempest around him.
‘Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!’
With this announcement, the voices grew to a crescendo, accompanied by the blowing of whistles and the striking up of what sounded like a brass band. With this, the man stood bolt upright as if he had just been rudely awoken from a deep sleep.
His feelings and perceptions of slow motion suddenly ceased.
‘Fucking Hell... .’ He slowly exclaimed to himself, as he brushed away pieces of masonry and rose petal off the shoulder pads of his well made dark blue suit he was wearing; as with a look of deep consternation he took in the scene.
It was seemingly the deck of a large sailing ship at night time. A huge mainmast that spanned at least one hundred feet high greeted his eyes; on it hung garlands of flowers, evergreen branches, tinsel and Christmas decorations. A large section of sail cloth stated in gaily written letters:
The ships staff and CREW of SS Broomwell wish all our passengers a Happy New Year! Farewell to 2181!
He shook his head and then suddenly noticed the throng of humanity that was around him in various states of revelry. There were hundreds of people it seemed. Dancing, laughing, cheering, kissing hugging and the inevitable emotion that comes from seeing another year out. The clattering and bouncing of the deck from the multitude shook the tables that were stacked high with food and drinks which added to his overall disorientation.
They were dressed in their best party dresses and suits, the style archaic but tinged with strange modernity. The ladies wore flowing colourful dresses, whilst the men folk wore prim dinner suits. As he looked he realised that the fabrics of the clothes slowly changed colour of their own volition like fibre optics that set the night afire with fairy lights, and reflected off the women’s made up faces and the men’s heavy set beards and moustaches
They were all wearing hats and bonnets of various shapes and sizes rimmed with Christmas lights that moved and swayed with the music that the fifty piece brass band played. The band was arrayed in a three tiered semi circular pattern either side of the main mast which acted as the main stage.
Fighting nausea, he struggled through the masses to get to the ships side. Finally, after pushing his way through the preoccupied mob he grasped the gunwale of the starboard side and emptied his stomach.
It was only then he realised that he must be suffering the effects of drunkenness as the strong smell of beer hit his nostrils as he retched.
Coughing and spluttering he opened his eyes, and took a huge gasp of breath.
There was no sea. It also was not night time as he knew it. This ship sailed with the stars! He staggered back and took in the whole panorama of the ‘Broomwell’ and what it was, and was promptly sick again; inconveniently over his own shoes and the deck this time.
Figuratively and literally, a whole world sat off the ships port quarter, albeit obviously many thousands of miles away; but a whole new world nonetheless.
How was this possible he thought with amazement? The man hoped reasoning would come soon, like a comforting blanket.
‘Ernest Emerson me old stoat; there you are you bounder!’ a loud but friendly voice shouted in his direction. ‘You never could take your ale!’ footsteps approached behind him and a hand gently rested on his shoulder to steady him.
‘Happy New Year!’ the voice announced in amusement.
Last edited by Adrift in Obscurity on Sat Jan 10, 2015 11:36 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
The American Dreamscape – 1963
The dreamscape of the capitol fluctuated, its land stable its sky a shifting mix of oils and fire, as watching the image of flickering flames upon glass.
Sako stood motionless upon the pinnacle of The Washington Monument, watching the hurtling forms of supercharged emerged dreamers as they uncontrollably rocketed through Morpheus’s sky and released pulses of pure karma shaping the scape in destructive ways.
He sensed the presences float towards him, a different dreamsphere not one of these interlopers.
“Senator” said one of them respectfully
“Owen San” he replied curtly
The visitors black suit shifted becoming a flowing robe similar to his own, slicked back hair framing a craggy face, an experienced projector who felt no need to reshape his other self.
Behind him floated a thin figure dressed in the green utilitarian garb of the US military, Sako frowned he’d seen too much of that dress in the worst possible circumstances.
For a short while the trio watched the hovoc before them
“The true price of your alchemy” he said coldly
The robed American winced slightly “The world of war is full of necessary evils” he replied finally, his eyes didn’t leave two superhuman flowerchildren tearing each other limb from limb
Sako smiled without humour “An American trait to blame arrogance on necessity”
The soldier inhaled sharply “Mr Masey, we told you this was a waste of time!”
Masey closed his eyes and the scape shifted ejecting the soldier from itself like a spider disappearing down a plughole.
“Your shaping has improved” commented Sako
“We need your help” replied Owen
“Why would I help the US warmachine after Osaka, Hiroshima and Nagasaki”
“Because if we fall the Soviets and Chinese will target Japan”
Sako frowned “Owen the best you can do is bluff, what is it you require?”
“One of our top Morpheus boffins has been trapped in the scape, we need someone of your capability to free her!”
“I am puzzled none of your people have the gift”
“None that I trust, this will take a considerably degree of power and skill, all of ours have one or the other”
“What is she trapped by?”
“A BEN”
“One of your bred forms”
“Yes” replied Owen his voice hesitantly
For the first time Sako turned to look at his former student “Owen?”
“He is very powerful”
“In what sense?”
“Shaping and channelling”
“Not just any old bred form then”
“No”
“A hybrid then”
Owen looked uncomfortable “Something more”
Sako waited quietly
“He’s a chimera”
“And if he is of considerable power drawn from bloodlines, which ones?”
Owen breathed out “Roosevelt, Cayce, Podmore and a host”
“A Frankenstein” replied Sako returning his attention to the mayhem
“Yes very much so”
“Very well Owen I do this out of loyalty to you, where is your boffin?”
The dreamscape of the capitol fluctuated, its land stable its sky a shifting mix of oils and fire, as watching the image of flickering flames upon glass.
Sako stood motionless upon the pinnacle of The Washington Monument, watching the hurtling forms of supercharged emerged dreamers as they uncontrollably rocketed through Morpheus’s sky and released pulses of pure karma shaping the scape in destructive ways.
He sensed the presences float towards him, a different dreamsphere not one of these interlopers.
“Senator” said one of them respectfully
“Owen San” he replied curtly
The visitors black suit shifted becoming a flowing robe similar to his own, slicked back hair framing a craggy face, an experienced projector who felt no need to reshape his other self.
Behind him floated a thin figure dressed in the green utilitarian garb of the US military, Sako frowned he’d seen too much of that dress in the worst possible circumstances.
For a short while the trio watched the hovoc before them
“The true price of your alchemy” he said coldly
The robed American winced slightly “The world of war is full of necessary evils” he replied finally, his eyes didn’t leave two superhuman flowerchildren tearing each other limb from limb
Sako smiled without humour “An American trait to blame arrogance on necessity”
The soldier inhaled sharply “Mr Masey, we told you this was a waste of time!”
Masey closed his eyes and the scape shifted ejecting the soldier from itself like a spider disappearing down a plughole.
“Your shaping has improved” commented Sako
“We need your help” replied Owen
“Why would I help the US warmachine after Osaka, Hiroshima and Nagasaki”
“Because if we fall the Soviets and Chinese will target Japan”
Sako frowned “Owen the best you can do is bluff, what is it you require?”
“One of our top Morpheus boffins has been trapped in the scape, we need someone of your capability to free her!”
“I am puzzled none of your people have the gift”
“None that I trust, this will take a considerably degree of power and skill, all of ours have one or the other”
“What is she trapped by?”
“A BEN”
“One of your bred forms”
“Yes” replied Owen his voice hesitantly
For the first time Sako turned to look at his former student “Owen?”
“He is very powerful”
“In what sense?”
“Shaping and channelling”
“Not just any old bred form then”
“No”
“A hybrid then”
Owen looked uncomfortable “Something more”
Sako waited quietly
“He’s a chimera”
“And if he is of considerable power drawn from bloodlines, which ones?”
Owen breathed out “Roosevelt, Cayce, Podmore and a host”
“A Frankenstein” replied Sako returning his attention to the mayhem
“Yes very much so”
“Very well Owen I do this out of loyalty to you, where is your boffin?”
-
Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
Wiping the bile from his mouth led to the discovery that he wore a close cropped wiry beard in which he could feel that some of the vomit still clung to. Playing to the fact this currently unknown man though him completely drunk, he turned slowly; squinting in the general direction of the voice.
In fact, any effects that the alcohol had held on him had been purged from his system, and once again he was putting the feelers out; fishing for information to assimilate to gain an advantage, if it was indeed necessary.
‘Whosat?’ he barked in what he considered to be an English West Country accent ‘Don’t come any nearer y’hear?’ he warned as he staggered forward away from the hand, and turned. He pathetically assumed a Marques de Queensbury boxing stance as he swayed from side to side.
He noted to himself with a small touch of surprise the fighting style he had naturally assumed; archaic.
‘Identifi Yersel!’ he called. ‘I’m not jokin’ he warned with a leer and a shake of the head as he attempted to wipe the mess from his beard with his right knuckle as his left fist shook threateningly albeit loosely at the voice.
In fact, any effects that the alcohol had held on him had been purged from his system, and once again he was putting the feelers out; fishing for information to assimilate to gain an advantage, if it was indeed necessary.
‘Whosat?’ he barked in what he considered to be an English West Country accent ‘Don’t come any nearer y’hear?’ he warned as he staggered forward away from the hand, and turned. He pathetically assumed a Marques de Queensbury boxing stance as he swayed from side to side.
He noted to himself with a small touch of surprise the fighting style he had naturally assumed; archaic.
‘Identifi Yersel!’ he called. ‘I’m not jokin’ he warned with a leer and a shake of the head as he attempted to wipe the mess from his beard with his right knuckle as his left fist shook threateningly albeit loosely at the voice.
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
Within his head the clamour of thoughts and dreams ruminated, most of those here where pigments a few however latent dreamers.
However he knew he was here for a purpose, which meant he had to find the true dreamer here for there had to be one for him to travel here, however it appeared they appreciated their privacy.
However he knew he was here for a purpose, which meant he had to find the true dreamer here for there had to be one for him to travel here, however it appeared they appreciated their privacy.
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Adrift in Obscurity
- Survivor
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Sep 28, 2014 4:51 pm
Re: The Eternal Journey of 'Mr Benn'
‘Ernest’. The well spoken voice hissed in an irritated angry tone, obviously not trying to rouse any more unwanted attention or notice. ‘I’m not playing this bloody game with you again.’ The man appeared in his self induced squinted field of vision. It was a tall man in an expensive grey suit with an elegant matching overcoat; he sported a huge curled moustache and a black top hat. A pair of small pinch spectacles balanced precariously on the end of his long thin nose that accentuated his brown eyes. ‘You’re a fine investigator, but an awful lush’ the man exclaimed.
The man turned his head, ‘Hollander, can you please assist Mr Emerson back to his quarters. He has had a turn which was obviously brought on by the quail at dinner.’ His seeming cold address to his bat man was warmed with a subtle grin and a wink.
‘Yes Mr Lake.’ Hollander gave a nod and came forward to assist. He was a very stocky, short man who wore a black suit with a matching bowler hat. He had a ruddy chiselled complexion and from his demeanour the Benn reckoned that he was an ex military man. The man's heavy hobnailed boots clumped their way to him.
‘Give me your arm Mr Emerson Sir, and let us get you abed, and I’ll sort you out a posset.’ Hollander said kindly. The Benn noticed that the man didn’t seem to have a single hair on his head, save for two bushy ginger eyebrows.
The Benn allowed himself to be guided to his cabin.
The man turned his head, ‘Hollander, can you please assist Mr Emerson back to his quarters. He has had a turn which was obviously brought on by the quail at dinner.’ His seeming cold address to his bat man was warmed with a subtle grin and a wink.
‘Yes Mr Lake.’ Hollander gave a nod and came forward to assist. He was a very stocky, short man who wore a black suit with a matching bowler hat. He had a ruddy chiselled complexion and from his demeanour the Benn reckoned that he was an ex military man. The man's heavy hobnailed boots clumped their way to him.
‘Give me your arm Mr Emerson Sir, and let us get you abed, and I’ll sort you out a posset.’ Hollander said kindly. The Benn noticed that the man didn’t seem to have a single hair on his head, save for two bushy ginger eyebrows.
The Benn allowed himself to be guided to his cabin.