Episode 10a - Traught's discent

In which Traught's taken to a most displeasant place.

from: Not Jack Book 2: Virgil Ante.
by Mat the Hooplah, disconcerted displayer of Saint Seer of Tallow's discordant distant dissertation.

--well, well, well, the tale parades back in and around on itself. What is to become of our fair assembly of characters? What ever happened to that nice young lad from the Mall? And his boss? Does she know? What of the Uncle, barred from the Big Top? What of Traught, in the Big Top itself?

"Ladies and gentlemen and... others, welcome to the Three-Ring Big Top, the Greatest Show in the Whole Wide Worlds! You will astounded and amazed by all the magic and buffoonery in store, and oh, so much more," Not Jack called in a loud, deep voice. Traught felt it shake his skeleton from the inside out.

Not Jack stood in the spotlight.

Traught ran an index finger around the dark contour of his other hand, a splayed eclipse of the RingMaster.

"Brace yourselves, for the how is begun..."

The light snuffed, the audience enshrouded in dark.

Traught felt nervous. Anxious. He shook, giving into it until he shuddered throughout. He panted, hyperventilating. He couldn't hear the sound of his own breath.

Meanwhile, across the Parking Lot, Ms Pell had narrowly avoided being drawn into a fracas that was breaking out over the lack of parking. One customer had punched a store clerk and free-form pugilism had resulted. She wondered what had happened to Pell.

She strode a direct path through the unattended Gate into the labyrinth of the halls of stalls. She assessed the chaos, and plunged into the teeming mass of humanity, plotting as direct a course for the Big-Top as she could.

Ms Pell wished to intercept one person who could give her directions. Why is that so complicated? She had heard all manner of vitriolic glossolalia in response. She avoided what appeared to be a Cheese-Dunk booth.

She spied the prismatic stalls bordering a concourse directly towards the Big Top. Aha, now we're getting somewhere. She took the concourse, to her left, directly towards the Tent, there to find someone in authority.

She looked over her left shoulder at a stall decorated with bold brands and logos, one of which appeared distinct, labelling the stall itself. She was unfamiliar with any of the corporate affiliations.

She returned her attention to the Tent. Vanished?! She glanced to the stall, then around behind her. There rose the Big-Top. That was in the other direction! She glanced towards the stall. The brands had moved, and the stall had grown shorter and squatter. The identifying logo had also changed.

Ms Pell continued her journey towards the Big-Top.

She heard screams pour out of it, which didn't abate. She squirmed, holding her hands over her ears.

The lights went out. Traught heard the Daredevil skid off the ramp, yelling for the duration to the loud crash, and the quieter burn. Then, "oh boy."

The lights came back on. He found himself amidst the capacity audience, gawking at the Centre Ring, where an Ellephant leafed trhough a huge tome with the her proboscis. The Mouse slept atop her cranium. Dozing.

Dreaming.

"Once upon a time," began the Ellephant.

-to be continued

Episode 14 - Dreams of a Mouse Part 4

In which the First Mark revisits the First of the First Marks.

from: Not Jack Book 2: Would you care for Somnabulism?.
by Mat the Hooplah, crazed chronolographer for the crassly crooked Saint Seer of Tallow, slick spirit-sucking salesman.

[-PentWhistle erstwhile interrupts this otherwise fluid (?) narrative to insert, via carat, so to speak, or to write, with this phrase poised above it: Mat the Hooplah had run off with his newly arrived vat of mustard, and had vanished for the past three weeks. Saint Seer was off in pursuit, having been in the middle of a long diatribe about the Byzantine Empire's folly.

[and then returned, paler by far, and silent until Mat finally returned, something deep within him satiated. Saint Seer turned paler.

[then, in the end, they resumed. One doesn't want to stand between a man and his condiments

[now, on with the show.

[-PentWhistle]

--well, have you deigned return to our tale, having leapt the gap in time as effortlessly as if there was a net? It would appear so, and for that, you are rewarded with the conclusion. Quite the cliffhanger, surely has it raised your ire or disinterest? Either, neither, nor?

--The First Mark has waited patiently, lost within the singularity of the darkness within the Three-Ring Big Top. She has rested on the edge of her seat. Traught lost. His Uncle still wandering he concourse, riding the razor-edge of dispair. He hasn't been idle, but the Carnies will get to him, and so shall we--

The First Mark sat back, massaging feeling back into her buttocks, feeling the deep line left in her thighs where she'd sat at the edge of her seat. The Ellephant looked into the distance, the Mouse stirring, circling a tuft of hair three times, then settled back to Dream the following:

Scrow awoke, surrounded by his personal halo of nine bleached angels, all staring at him with PunchPunch the Evil Evil Clown's twisted features.

Jess awoke, circled by her multi-medial monument of nine sculpted devils, all regarding her with Bozobub the Evil Clown's villain0us expression.

Scrow and Jess had awoken at 3:15 AM, without any memory of having fallen asleep.

The Ellephant snickered to herself at the thought of it.

Scrow and Jess rolled into each other's arms. Imagine a brief pause, before they awoke, startled to find themselves naked in an unfamiliar room. Both jumped up, yelling, fighting for the single sheet.

It finally ripped, each falling back with jaggedly half of the sheet.

Both struck their head. Both remember nothing in the interregnum.

Both reawoke, as PunchPunch, and Bozobub, in the Physical World. Our World. They are here, and wear many guises. They are no longer merely fictitious entities. They live and breathe.

The Mouse stirred awake, the Ellephant slowly rising below. Not Jack appeared in the centre ring.

"Now, wasn't that an amazing thing?"

"What are you talking about? What the hell was that?" the First Mark was confused, tired, hungry, and leaning heavily on outrage as a crutch. "Get me out of here."

"Well, you wouldn't be much of a First Mark if I were to let you off the hook that easily."

"What?! Let me out."

"We're doing our best, but you'll have to work with us. Now, here's something that'll really flip your lid."

Suddenly, Not Jack loomed above her. He reached a huge white glove towards her, and she passed out, and had dreams of her own.

The Mouse watched.

--Now this isn't the end of this, as I'm sure you have surmised. Yet, what has become of our dear friends Traught and his Uncle? The Capital of Hell and The Halls of Smoky Mirrors. These three-rings are unlike any other. Dare you read on? The line has yet to be drawn--

--to be continued