Ember in Wrilogonzia
Introduction: Late last week I saw an aye aye, possibly the cutest little creature in existence on Facebook, so I followed the link and saw what is effectively a round robin opportunity... one story teller at a time, the next person claims a spot, and together we are writing a fun little tale. Before you read my little addition today, please check out the introduction, and 2nd and 3rd posts of the story, all linked here:
Ember Explainer, Story Start and Links
Though in summary, Ember has fallen asleep at her computer and is “Jumping” through the blogosphere, so order is only necessary for the links between to make sense after the first.
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Ember felt a persistent poking. Three small fingers in the small of her back. She wanted it to stop; she was having such a comfortable sleep.
“Psst. Wake up!” The whisper was urgent.
Poke, poke, poke.
“If you don't wake up you're...”
And it was gone, but that made her lift her drowsy head. The plank table she'd fallen asleep on was being moved. It was Della.
“I'm so sorry Ember, but the Master was rejected this afternoon. Third time this week. When I mentioned you were here, he said he'd rather eat you than meet you.”
Ember spotted the open oven edging closer. “Surely that was a figure of speech!”
“I'm sorry. He's very cruel when we disobey.”
Ember tried to move her legs but they were frozen, petrified, like every nightmare she had ever had. “No! This can't be happening!”
Computer. Computer. If only she could reach her computer. She closed her eyes. Screen saver. That's why she couldn't move, her computer had fallen asleep.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, envisioning her hands on the keyboard. If only she could...
S-T-A-R-T
It was only as she hit enter that she saw she hadn't pressed the S. Tart. She was going to be baked into a tart!
But suddenly she found herself immersed in water. Where was Misty when she needed a save? She was a bad swimmer! And who ever heard of a Watery Tart? That made no sense. Finally her legs propelled her through the top of the water.
“There you are!” A llama exclaimed with obvious relief! “I worried you wouldn't get out of that one, but there you pop like Mr. Happy! Though I would have recommended another location.”
“Who are you?”
“Hello! Perhluna? Remember? I spent almost an hour on top of you!”
“But you're a llama.”
Perhluna rolled his eyes, for some reason she was sure the llama was male. “She has rules. The Komosny who visit can only take certain forms. Badgers, otters, squirrels, chipmunks, and innuendo llamas.”
“So why would you choose to be an innuendo llama?” she raised an eyebrow incredulously.
“As luck would have it, it is the only one with the gift of speech.”
Ember was sure now that she was being subject to a grand joke, when suddenly Jack Sparrow approached. “Ember, love! So good to see you again!”
He took her hand and began to suckle each finger.
“Again? I think I'd remember...”
“I'm hurt! You've forgotten! Jerome? We barely escaped...”
“But you used to look like Jude Law?”
“Like the llama said, love. Her rules.” Jack... erm... Jerome, led her to a lounge chair and Aragorn son of Arathorn brought over a tropical looking pitcher and an iced glass. It was only then she realized how warm it was.
“This is sort of nice... tropical... handsome men... drinks...”
“Oh, you'll love it here, love,” Jerome assured her, seating himself on the ground near her chair. She'll make you lose these though.” He tugged at the knee of her pajama bottoms.
She frowned.
“It's part of her trap,” the annoying llama warned. “She makes you comfortable and then it is play, play, play. No work gets done at all!”
“That's a lie!” Aragorn of Arathorn pulled out a very sexy sword from somewhere, though for the life of her, she couldn't see where. He just wasn't wearing enough to have hidden it.
“Just look at all the men waggling their swords around. No decency at all,” the innuendo llama added.
“Llama, I've had enough of you disrespecting the Empress's Ways,” Aragorn had drawn up to the llama and had his sword to its neck.
“Erm...” the llama said meekly, “We'd probably best pay our respects.” He sounded terrified, which in turn terrified Ember.
She shook as Jerome led her to an odd garden, with a waterfall and a mass of scantily clad Cabana boys on one side and books on shelves as high as she could see on the other. In the middle, surrounded by a circle of desks, three with computers, and one with a note pad, was a woman. She appeared to be wearing nothing at all, though the monitors from this distance made that hard to confirm. Aragorn stepped behind her and nibbled her ear, “We've got visitors, love.”
“Ralph! You've come back! And you brought a friend!”
“It's Perhluna,” the llama said irritably.
She waved her hand and said, “Why don't you dance like I like?”
Perhluna began dancing.
“So Ember, how did you find yourself here?”
“You know my name?”
The woman pointed at a computer screen with a cartoon of herself on it. “I do read.”
“But I don't know who you are.”
“Nonsense. You specifically requested to come here. I'm the Tart... the Watery Tart. And I don't let just anybody enter through the pond portal--it's my seat of power, so to speak, but as it was an emergency...”
Ember was disconcerted, but figured she needed some answers. “You don't plan to eat me?”
“Oh honey, I'm straight, but I could probably round you up somebody if that's what you're after.”
Ember blushed so her face matched her hair. “But... what is this place?”
“My little haven, where I rule the world. Eventually I will rule all of it, but for now, this is my little domain.”
“But you're not mad I'm here?”
“Hey, I can share my toys, as long as you play nice, but... you are breaking my primary rule.”
“What's that?”
“No pants. If you're the uptight sort, we can probably find a fern for you to stand behind.”
“But...”
“There is a trunk with bikini's,” Jerome added quietly, “if you're a real prude.”
The llama had moved so he was dancing behind her, grunting quietly, “all part of the trap. You will get comfortable and be stuck here forever.”
“Ralph, if you ever want my help winning Ramona from Xavier, I'd stop with your side comments.”
“You know where Ramona is?”
“Jerome, lead her to her chambers while Ralph and I have a chat.”
Jerome was now kissing up the inside of Ember's arm as he walked her into an airy palace. “Much better than being chased by Gattaca Security, ne?”
“Ne? What's that?”
“Erm... another rule... picking up odd vocabulary here and there. It all adds to the charm though!”
“Jerome, answer me honestly. Is this like the Hotel California?”
“NOTHING like the Hotel California... erm... except the can't leave part...”
“So paradise forever... but... what about my life?”
The Tart was suddenly behind her. “Is your life really so fabulous?”
“It is!” Ember cried defensively.
“I'm not sure I'm buying it. But I'm willing to offer a trade. Do you know a man who could use some... reform?”
“Reform?”
“Someone insufferable. The kind who try to rule you. It's sort of my hobby... reforming bad boys.”
“Well there's my brother Wyndel.”
“Wyndel? I knew a Wendell once. He was rather bendy. Probably not the same guy?”
Ember shuddered and shook her head. She really doubted it.
“You give me this Wyndel's email address so I can haul him in for a month of reform—lingerie training, cabaret dancing—that kind of thing, with them, and I will let you go.” She pointed to a troop that Ember didn't know how she could have missed. They all wore lady's lingerie, high heels and were practicing a complicated line dance. Teaching them, was unmistakably, Lucius Malfoy. (Unmistakably, based on the flashing sign over his head). The Tart saw that Ember was grinning and smiled, “They perform every evening and on my whim. Would you like to see?”
She shuddered, knowing her brother would soon be one of them. She didn't really want that visual dancing around in her head, but he could sure use the lesson. THAT was a deal she could live with. She shook her head and wrote down Wyndel's email. The second she handed it over things started to go fuzzy.
And the continuation is here! Written by
Tundiel (aka: my buddy Tara)
