#wss366 5/4 #Speed #TimeManager part 1

“Whee… Ack…” The Time Manager fell over, a bottle of Jack in his hand.

“Meee world isss spinning. Whee….” He giggled.

Mine too. Things SPED past. Served me right going toe-to-toe with a leprechaun/Gnome/Gremlin in a drinking contest.

The sun flashed through the sky: once, twice, thrice. The sun’s SPEED—insane. SPEEDing across the sky.

“SPEED?” I thought. “SPEED!”

“What’d you do?” I asked.

“What ye asked, lass. Gave ye more time.”

“Nitwit! I wanted to be in two places at once, not this!”

“No can do. Impossible. Against the rule. Paradox level bug. Just a wee adjust to diSPEEDvar.”

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble @ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 5/5 #Personal #TimeManager part 2

“Hey, that’s too PERSONAL! Keep yer hands off me! Pervert!”

“Drink,” I ordered the Time Manager.

“Gack!!! That’s awful; what is it?”

“Coffee, now drink!”

“Yer trying to poison me, lass. Terrible! Worst coffee in the universe!”

“Making it took two weeks. With time speeding. And it’s been two days since I brought it to you.”

“Time flies… I won’t drink that! You !@#$%!”

“Now who’s getting PERSONAL? Just drink the stuff before it grows hair. You have to fix time. Sober!”

“They say, ‘Code drunk, debug sober.’ It’s why they made me a program manager.”

“That I believe.”

“DRINK!!!”

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble @ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 5/6 #Taper #TimeManager part 3

“One wee little line more. Fixed,” the Time Keeper reported.

“Things are still speeding,” I said as the sun skimmed the sky.

“It’s on a TAPER, lass. Stop too fast. Bam, whiplash.”

“Paradox me arse, I want to be in two places at once.”

“Mr. Poe, we have an obstinate one.”

A thin, sallow-featured man entered the room, a raven on his shoulder.

“She insists on being two places at once,” the Time Manager said.

“Young lady, answer this, and I’ll help: ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’”

“You wrote about both.”

“Right—this way, the Pendulum Room.”

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble @ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 5/8 #Ask #TimeMangager Part 4

“Poe, may I ASK you something?” the little man with clocks for eyes ASKed.

“ASK; the answer may be cryptic,” Poe said. The poppy flowers around his face muffled his answer. Today, for some reason, the raven was absent.

“What happened to that obstinate lass?”

“We went to the pendulum room, and she suddenly lost interest in being two places at once. Strange.”

“Very—you got enough sap yet? Me hay fever is killing me,” the Time Manager said.

“Where is she now?” he continued, then sneezed.

“Plenty—Forest Lawn and Boston Old Town Cemetery.”

“ASK and thou shalt receive”

#microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble
@ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 #Ask #scribesandmakers 5/9 #TimeManager (Part 5)

“Poe, what are you doing up so late?” Time Manager ASKed.

“Writing, banging on my keyboard.”

TM looked over Poe’s shoulder.

          >> Seabubble: When can you visit? 💋

“What are you really doing?”

“Chatting up a mermaid. I said I was born at the sea. That interested her. Don’t blow my secret.”

“That’s a big ASK, but sure.”

“And what is the Time Manager doing up so late?”

“The night-hours were getting a wee wild, so I stayed up to lecture them.”

“Did they listen?”

“No, but they invited me out for a drink at a nightclub.”

To be continued

#Drabble #microfiction #Mermaid #NMV366
@ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 #Face 5/10 #TimeManager (Part 6) "Mexican Radio"

Poe looked at the building’s north FACE. “You sure this is the place?”

“Sure, it’s famous. All Night Radio used to broadcast from here,” TM replied.

          I hear the talking of the DJ.
          Can’t understand him. What does he say?

Amusement showed on Poe’s FACE. “All Night Radio is a Japanese band. You’re thinking of ‘Mexican Radio’ by Wall of Voodoo, 1983.”

          “I’m on a Mexican radio.”

Poe sang a snatch.

“Wow, you know your music.”

“It was Evangeline’s favorite.”

“Sweet dreams are made of these,” TM quoted. “‘Eurythmics,’ also 1983—and you, my friend, should lay off the opium.”

---------
Mexican Radio https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyCEexG9xjw
Sweet Dreams https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5_asj1BGFs

#Drabble #microfiction #1980s #1980smusic #NMV366

#wss366 #Foot 5/12 (Part 7)

“Here it is,” TM said.

Sure enough, hidden in the shadows, a sign read, “The Midnight Hour,” and in smaller print, “Morning regrets are a thing of the future.”

A FOOT-faced woman took their cover. Poe, who saw stranger things in nightmares, thought nothing of it.

“Show me your FEET,” FOOT said.

“Lepie, stop it. Poe’s my friend.” Then to Poe, “Lepie is a wee FOOT fetishist. Put your FEET within a FOOT of her. She’ll lick them. Possibilities, aye?”

Ignoring, Poe pointed at a sign above the bar.

“Freak Out On Thursdays—½ price wells.”

“Cute, ‘F.O.O.T.,’” he said.

#Microfiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble
#TimeManager

#wss366 #Hand 5/13 (Part 8)

Poa looked at the chalked “Specials” list.

1690: Flip
1830: Sazerac
1890: Bijou
1900: Clover Club
1920: Bismarck
1927: Boulevardier
1930: Barraquito
1934: Monkey’s HAND
1944: Mai Tai
2008: Paper Plane

Wha?

TM HANDed Poe a cocktail. “Sidecar, 1918. Menu? To make time traveler comfortable.”

Poe’s raven squawked, “Blackbird, Want Blackbird.”

The bartender held out their HAND, “ID, 18+ only.”

“1845, 1845,” the Raven croaked.

“No ID, no drink.”

“I’ll vouch for him. I wrote him on a midnight dark and dreary.”

The Bartender reluctantly handed Poe a Blackbird, saying “Come again soon.”

The raven screamed, “Never More, Never More.”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble #TimeManager #Cocktails @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 #Code 5/15 (Part 9)

Nara Moore (Raven, not author) lay belly-up next to half a blackbird.

Poe had switched to Moscow Mules, to the bartender’s disgust.

His cups and spills formed abstract poetry, symbolic of Poe’s mind.

“TM, when y-y-you st-st-art CODEing?”

“Someone saw a wee poem I penned.” He shrugged.

“When y-y-yo-you become project man-manager?”

“They said me work was a CODE.”

He drew a sample in a spill: “for(int L15= iv345;*PtrV51;L15++){*V111= V227+*PtrV45;V111++;}”

“NM, he wr-ote that dr-drunk!” Poe said to his comatose friend.

“Nother ‘Morning Glory Fizz’ and ‘Time Traveler’ fer me friend.” Me dr-un-un-k CODE still makes s-s-s-sense.

Poe exclaimed, “Not!”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble #TimeManager #Cocktails @QuasiTemporal

#wss366 #Lick 5/16 #Easy 6/17 (#TimeManager Part 10)

Poe awoke, clutching his head, thinking, “EASY on the cocktails next time.”

Around a bonfire pranced lizards, toads, stags, and creatures more grotesque.

“Where the hell!?”

TM answered, “A smal wicche bad us hoom, 1150.”

Poe’s bedraggled raven added, “Þis is BYFAR þe wierdeste þing þat ich evere seye.”

“You’re not making a LICK of sense,” Poe said. “Translate!”

Raven obliged. “A wee witch invited us home to 1150.” I said, “This is EASILY the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“A witches’ Sabbath!!!” Poe exclaimed.

“Nay, a fest of disgisynges,” a goat-footed man explained.

Raven translated, “Nay, a costume party.”

#MiddleEnglish

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble #TimeTravel #TimeTravelAuthors #NMTTA @QuasiTemporal

#TimeTravelAuthors 6/15 Character who's least likely to time travel.
#TimeTravelAuthors 6/17 Excerpt: #Justice
#wss366 #Easy 6/17 (#TimeTravelingGhost Part 1)

That’d be me, the “Wee Lass,” from the beginning of #TimeManager.

(Call that pantsing, rambling, toot, drabble fiction, even a story? It’s EASILY the worst story on the Fedi.)

I got my wish to be in two places simultaneously, but not the way I expected. No time travel involved.

Now invested with the power of the TimeTravelAuthors prompt, I summon a time-traveling ghost. I’ll get JUSTICE (revenge) from Poe and the Time (Project) Manager.

Consider this a prologue to another terrible, pantsing, etc., fiction. If you’ve a low nonsense-tolerance, filter on #TimeTravelingGhost. Twofer filter #NMTTA

Muahahaha, Hehaw, cough, cough, cough.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMV366 #Drabble #TimeTravel
@QuasiTemporal

#TimeTravelAuthors 5/19 Where did you get the idea for your story?
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 2

“The author! Def best place to screw with Poe and Time Manager,” #TimeTravelingGhost said.

“What a messy desk, but the plushies are cute,” Ghost noted.

“There’s a ghost,” Jeckle called from a shelf.

“So, what’s new?” Author shrugged. “Who’s it this time: Boo-gart, Greta Ghoulbo, Long Chain-ney?”

“Have Poe fall under the pendulum,” Ghost whispered in Author’s ear.

“Why? ‘Fall’ isn’t the prompt word.”

“Because I’ll haunt you otherwise! Stupid!”

“Stupid,” Heckle echoed.

“So? Get in line. It’s Betty Graveis’s turn, then Fred A. Scare.”

“How do you think up this stuff?”

Author tapped her head. “Garbage in, #nonsense out.”

Author’s note: blame @sfwrtr

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #Drabble #NMTTA #Puns #SilentMovies #classicmovies #moviestars #HeckleAndJeckle #Plushies #Crow @ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors 5/23 Pink
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 3

“So what’s are all those PINK ones? I like PINK,” Time Traveling Ghost asked.

“Anya, from #SpyXFamily,” Author said.

“Them all? You must love that anime.”

“No, on the left is Nabeshiko from #YuruCamp. And yes, I like SpyXFamily. I’ll read the manga next.”

“Hay, Miss white ghosty stuff, did you travel to the past to ask stupid questions about PINK #plushies?” Heckle called down.

“Right,” said Ghost. “I want you to write gnarly bad stuff happening to Poe and TM.”

“Okay,” Author replied.

“Idiot. She’s a writer, and it’s a story. Bad things happen!” Jeckle said.

“Duh,” Heckly said.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #Drabble #NMTTA
#LaidBackCamp #ゆるキャン
#HeckleAndJeckle #Plushies #Crow
@ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors 25: Historical research?
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 4

“Okay, when will you hurt them?” Ghost asked.

“I did what you ASKED.” Author pulled up her post to #wss366 5/22. “See.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“You asked me to visit them with ‘Gnarly Bad Things,’ and I did.”

“She’s a firecracker, that one,” Jeckle yelled.

“Word twister,” Heckle added.

“I didn’t mean someone named ‘Gnarly Bad Things,’ I meant hurt them,” Ghost said.

“This is a slice-of-life, sorry.”

“And where did you learn history? That’s not what the 12th century was like.”

“I don’t research. I make it up. ALL of it. My motto:”

“Garbage in, Nonsense Out!”
-----------------------------------------
Story referenced: https://sakurajima.moe/@NaraMoore/114553264860578663

Note: I research for my main-story, part of which takes place in a pseudo Heian era imperial court. But that’s no time-travel, that supernatural.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #Drabble #NMTTA #NMV366
#HeckleAndJeckle

#TimeTravelAuthors May 27 Siblings in your story?
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 5

The crow twins peeked at the day’s TimeTravelAuthors prompt and asked, “Is a qubling, someone who quibbles?”

Jeckle said. “We never quibble!”

“No, we’re the image of polite crows. Nothing like ravens or rooks,” Heckle amended.

“Are they always like this?” Ghost asked.

“Pretty much, unless they’re throwing food at the GochiUsa girls.” Author answered.

“It means you’re brothers or sisters,” Author corrected them #plushies.

“We knew that! Just testing you,” Jeckle said.

“We thought we were first cousins, but Mom said we we're twins,” Heckle said.

“Not to quibble...” Heckle started.

                        “...we’re siblings,” Jeckle finished.

“Tada,” they said together.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #Drabble #NMTTA #SliceOfLife
#HeckleAndJeckle #Crows #corvids
@ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors May 29 How much violence in your story?
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 6

“I pity the GochiUsa girls,” Ghost said. “It’s like having bratty little brothers.”

“Who you pitying?” Jeckle said.

“Yeah, it’s like having snotty big sisters!” Heckle said.

“I love being a big sister. You can count on your onee-san,” Hoto Cocoa said.

“Crarrk, Cawwk, boo, hiss.” #HeckleAndJeckle screamed as they threw food at the girls and random bystanders.

“This is as violent as this story gets,” Author said.

“No, no, no. You need to hurt Poe and TM,” Ghost pleaded.

“We’ll see,” Author said.

“For a time-traveling ghost, you’ve been here a long time. – Charles Dickens, 1843.”

“What?”

“Goodbye.”

Puff

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #Drabble
#IsTheOrderARabbit #ご注文はうさぎですか? #GochiUsa #ごちうさ
#Plushies #SpyXFamily
@ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors May 31 Author choice
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 7 (Long)

The word “Goodbye” resounded like a pen’s ultimate declaration, and Ghost found herself in a dark room smelling of mildew. In front of her was a moth-eaten four-poster bed with a figure struggling to arise.

“Have you come to call upon me as well?” inquired the figure, an old gentleman whose nightgown hung on him like a shroud, his cap askew, and blankets heaped around him. “I assure you, good spirit, I am a reformed soul. Pray, tell me, who are you?”

“Time Traveling Ghost, and who might you be?” Ghost took the chance to look around. She found herself in a bedroom furnished only by the bed and a writing desk with a lone bowl, a spoon handle protruding from it. Underfoot was a threadbare carpet with an incongruous holly leaf and three red berries scattered on it.

“Ebenezer Scrooge!” came the astonished reply. “But I was given to understand — most solemnly — that there would be three spirits, and three alone. What business have you here?”

“I think it’s a joke by Author.” Ghost said, as perplexed as Scrooge at the turn of events. She cast her eyes about and spotted Heckle and Jeckle in the corner. “Damn, just my luck they would come along,” she muttered so low Scrooge couldn’t make out the words.

The elder blinked at him, befuddled. “I know not this Arthur of whom you speak, nor have I an appetite for riddles at this hour. The cock has not crowed, and come dawn I am beset by more tasks than I can bear. Go your way, sir, and take your visions with you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d spare me a farthing for a morning cup of coffee?” Ghost asked. “As you say, it’s rather early.”

“Not a farthing, nay, not a penny, ill-begotten beggar!” Scrooge cried, waving his arms as if to banish a vapour. “Begone, figment conjured by the tyrannies of undigested mustard!”

“Changed man,” Jeckle croaked, “Not.”

“Coffee? You’re a ghost,” Heckle screeched. “Hey buddy, can you spare me a dime?”

Scrooge pivoted to where the voices came from. “And what ill-begotten jesters are these? Vile emanations of prunes left too long to stew. Begone, thou late-born fragment of muddled sleep! Coffee indeed! Brazen haunt, seek you an almshouse, not my abode.” And with that, he dove under the covers.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA
#AChristmasCarol #CharlesDickens #pastiche
#HeckleAndJeckle

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/01 Tell us about your story
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 8

Ghost drifted out of Scrooge’s house, where she hadn’t felt welcome, and sat on the steps in the grim pre-dawn light. As the light grew stronger, a ragged, dirty boy sat down beside her. Silence stretched between them until the boy tentatively began talking.

“Sir—if you please, sir—are you quite deceased?” the boy inquired, tugging his threadbare cap.

“Yeah, it sucks.”

“If it wouldn’t trouble you greatly, sir, I should like to hear your story. I expect I shall be dead soon myself, what with the hunger and all.”

“Sure. Then I’ll take you someplace where there’s food—Bob Cratchit’s house.”

There’s an author who writes silly things, and she wanted to write a story for a prompt (#WSS366). #HEAVEN knows why! So, she made a “Lass” who... (Let me cut that short.) Anyway, she killed the Lass most cruelly. Then she found another prompt for time travel stories (#TimeTravelAuthors) and had the Lass summon me. I think I’m a kind of ghost, but not really. (Frankly, it makes little sense.) The ghost can time travel and is named “Time Traveling Ghost.” (That’s me.) “Ghost,” for short. Only Author (that’s her name in the story) hasn’t told Ghost how to time travel. All Ghost wants is to get revenge on the people who killed Lass (Poe and Time Manager—TM for short). The—

The boy raised a hand. “You believe the strangest things, sir,” said the boy, wide-eyed. “But I dare say the world is full of such strangeness, if only one’s stomach weren’t growling too loud to hear it.”

Jeckle, who perched below them on Scrooge’s steps, added, “She sure does, don’t she, Boy? Let’s EAT!”

Heckle, sitting next to Jeckle, screeched, “Chow down. Chow down. Get yer feed bag!”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #AChristmasCarol #CharlesDickens #pastiche #DavidCopperfield #HeckleAndJeckle #Crow #Corvid #Plushies @ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/01 Dreams in your stories – Now I have.
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 9

The boy looked at Ghost. “I had a dream, sir. If it ain’t too silly to say so.”

“There was a man in black, like one of those mimes in Piccadilly, only black, not white. I even know his name, bless me. It was on his chest, proud as a toff with his misses. ‘Quasi Temporal,’ it said. I remember quite distinctly.”

“He handed me a box, square, warm… Oh, but the smell, like all the food vendors had piled their food in your lap, so fine it made my mouth hurt. When I opened it, there was a great round of bread inside, all covered with cheese. Cheese all melty and shining, like the sun on a morning like this.”

The boy stopped and pointed at the sun, which had just peeked through the buildings across the street.

“Sir, the taste. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I was quite the pig. I ate the whole thing, every crumb, sir. A mouse couldn’t have found a bit to eat. I know I shouldn’t have, not all at once, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“And then, I said, very soft-like, not wanting to be rude, ‘Please, sir, may I have more?’”

The boy’s eyes got wide with wonder and excitement. “And he gave me more. A stack of them, like plates at a feast.”

“And just when I thought I ought to say a proper thank you, he vanished like chimney smoke.”

This time, the boy pointed to the coal smoke rising from the houses.

“And he says, ‘Anytime Time Traveling Pizza,’ just like that. I don’t know what it meant, but I wish he were real.”

“Then I wake up, so hungry and not anything to eat except my shoes and dust under the bed. You mentioned food, sir. Could we go? I’ll be like at church and make no more noise than a mouse. Please, sir.”

“Boo, hoo, creeek, hoo” Jeckle cried.

Ghost floated up and held out her hand. “Sure, let’s go, little sir.”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #CharlesDickens #pastiche #DavidCopperfield #HeckleAndJeckle #Pizza
@QuasiTemporal

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/07 Saturday excerpt #Focus
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 10

The ghost and the boy walked through the waking streets of London, threading their way through the bustle of people getting ready for the day. Periodically, they heard shouts of Merry Christmas and other holiday salutations.

Ghost led the way through poor back-alley streets, past mean penny-a-day inns and crowded tenements. But she never hesitated. As long as she focused, he knew where the Cratchits lived. Arriving at a run-down house, the Ghost stopped.

“What’s your name, boy?” Ghost asked. It seemed silly to keep calling him “boy.”

“David, sir, if it pleases you, sir. David Copperfield.”

Ghost nodded, not being well-read. He didn’t recognize the name. She knew enough ghost lore to know the story “A Christmas Carol,” but there were no ghosts in “David Copperfield.”

“This is what you do, David. Knock on the door and say you have a message from Mr. Scrooge. Say he has had a change of heart, and a generous present will soon arrive. Lastly, say that Mr. Scrooge could not pay you to deliver the message, but he was sure the Cratchits would share a meal with you. You can add that line, ‘I’m so hungry,’ if you like. You do it very well. It would melt a heart of stone.”

“And you, sir. Surely you won’t run off now. I shall sorely miss you if you do.” David grabbed at Ghost’s hands, but it was like trying to catch the morning mist.

“I must; I have someone to find,” Ghost said and closed her eyes, imagining a new place and time. A woman’s name popped into her head. “I will visit her.”

Q: Who did Ghost think of, i.e., where shall we go next?

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #CharlesDickens #pastiche #AChristmasCarol #DavidCopperfield #Poll

#TimeTravelingGhost Episode 1: 1926: The Folies Bergère Part 1

#TimeTravelAuthors #MastoPrompt

A brightly lit street replaced the scene of grime and despair. Before me stretched an avenue thronged with people in search of tonight’s delights. Neon signs blazed above doorways, proudly naming the city’s temples of amusement. Down the boulevard, the Moulin Rouge flaunted its red windmill, turning lazily in a bath of neon. Not far from it, a grand neoclassical façade flashed a marquee in red, white, and blue:
“Casino de Paris — Maurice Chevalier — To-Night!” On a lamppost was a sketch of a woman in a skirt of bananas.

And directly before me, under the glow of neon lights, the Folies Bergère shimmered. Its sign read:

“Josephine Baker — Masquerade (Private)”

A red carpet lay unfurled across the sidewalk, cordoned off with velvet ropes. Burly attendants held back curious onlookers as men and women in fantastical costumes stepped gracefully from chauffeur-driven touring cars. Somewhere close by, I heard a pair whisper:

“Is that Hemingway?”
“No costume. So gauche.”

I stood mesmerized. So many lights! So many people! How could such opulence exist along with the squalor I had just seen?

A red-gloved hand tugged at my sleeve, and a woman’s voice, heavy with a Hungarian accent, said, “Charming a ghost. I needed a companion tonight.”

She was wearing a 17th-century-style dress of deep crimson satin, but with décolletage that was totally 1920s. It was further accented by black lace and tiny rubies or, more likely, red glass that could have been mistaken for droplets of blood in this light. Her mask was delicate, enameled porcelain, shaped like a weeping face from a church tomb.

She linked arms with me. Unlike the hand that had tugged my sleeve, it had no glove, displaying long, talon-like scarlet nails. They were hands that never worked beyond claiming what she thought was hers by right.

Having secured me, she gently took me in tow and entered the theater. The crowds parted for her with a small murmur, “The Countess.” Just as she had claimed me without regard to my wishes, she entered the building, brooking no interference.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/11 #Harmony
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 12

Once inside, we were surrounded by partygoers in costumes that would have put modern cosplayers to shame: tigers in rich yellow and black outfits, a peacock woman with a full peacock’s tail, pirates flashing gold teeth, and costumes that would get you canceled today. The whole thing moved in a Folies Bergère harmony of silk and chaos.

“We are fashionably late,” my mystery date said. Her Hungarian accent made it hard to understand her. My French was already weak; add a dash of Eastern Europe and full comprehension was dicey.

The woman continued, “But we are in time for Sidney Bechet’s sweet harmonies. Shall we sit and have a cocktail or dance?”

“Sit. I don’t seem hip to any of that jive rug cutting,” I said, immediately unsure if I’d used that right.
Indeed, the dancers dansaient comme des diables, cutting loose with spins, flips, Charleston shakes, and Black Bottom hip grinds.

“Dancing is for the young, is it not? There was nothing like this when I grew up,” the Countess said. (For want of another name, I shall call her that.)

“Has Bechet shot that woman yet?” I asked.

“Oh, will he shoot someone? Divine. I must try to be there. No one tells you how dull life is if you live too long.”

A server in a risqué sequined dress arrived, and we promptly had Champagne cocktails, along with a tin of black Russian cigarettes for the Countess. She removed her mask, but I only got a hint of her appearance. The veil, appropriate for her costume, was fine black lace studded with red droplet stones; blood and shadow in perfect harmony. I could just make out her face, pale, almost as pale as the mask.

“Order what you like. I meet so few ghosts, and believe me, you are more intriguing than most. Dreadfully dull, always bent on revenge or hanging on to what they had in life. They should have worried about that when they were alive.”

She waved for two more cocktails and continued, “Mademoiselle Baker is best appreciated after a few cocktails.”

(To be continued)

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #SidneyBechet #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Jazz #roaring20s

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/15 Do your characters ever use/encounter #AI.
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 13
#WSS366 #Toast

The Folies Bergère exploded with cheers as Sidney Bechet wrapped up his set. Partygoers toasted him, setting off poppers that laced the air with tinsel streamers. On the floor, dancers finished with a final Black Bottom grind, or maybe a Snakehips slide.

The Countess raised a glass. “Isten, bor, és vér—három, ami sosem hazudik.” (God, wine, and blood—three things that never lie.) “Bechet stirs the room, but she’ll set it alight.” She barely finished her toast when a slender, mocha-skinned woman glided onto the stage. Her banana skirt was as intriguing as her face.

I sat in rapt attention. Her voice, sometimes a lilting siren song, sometimes a wild, savage beat, held the room in spellbound silence. What could one say? This was a dusky goddess descended to earth.

Josephine Baker.

I would never forget that wild, tumultuous dance, the shimmying bananas, the sway, her face alight with divine pleasure and mischief.

When she finished, the room erupted. If I had thought the applause for Sidney Bechet was overwhelming, this was a tempest. Tinsel streamers flew, settling like multicolored cobwebs across the crowd.

“A toast,” the countess said, pouring from a magnum of Champagne now resting on the table.

“To the talk of Paris. Egészségedre! Egészségére!” (To your health! To her health!)

“She has fire, such spirit. I could drink of her essence all night. Just sitting here, I feel years younger. You are an American, yes? Is America not a land of machines and industry? Do you think a soulless machine could match such majesty? It could jiggle on stage; spout clever words; parrot wisdom and nonsense, maybe. But never this. God made man, the Devil, but copies it.”

I feared the Countess had drunk too much.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmw5eGh888Y

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Jazz #Roaring20s #jazzhistory #Dance #NMV366

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/28 Balance
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 14

Fallen Angel

Josephine’s act ended, and Ghost sat there, stunned. More than the godlike dancing, it was the joy on Mademoiselle Baker’s face—mischievous, radiant, pure puckish abandon—that stayed with Ghost.

“Would you like to meet the goddess in person?” Countess’s voice broke the spell.

A juggler had taken the stage, balancing a plate on their nose while juggling three balls. The shift was as jarring as vaudeville following Shakespeare at the Globe. Ghost nodded, still too dazzled to trust her voice.

Countess drained her Champagne and snubbed her cigarette in the empty glass, where it briefly sizzled. “Shall we go?” she said softly. The veil had fallen again; red gems sparkled where once were crimson lips and pale skin.

She threaded unsteadily through the tables where tipsy revelers sat, pieces of costume strewn around them. Tinsel clung to her like cosmic threads, a fallen star personified, cast down but radiant still. Voices called out her name: La Comtesse de Pougy, La Duchesse de Gramont, even Madame la Comtesse. She nodded to each with gracious indifference, letting every title stand.

“Who was this woman?” Ghost wondered. The veil was only the beginning—a symbol of an identity woven from shadow. Not even her familiars agreed on her name. The dark hints she dropped made her think perhaps she was someone even older and more sinister than any of them realized. Or perhaps they ignored her subtle hints.

“Madame la Comtesse,” the stage doorman greeted us. “Here to see Mademoiselle Baker? This way, she is expecting you.”

“How are the kids, Louis?” Countess’s voice shifted; no trace of Hungarian remained. It rang with the false warmth of a politician: hearty, too familiar.

“Well, Madame. They were grateful for the gifts.”

“Good. Here is the door we can see ourselves in. Tell the wife I say hi.”

The man hurried back to his station, a smile on his face.

The Countess looked after him, and then in her Hungarian-heavy French asked me, “Do you hate kids too?”

She lit one of her black cigarettes, waiting for an answer that never came, and finally added, “Loathsome creatures. On God’s great balance wheel, less than rats.”

#LesbianHistory

Liane de Pougy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liane_de_Pougy
Élisabeth de Gramont: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89lisabeth_de_Gramont

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s #Lesbian #Sapphic

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15A: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

Countess—Comtesse? Duchesse?—waved for me to open Josephine Baker’s dressing room. Her gloved hand moved with languid grace, a silent reminder of who held the upper hand.

I glanced at her other hand to reassure myself of my memory. Indeed, oddly, a pale hand showed below the red sleeve of her dress. The absence of a glove could hardly be accidental, but I was unsure of the meaning.

My knock was greeted with, “Entrée.” We entered, finding Mademoiselle Baker #fanning herself before a large mirror. Cosmetics fanned across the vanity in a delta of disorder.

“Comtesse de Pougy, I was expecting you.” Mademoiselle Baker’s French had a heavy American accent. She then gave me a quizzical look. “Your friend’s a vampire, no?”

Countess replied, “A ghost. I didn’t get her name. She is a big fan. She was delightful to watch as you performed. Eyes so big, mouth so wide. Ah, to be young again.”

I was unsure about her comment. “Mouth so wide” didn’t sound like a compliment. And now that she brought it up, I wondered what my name was. “Time Traveling Ghost” and “Ghost” weren’t real names but descriptions. Instead of asking either of those, I asked a third question. “Mademoiselle Baker, how did you know I was dead?”

She tapped the mirror with the fan she had been using. “Your reflection, Mademoiselle Ghost—what may I call you?”

I looked in the mirror. Indeed, the mirror didn’t reflect me. But what caught my eye was Countess' ungloved hand. Not the ungloved hand itself, but its absence. There were red velvet sleeves, one with a gloved hand and one empty. I glanced back at her, and there was a pale hand where the mirror showed a void.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15B: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

“Mademoiselle, she is asking your name,” Countess said.

“Who was she, Countess Elizabeth Báthory? Countess Mircalla Karnstein? Marguerite Chopin? Countess? Comtesse de Pougy turned? All, some?” The names tumbled through my head.

Still puzzling over her identity, I began, “My name, I—I don’t know what…” I caught myself. I had meant to say, “I don’t know what your real name is, Countess?” But that wouldn’t do. How could I #trust that some evil might not befall me if she sensed I suspected?

My tone turned #querulous. “My name? I don’t think I have one. Mademoiselle Baker, you would honor me if you gave me one. I’d always remember your dance—and your face—whenever someone called it.”

The Countess clapped silently, fingers fluttering like moths, and exclaimed, “Charming. Quite charming. So romantic.”

Josephine touched a finger to her chin, as if pointing to the dimple in her cheek. She tilted her head, thoughtful, then smiled. “Luminelle Bijou,” she said. “Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou. My radiant jewel. A fan I shall always remember.”

At that moment, there was a light knock at the door, followed by the doorman’s voice. “Mademoiselle Baker, a Monsieur La Rothchild is here to see you. He has some magnificent flowers.”

Josephine brought her palms together with a theatrical sigh. “Please excuse me. I must see this important person. But I am happy you came, Comtesse, and I was delighted to meet you, Mademoiselle Bijou.”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 16: Names

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/29

Once out in the hall, Countess turned to me. “You have been a delightful companion. Thank you ever so much…” She paused. “Mademoiselle Bijou.”

Was there a hint of mockery there? I was unsure.

“But now, we must part ways,” she continued. “These days, I dine alone. I do hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Not at all. I welcomed the parting. That was when I decided: I didn’t like this woman. Not that I regretted meeting her. After all, she had introduced me to Mademoiselle Baker, but I could do without her future company.

“Comtesse? May I know your full name?” Parting made the question feel safe.

“But of course. I am presently la princesse Ghika. Here at the Folies, I am la comtesse de Pougy—or simply Pougy, to friends.”

She laid her ungloved hand on my arm; it was soft and warm—unexpectedly human. With her other hand, she drew back her veil, revealing a matronly face: no longer young, but not yet old.

“Until we meet again, Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou.” And this time, the mockery was unmistakable.

Her veil dropped. I thought I heard, “or even Elizabeth.” But perhaps I imagined it.

So—where next?

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMMP #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part A

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/3. What are your characters fighting for?

The backstage faded, half there and half not. The Countess’s form receded in a haze. I paused to reflect on her. I didn’t hate her, but I certainly didn’t like her. She had been subtly cruel and hinted at a deeper darkness, but I had enjoyed her company, which made me realize that my ghostly existence might be very lonely.

Last time, I wished to be in Paris during an era of bright lights and gaiety. I had appeared at the Folies Bergère. That was as bright and gay as it could get. If time travel worked like that, you make a wish, and poof, you were there. Then why not do it again?

“I would like to go somewhere where I can find a friend. Someone who can come with me on my travels.” That would be nice, while I tried to figure out who I was—why I existed.

“I want to meet a fellow traveler!”

The last traces of the backstage faded, revealing a brilliantly lit room. I blinked, then assessed my new surroundings.
#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part B

#Mastoprompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/5.

My first impression was one of Spartan elegance. It was jarring after the roar and excess of 1920s Paris. Instead of the riotous laughter of the Folies, I heard the murmur of people talking and the occasional clink of a glass all #around me. The room was a lounge lined with aluminum tables and chairs, all lightweight and purposeful. Soft-colored fabrics upholstered the seats: beige, lavender, and gentle pinks. Murals adorned the cloth walls in dreamy pastels: parrots, palms, and Rio’s own Sugarloaf Mountain. It was utilitarian and efficient, a tasteful example of modernism.

From the murals, my eyes were drawn to windows showing the countryside drifting below. A sparkling river was so close that the people on the barges were visible. #Beyond, quaint villages nestled in the morning mist.

Finally, a couple arguing caught my attention. On second glance, the argument seemed one-sided. A woman in a white linen dress addressed her twin sister, seated at one of the tables, in a shrill, New York-accented voice. “You need to listen to me. Please, it’s important. You’re going to die.”

Her sister paid no attention and instead calmly talked to the man across from her. She took languid sips of a red cocktail. Despite her sister’s vehement words, she was as unruffled as the liquid in her glass.

Then it hit me. No one was paying attention to the woman. Normally, if a person makes a scene, people peer at them. Instead, everyone continued their conversations, reading their papers, or watching the scenery go by without blinking.

The woman at the table looked past her sister in my direction, said something to her companion, and laughed. Whatever she said caused the woman in white to turn around. Our eyes met, and shock spread across her face.

She stared. “Madam. You can see me?”

#MicroFiction #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMMP

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 18: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part C

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/5 Loops 7/9. POST-SIZED snippet (Word: sky)

The standing sister repeated herself, “You can see me.” This time it was a statement rather than a question. The seated sister remained oblivious to us.

I studied them again as I decided how to act. They were more than sisters. If they’d stood side by side, I'd not have been able to tell one from the other, except that one wore white and the other mauve.

I nodded and walked over. “Yes, I see you.”

The seated sister looked up, lips pursed. “Excuse me? Were you talking to me?”

The standing one took my arm. “You must help me, please.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

The seated woman’s eyebrows pinched. “Neither do I. Now, please stop bothering us, or I’ll call a steward.”

“Come, please,” the other woman pulled on my arm and pointed to an unoccupied table. “Let’s talk over there.”

We were barely seated when she began speaking. “I’m Emily Pang, and you might not believe this, but I’m a ghost. That’s me sitting over there. I’m still alive, and I have to warn myself—them. But you think I’m crazy, don’t you? Ghosts, who believes in ghosts? I don’t—didn’t. But it’s true, I’ll be dead in a few days...”

I held up my hand to stop the torrent of words. “I…”

The woman rushed ahead. “...If you would explain to them. I must save them. Please. It’s crazy, but…”

“Stop!”

She shut her mouth with an almost audible snap.

I kept my hand up while I studied her. She looked to be in her forties. Plain, but with a touch of class that her white linen dress accented. Its long lines made her appear taller, but I guessed she was of mid-height. I couldn’t see her hair because of one of those bucket-like hats popular during the Great Depression. Her #sky-blue eyes, almost indigo, were her most outstanding feature.

A steward appeared, perhaps summoned by my raised hand. He gave me an odd look when I ordered Champagne cocktails for the pair of us, but he took the order without comment.

When he’d left, I spoke. “I believe you. I’m a ghost too. Luminelle Bijou, that’s my name.” I almost blushed remembering Mademoiselle Baker.

I would have continued, but she launched into speech again, “Then you must have died here too.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Actually, I don’t know where here is.”

“The Hindenburg, May 3rd, 1937, on the 6th I burn to death!”

The Hindenburg crash. I’d picked a wonderful spot to appear.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindenburg_disaster
#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 19: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part D

#Wss366 & #TimeTravelAuthors 7/11 Romance/love triangle?

“The Hindenburg,” I repeated. “And that’s not your sister, but you?”

I took a sip of my Champagne cocktail while I put my thoughts in order. I savored the taste to settle my mind. The drink was simple but elegant, not quite up to the ones at the Folies Bergère. There, they rimmed the glass with vibrantly colored sugar crystals and poured with flair. This had been served politely, without fanfare. That kind of flourish would have clashed with the quiet elegance of the Hindenburg. It was a fine drink, fitting for the airship.

Emily stared at me. “You drank that?”

“Yes, try yours. It is quite good.”

“No, you’re a ghost and you drank that!”

I hadn’t thought about it, but I couldn’t remember any stories about ghosts drinking. Didn’t Buddhists even make a big deal out of how some ghosts drank and ate but could never feel nourished? That must relate to why I stayed inebriated for so short a time. The first part, not the bit about the hungry ghosts. I found the light fizz and warmth of the drink very satisfying.

I shrugged in reply. “So it seems.”

“And your clothes, they aren’t very appropriate.”

True, they were 21st-century casual: jeans and a short brown sweater dress. They must have passed as a costume at the Folies Bergère. I imagined myself in a dress matching Emily’s and wah lah I was in period attire. I #add(ed) a black pearl necklace for flair.

“Don’t do that!” Emily hissed. “You’re putting on a spectacle.”

“My bad.” She was right, of course. Doing things like that where I could be seen wasn’t clever. “This ghost thing is all new to me.”

“I’m new to ghosting and even I know that was stupid,” she added.

I’d wished for a travel companion, and I guessed Emily Pang was it. Not that she was romance material. Heavens, no. I like other women that way, but sharp-tongued women never appealed to me. Besides, she wasn’t even my type. I would just help her and then ask her if she wanted to do some traveling. That’s all.

#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 20: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part E

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 7/13. Most famous person in your story.

We sat staring uncomfortably at each other. The polite chatter in the Hindenburg’s lounge did nothing to ease our awkward silence. Ms. Pang picked up the Champagné cocktail and took a drink.

“Wow, I drank that. It never occurred to me I could eat or drink,” she said.

“You probably shouldn’t. They’re all staring.” With my sudden change of clothes and a floating Champagne glass, we’d made quite the spectacle.

I stood up, took a bow, and announced in a loud voice, “My show opens next week on Broadway. I hope to see you there.” It was probably gauche, but it covered up our various mistakes.

“That was clever,” Ms. Pang said. She had put the glass down and didn’t pick it up again. “Let’s start again. I’m Emily Pang, but you can call me Emily. I’m—I was a reporter. The Nazis revoked my press card, so I was traveling home. In a few days I’m going to die, burn—n… I don’t want to think about it. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry.” No pointless comfort. What else could I say?

“I’m Luminelle Bijou. You can call me whatever you want except ‘late for dinner.’” The joke fell flat, but it got a grimace, which was an improvement from the distress I’d seen on her face.

“I’m new to this ghost business,” I said, “so there isn’t much I can say about it. Nor can I tell you about my living self. I have no memory of my life. Not even my name. It was Mademoiselle Josephine Baker who christened me Luminelle Bijou.

“She’s quite famous. A communist.”

“I think you’re confused. She’s a patriot and helped us against the Nazis, no matter what Walter Winchell says.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Winchell

“I’m sorry. I should know better than to repeat gossip. Though I thought Mr. Winchell was her friend.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m getting my timelines confused. The war and Walter Winchell’s slander are in the future.”

“Oh, you’re from the future? Interesting… I wish I could see what happens. Does everyone end up with personal gyrocopters, that kind of thing?”

I almost spit out my drink. At first, I thought she said ‘gyno-copters,’ which would be a very different invention. One I wouldn’t mention in mixed company.

“But tell me, who else famous have you met?”

“I may have met Elizabeth Bathory and Camilla Karnstein.”

Emily looked blank.

“One is famous for bathing in blood, and the other is a vampire from a novel.”

“You do have charming friends,” Emily said.

“Josephine Baker is it, but I’ve thought about visiting Joan of Arc and Amelia Earhart.”

“You’d like Mrs. Earhart. She is a pleasant person. Delightful, but she’ll talk your leg off about aviation.”

Emily began smiling. I liked it. Her face lit up, and her eyes sparkled. They were almost cobalt blue at the moment. The smile faded, and she whispered, “Don’t look, but THEY are here.”

#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMv366

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 21: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part G

#TimeTravelAuthors 19 Saturday excerpt (optional word: line)

Emily’s mistake was forgetting that if you say to someone “don’t look,” they, of course, will.

I slowly turned my head, as if finding a waiter to order another drink. In the lounge doorway stood a rabbit. I think of rabbits as cute, but this one was anything but cute. It was roughly the size of a twelve-year-old and wore a Nazi SS uniform. The unfastened holster revealed the grip of a Luger. After discovering I could time travel and meet a probable vampire, a Nazi rabbit shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

I turned back to Emily and mouthed, “Oh.”

She said, “I’ll tell you later. Watch me… The other me.”

Ms. Pang, the living one, was cheerfully talking to her friend. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rabbit make a bee-line for her. It stopped next to her and appeared to be listening. After a minute, it turned around and left the lounge.

Once it was gone, Emily spoke again. “I don’t know what they are, but they’ve been following her ever since she got on the Hindenburg. That’s another reason we need to warn her. I was carrying some important papers that burned in the crash.”

The pronoun switch threw me briefly. It must be strange talking about yourself that way. But was easier to understand if she spoke about her live self as like another person.

“Do you want to tell me more, or is it a secret?”

“It’s a secret, but I guess I can tell you. It’s notes on the German’s research into mind-reading.”

I sighed, mind-reading. What next, alien abductions?

#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 22: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part H

Prompts: #Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/23

“Let’s go look out the observation window,” I said. I needed to think about the rabbit hole I’d fallen down, a hole complete with ghosts, time travel, vampires, mind-reading, and now Nazi rabbits. Each a #symbol of how far I had fallen. And, as if that god-awful hodge-podge of impossibilities weren’t enough, I had a dozen other questions. Who or what controlled this time-travel business? Should I get involved with Ms. Pang? Would she really be a good travel companion—wait, I hadn’t stipulated “good,” only that she could be a travel partner. Folklore said wishes were tricky, more likely to bite you than befriend you.

I sighed and put the questions out of my mind. It was pointless to speculate about this time-travel business or even who I was. I had no information. The same was true for this woman. She “could” be a travel companion, and only time would reveal if I wanted her to be.

I found a spot at the window that wasn’t near anyone. Outside, #water spread as far as the eye could see. A few boats dotted the surface, but they were shrinking. “We must be rising,” I thought. Using a soft voice, I said, “Okay, tell me about the rabbits and the papers. Then I will tell you if I’ll help.”

“You’re not on their side or a communist, are you?”

“I don’t know who ‘their side’ is, but I’m not a Nazi or fascist. I don’t think I was a communist. It bothered me when you casually called Mademoiselle Baker a communist. She was a symbol of freedom, not tyranny. So I might have been a liberal. If you’re worried I’ll betray you, forget it. The worst that happens is I jet to another time and let you worry about the ship crashing.”

She nodded. I’d learn that was a habit. “I was a colonel in military intelligence, and no cracks about there being no intelligence in the military.”

That stung until I took into #account my “late for dinner” joke.

“I worked very hard to be promoted and am the highest-ranking woman in the intelligence service. My employer, the Arkham Daily Star, plays along. I was in Germany investigating some top-flight American psychologists who’d taken jobs in Heidelberg. I discovered they’d been hired for top-secret work researching mind-reading. Awful stuff, using human test subjects. It’s too gruesome to talk about—trepanning and electrodes, that sort of thing.”

I didn’t point out she was already talking about it. I was just glad she moved on.

“They must have caught on because they revoked my press card and hinted unpleasant things might happen to a nosy woman if she didn’t leave the country. I had all my notes with me, and I think that’s why they sabotaged the ship. Those papers must get to US intelligence.”

“And the rabbits?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #PulpFiction

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 23: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part I

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/25. Jewelry and fashion in your story.

“I didn’t see any rabbits when I was alive,” Emily began. “There was no warning of a problem, just suddenly there were flames. My last wish before I blacked out was to go back and warn myself. When I came to, I was no longer on the Hindenburg; instead, I was in Frankfurt on the day I’d left.”

The first thing I tried was speaking to her in her hotel room. I remember standing in front of the door, frustrated that I didn’t have the key. I gave the door an angry shove, and to my surprise, my hand went through it. That’s when it really hit me: “I’m a ghost.”

“It’s tricky going through things, but I managed to enter the room.

“There I was, putting on a long blue…” Emily began, and I waved my hands for her to get on with it. Clothing wasn’t what I was interested in. I wanted to know about Nazi rabbits and mind-reading studies.

“Anyway, I tried talking to her, but she couldn’t hear me. I was #nagging and yelling at her by the time we reached the lobby, and that’s when I saw them. There were two rabbits dressed—the way you saw—in those awful black SS uniforms, talking to the ‘kind’ officer who had ‘volunteered’ to drive me to the aerodrome.”

“I didn’t know if they could detect me, so I made myself inconspicuous. I wasn’t getting through to her anyway.”

“All I could do was drift along above the car, following them to the Hindenburg. It felt like floating through a movie scene, #severed from reality.”

“Wow, Emily is one adaptive person.” I hadn’t tried any of those things: passing through walls, floating, flying, and God knows what else.

Emily continued her story. “When we got to the aerodrome, there were two more rabbits. I don’t know if they were the same ones. They had the same black uniforms and death-head insignia. They watched me—her—board the Hindenburg. My driver nodded to a rabbit, a major, and they also boarded. I don’t know how many are on the ship, but at least three.”

“That’s the story. You saw me trying to talk to… myself. Oh, and I tried possessing myself with no luck.”

I thought I understood, despite the tangle of “I”s and “me”s. But for the future, I said, “It will be easier for both of us if you refer to your living self as ‘her’ or ‘Ms. Pang.’ And you”—I pointed at her—“as ‘I’ or ‘Emily.’ Is it all right if I call you Emily?”

She nodded.

#TootFic #Serial #PulpFiction #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 24: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part J

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 29. Masks (literal or figurative).

“So, are you going to help me? Getting those papers to the right people is important. We can’t let the Nazis get mind-reading first. I wish I’d handed my papers off in Germany,” Emily said, staring unseeing out the observation window.

I looked out at the clean blue ocean instead of answering. We were high enough that I couldn’t see whitecaps, and ships were dots. There was no land visible, and there wouldn’t be any until we got to New Jersey.

“Let’s sit,” I said. “I need to think.”

We walked back to our table, and I flagged the steward down. I ordered a whiskey sour and drank it and studied the #art on the walls while thinking. Emily sat across from me, drumming her fingers in eerily soundless impatience.

“Yes, I’ll help,” I said, putting down the empty glass—the cherry at the bottom staring up at me—“but realistically, there is only so much I can do.”

She nodded, but her wrinkled brow delivered a mixed message.

“I know people survived,” I said, getting to business. “Where were you during the explosion?”

Emily grew pale, and her lip trembled. “It’s hazy. I remember the fire and screaming in agony. It was awful.”

“Sorry for making you remember this stuff,” I said. “Unfortunately, I have to know.”

“It’s alright. I’m asking for your help. But I don’t remember where I was.”

I didn’t beat around the bush. No matter how I said this, she wouldn’t like it, so I jerked the band-aid off with one motion. “I don’t think I can save her.”

“You said you’d help!”

“Listen. Provided I convince Ms. Pang and she convinces the captain—both unlikely—where would Ms. Pang get off? I hate to be blunt. You wore the mask of a journalist, but as a spy, you knew the risks.”

Emily stiffened at my statement.

#TootFic #Serial #PulpFiction #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 25: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part K

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 31. Author’s choice.

A long moment followed my blunt retort: “You wore the mask of a journalist, but as a spy, you knew the risks.”

While awaiting Emily’s angry response, I observed subtle details of my environment: the floor tilting under us, enough to notice; a passerby muttering, “Turbulence;” someone swearing in German; the steward artfully handing someone their drinks.

When the passerby was gone, Emily nodded. “I knew the risks.” It was a wry statement of acceptance.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been my most diplomatic moment, but we’d survived. With that over, I continued. “That said, the important thing is to see that those papers get into the right hands. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just imagine the Nazi Party with mind-reading.”

“The good news is, there is no evidence they used mind-reading during the war. I think they would have won if they had known our leader’s plans.”

“So we fought a war with them? Appeasement didn’t work? Of course it didn’t. The idiots.” Emily didn’t sound surprised, only bitter.

“But we won?” She was staring intently at me, seeking confirmation.

“Yeah, it was a bloody, nasty war. Germany occupied France and the Netherlands, and for a time, it was touch and go for England.”

“Serve the cowards right. Appeasement, what fools!”

“Be that as it may, our job is to see the papers survive and reach the right hands. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“So the first thing is to get the papers. I have a couple of plans for what to do after that.”

Emily nodded.

“First, do you know where the papers are? The easiest thing would be to steal them.”

“They’re on film, and I have… Ms. Pang has them on her person. Always!”

“Well, that leaves out stealing them. Gah, and they will melt if we hide them on the ship. That’s a couple of plans out the window.”

“Next plan?” she asked. The anger had faded, replaced by resignation, as cold as #worn #stone.

“I’ll have to talk her out of them. How about I pretend to be your contact and use your passcodes to get them?”

“She’ll think someone compromised our cell.”

“That leaves the direct approach. I’ll convince her I know the future, and she needs to accept our help to prevent the film’s destruction.”

“And how will ‘you’ do that?”

I didn’t appreciate her sarcasm. She was the one who approached me to talk to Ms. Pang. All in all, this supposed companion could be exasperating.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 26: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part L

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/1 Tell us about your time-travel story (optional: end with "out of time")

I signaled the steward for another whiskey sour. Alcohol didn’t hit me like it used to, but I still felt lightheaded and too ready to indulge my feelings. And right now, I was peeved. Emily had asked me to speak to her living counterpart. I was doing her a favor; there was no need for sarcasm.

I was being petty, sure. But I was just loopy enough to let it ride. Besides, the Hindenburg mixed a great cocktail. The whiskey sour used top-shelf ingredients: good rye, real lemon, and just the right touch of egg white. I held the glass up to the light, studying it. It was crystal, a short-stemmed coupe, shaped like a champagne glass. That was new to me and nothing like the ones I’d used at airport bars.

“Wow,” I muttered. “So, new details about my life: I used airports and knew my alcohol, maybe too well.”

While I savored my drink, Emily drummed her fingers on the table again, harder but still silently.

Halfway through my drink, I figured it was time to act like a grownup. “If you want my help, please don’t be so critical.”

“My, my, a thin-skinned ghost.” She frowned, hesitated, then leaned forward with both hands on the table. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I’ll try to be nicer, but that’s the way I am: blunt, pragmatic, and utterly irritating.” She leaned back and shrugged. “The best experts have told me so.”

She took a deep breath. “I really appreciate your help. I was at my wit’s end trying to figure out what to do.”

“Apology accepted,” I said and tossed off the rest of the drink. The lounge looked brighter now, and the mural’s tropical palm swam.

“Plan C,” I said, trying to judge if my words were slurred. They didn’t seem to be. Getting drunk as a ghost was going to be a pain.

I said again, “Plan C is I tell her things I shouldn’t know about you—is she more likely to believe I can see the future or that I’m a time-traveling ghost?”

“Neither, I’d assume you were unwell and obsessing over me,” Emily said.

“That’s a risk,” I said. “But I’m out of better options. It has to be stuff not even a stalker or a deep-cover spy would know. The truth—that I’m some kind of amnesiac, time-hopping ghost—is probably too much. Clairvoyant sounds simpler. I just hope she buys it before we run out of time.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 27: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part M

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/5. Jobs/work in your story.

I raised my hand to order another drink, only to withdraw it when Emily said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

She softened her tone and continued, “It would be best if you were clear-headed while we plan this.”

“Sure,” I said. “I hardly feel alcohol, but if we slip up, who knows what those rabbits or Emily might do.”

“That’s what I mean. You loused up calling her Emily, not Miss. Pang. Little things like that can get you killed in the spy business.”

While I couldn’t die, and I wasn’t a spy, Emily was right; a minor mistake might set Ms. Pang off.

We stopped talking briefly as the steward arrived. I ordered a club sandwich and soda water. I’d taken Emily’s advice: no more alcohol.

“So tell me about your secret life,” I said.

Emily thought for a minute and turned scarlet. Whatever she was thinking must be juicy for our matter-of-fact reporter/spy to blush.

“For months, I was convinced I had to take orders. I even asked one of the school nuns. I was sure I’d go to hell after necking with a girl in one of the bathroom stalls. It was my first time.”

I was taken aback that she’d share that while stone sober. My face grew hot picturing it. I even had a quick flash of being groped in a car by a boy.

“That might be too personal,” I said. “Ms. Pang will think I’m a stalker from her high school days.”

“Right. Sorry. Let me think. When I was a kid, I let our pet hamster out to play. Then a friend dropped by, and I ran out to meet her, forgetting all about him. Mom found the cat stalking Billy, and my brother got blamed. I still feel guilty for never owning up. Father could be mean when he was angry, especially when he was in the #bag.”

“That’s good. How about some follow-up information?”

“Let’s see.” She paused again as my meal arrived.

When the steward was gone, she rattled off the information. “Someone once climbed through my window and broke the little crystal swan my mother gave me. Who it was is a mystery, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t want my parents to know I could shin down the oak at night; the first time I got drunk was in Germany, when I was an exchange student—on cheap schnapps; Miss McGuire never knew who let the #air out of her tires; my mother gave me a stuffed bear, it’s still on my bed; my favorite film was Morocco. Marlene Dietrich in white tie and top hat was as racy as they come.”

“That should do, and you can stand behind me, feeding information if I need it.”

“Morocco,” I thought. “She at least has good taste. Marlene’s scene in the club was indeed hot.”

Note: From the next chapter: "I was possibly a professor or librarian."

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