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Forgotten: No one can escape. A great flash emerged above all of Aronia leaving each with short term memory loss. Years lost to the fog of amnesia. Can no one recall? That appears to be the case. Whom or what is responsible? Panic has stricken the globe. Will civilization collapse? What will emerge from the reset? Only time will tell. To each citizen of Aronia from the Global Gazette, we wish all luck.
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Weatherby's Wonderful Weather Wonders!
Topic Started: Jul 27 2006, 01:16 AM (969 Views)
Davyn
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whippersnapper
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Flynn waited a moment. Then another. Just for good measure, he waited five more moments after that. But even after a dozen or so moments had passed, his pursuers---if that's a real word, mind you---had failed to come into view. The road, you see, was curved at a 45 degree angle and the particular maple tree that he had chosen to conceal himself in was a ways down the road. Presently, all our hapless hero could hear were bits and pieces of conversation carried on the light breeze. Though he was now sheltered from the merciless sunbeams, the air was dry and hot. Every gust felt like a blast from an oven and every breath was like breathing through a dusty rug. Frankly, Flynn's throat was parched and he was in dire need of something to drink. He had several water skins strapped to his peddler-mobile...but that was concealed in the brush below! That is...if the water hasn't evaporated in this heat, he thought ruefully to himself. Hmm...now that he thought about it, there should be a small stream around here somewhere. If only he could get down from this---! But Flynn sighs once again in frustration. The drought had no doubt dried up the stream as well. All he would encounter there would be a muddy riverbed scattered with pebbles.

Flynn crawls out farther along the limb he was straddling. Whoah! He curses himself mentally as his weight causes the bough to sag a bit lower. Catching his breath and forcing himself to calm down, Flynn slowly repositions himself into a sitting position with his legs dangling off of the branch. A smaller offshoot of this limb allowed him to brace himself, however precariously, against the natural swaying motions of these upper boughs. Curse that hot breeze! What was taking these vagrants so long to be on their way?! Flynn strains to make out what they're saying...

Someone swore loudly. One of the girls. Then...

"Let's go see...his favorite cock...be good..."

"Oh, this definitely can't..."

"I suppose he does have a nice...what do you call those things on...?"

Flynn's face contorted in shock, then surprise, then disgust. In that order. He really didn't know what they were talking about, but he hoped it wasn't him. More than likely it had something to do with that perverted little demon that had been horning around...and probably that disgusting chicken. Flynn hadn't even bothered to see if his molded orange had hit its mark, but he hoped it had. His day was turning out to be quite unusual and more than a little disturbing as it was. Talking, naked chickens were the last thing he needed and if he had succeeded in putting the horrid thing out of its misery, then he would count that as his good deed for the day.

Flynn sighs tiredly. Suddenly he hears a low rumble and glances around bewildered...until he realizes that the noise had come from his own stomach. Trust his body to know when lunch time was and protest loudly if it was denied nourishment. Unfortunately, his lunch was probably smashed beyond recognition now from the fall he'd taken earlier. Even if it were salvagable, it remained on the ground while he was stuck up in this tree! Flynn's rear end was getting sore. His stomach rumbles again. It was not loud enough to give away his location...certainly not...but it was annoying nonetheless. Muttering to himself under his breath, Flynn shifts his position. Or tries to, at least. It doesn't help much, but in so doing, his hand had discovered a small, spherical object in one of his cloak's hidden pockets.

An apple! Okay, so it wasn't exactly spherical. Still, it was a gift from the goddess! But how had it gotten inside of his---? Oh...oh yes. Now he remembered. He had nicked it from a gypsy woman's stall in one of the smaller communities he'd visited. Beruch's Bottom, if he remembered right. The name of the town still gave him a chuckle. It sounded like the posterior of someone's long-lost aunt. Or uncle. Flynn wasn't sure what gender "Beruch" was. Not that it mattered, because he didn't really care. The gypsy woman had tried to pull a fast one on Flynn by threatening to reveal one of his schemes to the locals...and had demanded a 45% cut of his earnings for his time there. He had had little choice. He paid the money. But before he left, he made sure that the gypsy woman "misplaced" some of her more valuable and mystic wares. There was no way they were worth the money she had sapped from him...but there was always some sucker who would be willing to pay double that price in another town! As an afterthought just to spite the old witch, Flynn had nabbed her lunch before he left Beruch's Bottom: a shiny granny smith apple.

So...he had tucked the fruit into his pocket and forgotten about it. Until now. But that had been weeks ago! (Flynn made a mental note to wash his cloak more frequently) The apple should have been wrinkled and rotten by now! And yet here it was...good as ever. The skin was a lucious green with only a few sugar spots here and there. A single leaf was still attatched to the thin stem. The sunlight filtering in through the canopy of leaves above shone on the apple's smooth surface. Well, okay. There was still a bit of lint on it from Flynn's pocket. Flynn polishes the apple with the hem of his tunic. There. That was better. Flynn's mouth was salivating as he contemplated the fruit. Nevermind that it was mysteriously preserved over weeks of travel in a drought-stricken land! Flynn was hungry and this juicy apple was just the solution. He opens his mouth wide and brings the apple up to his---

<STOP! Don't eat me, you moron!>

"GAH!!! Wha---? Waaaaahhhh...OWWW!!! Sonofa @#$!"

More profanities followed. So startled had Flynn been upon hearing the mysterious voice that he had completely lost his balance, slipped from his perch in the maple tree, and fallen unceremoniously on his derriere some fifteen feet below. The apple hit him on the head, bounced off, then rolled to a stop near the side of the highway four feet away. Flynn was still cussing under his breath and massaging his bruised behind when he heard the voice again.

<Say, are you gonna leave me in the dirt to get tromped by some mangy pack-mule or what?! C'mon, kid, on your feet!>

Now Flynn was angry. Someone was nearby, talking to him, but he couldn't see them! And whoever it was was quite obnoxious. Slowly, Flynn clambers back to his feet, dusting himself off and wincing at the movement. He had forgotten that the others were just around the bend in the road. Surely they had heard the commotion. But he didn't care at the moment. Some hooligan had caused him to fall out of the tree and he didn't appreciate---

<That's better. Now pick me up, kid! I can't exactly do much on my own, y'know...>

There was that voice again! No...not a voice. Not audible, anyway. It was as if he could hear it speaking directly into his mind. Which, of course, only made it that much more annoying. Flynn scowls, "Pick you up? Ha! I'm sorry, pal. I don't pick up quadraplegic hitchikers. Especially not invisible ones that talk into my mind. Merchant's policy and all."

<Screw your frikkin policies! Pick me up or else!>

"Or else what? You'll appear and gum me to death?" Flynn had to chuckle at that one.

<Or else you'll be passing up an opportunity that won't come around again in your lifetime. Ever! You let me tag along with you and I'll be willing to grant you three---no, that's a lame number---NINE wishes! Anything you want! Well...almost anything...But we can discuss the fine print later!>

"Wishes?" Flynn raised a brow, contemplating. Certainly he had heard many stories in his youth of genies and the like. But anyone with any sense knew that they were old-wives' tales. Nothing but a bunch of hogwash with little to no truth in them at all. Flynn's suspicious nature held back his obvious greed. "Nine of them? Haha! You really are desperate. Alright, old man. I'll play along. Now where are you? I can't exactly pick you up if you don't show yourself."

<I'm laying on the side of the road. Right where you left me.>

"Where I left you?! You've gotta be kidding me...I think I would have noticed if someone was---"

<The apple, you dolt! I'm the frikkin apple! Pick me up!>

Flynn blinks. Then he blinks again, staring at the fallen apple. Miraculously, there wasn't even a bruise on its surface. Very odd. And then there was the question of its lack of rottenness. Hmm...yes, there was something peculiar about this fruit. And now it was supposedly talking to him? Flynn glances skyward, rolling his eyes and mouthing, 'Why me?'

<I saw that, kid. And I'll tell you why. Because you're the lucky guy who saved me from that old hag!>

"What old---The gypsy?! You really are the apple!"

<Well, no. Technically I'm a Djinn spirit trapped in the body of an apple.>

"A duh-what?" Flynn asked intelligently.

<Brilliant, kid. Glad to be in the presence of a genius.>

"Say...I'm pretty sure I have a recipe for homemade applesauce somewhere in my---"

<Alright! Sorry! Your kind probably refer to us as 'genies' or something like that. Those are cousins of ours, actually. Never understood why any fool would want to while away their time in a dusty old lamp like that. I tell ya...>

Now Flynn moved over to where the apple was laying on the ground, standing over it. He pushes his too-large bifocals back up to the bridge of his nose, then picks it up, "What's your name, djinn? Lemme guess...Smith? Granny Smith?"

<Ha ha. Oh, and...ha. My name, as it were, is...um...Brian.>

Flynn blinks, "Brian?"

<Yeah. So?>

Flynn chortles, "Nothing! Nothing at all...It's just that I never imagined a being who could grant wishes to have such a mundane name! Or to be trapped as an apple! That's got to be embarrassing. How in the world did you---"

<Long story, kid. I'll tell ya more when we've got some time. But you'd better make yourself scarce again. I'm pretty sure your fan club overheard ya fallin outta the tree and talkin to yourself.>

"Talking to myself? I was talking to you!"

<They can't hear me, kid. Only you can. You're the one that rubbed me, after all.>

"Wha--?! You mean that---"

<Yup. That's why I've been mum till just now. But get goin, doofus! Unless you wanna mess around with a horny devil and a naked cock?>

Well...when the apple put it that way...Wait a minute! What was he thinking? Now he was taking advise from a backtalking apple?! Oh my...what was the world coming to? Well...at least Brian seemed to have a level head...er...stem. And there was always the promise of not just three standard wishes...but nine! Wow! If it was a lie, then what harm would come from it? Flynn would ditch the hapless fruit in the nearest hog trough. But if it were the truth...oh, the possibilities! He would never have to con another person to make an honest Leaf! (Conning was an honest profession in Flynn's mind) Without speaking any further, Flynn scrambles off of the highway and ducks behind the nearest bush, waiting anxiously and crossing his fingers that the other four wouldn't be able to find him.

<Kid! Your footprints!>

What? Oh, no! Flynn's footprints were still clearly visible in the dust of the highway! But it was too late now. With all the commotion he had made, the others would surely be rounding the bend to investigate soon. He wouldn't be that hard to find if they had half a mind to look. Best to spend his time inventing an alibi rather than worry about it.

(( OOC: Wow, that was long! But fun. So Flynn can't stay hidden for very long. It seems to be a curse for weird things to happen to him. Hehe! ))
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