BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)

Subject: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 12:14 AM

The day had been hot and dusty with a terrible easterly wind kicking up small dust devils every few seconds, or so it seemed to her. Until she'd dug out her scarf, her hair had blown six ways to Sunday, all knotted and tangled up. When she did find her scarf, she didn't even try to comb it out. She just gathered the long hanks of red-going-grey tresses and stuffed them up in it, tying it off tight up on top of her head like her mother had done with a big kerchief whilst cleaning house when she was a little girl. With her long duster coat and combat boots she was frightful enough to scare the bejaysus of the horse when she came round the corner to her car. He ran off, kicking up his hooves, snorting at the wild weather and her.

Normally she wouldn't set foot outside the house which burrowed into the side of a hill; itself safe and secure from the whipping winds. But, today, of all days, she had to go out. She'd caught a bug and there was nothing for it but to go get a fix.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 02:48 AM

Today of all days was the day when the car, with a mind of its own, failed to start. She tried and tried to get the thing to rumble into life but to no avail so she allowed it a little time to settle, as her father had taught her, in case she had flooded the carburettor.
She tried again but still it failed to come alive. What should she do now? Should she set off to walk the seven miles for her fix in this abominable weather or wait till it settled?.
Then she saw it. There it was,large as life, standing in the field and gazing at her with a frightening glare.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: GUEST,Mingulay at work
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 04:16 AM

The acetylene headlamp on the old tandem still burned brightly but was the chain now too old and stiff to move. With trembling fingers she reached out and grasped the now tarnished handlebars, flung her leg over the machine and settled on the old worn saddle. Memories from long ago came flooding into her mind as her foot reached for the pedal.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 12:22 PM

Her arms around his waist, he felt so solid, her anchor, her rock, her reason for being. They soared through life on the back of his prized vintage Indian, the roar and vibration of the engine flooding her with recent memories of his touch of their completion to ecstasy back home.

She shook her head, mentally dislodging the old and focussing on the new. She revved the engine, torquing it in an effort to blow out the carbon and the memories. It had been a long time...now he was gone, forever. She made sure her fiddle case was secure across her back and let out the clutch. Gotta get a fix, gotta get a fix...off to meet those 'cats in 3D, after all these years of cyberjamming!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 12:38 PM

A stranger slowed a weather-beaten Land Rover on a country road, shaded by deciduous trees from the cold early-SPring sunlight. He squinted at a dilapidated road sign, down-shifted with a couple of startling clunks and grinds, and wheeled the old but robust partner of his best days on the road into a rutted dirt one-lane road that wound back and down toward the distant banks of the bay.

A black retriever in the seat next to him yipped cheerfully as fresh smells swept into the car -- rabbit, a whiff of yesterday's horse, squirrels, aspen...a delight to the nose. A trace of felled oak, a touch of...instrument polish? The dog made a mental note. This was a smell he understood from long experience.

He lit a thin cheroot with one large and calloused hand, nodding agreeably at the dog's remark, and with the other wrestled the Rover through dried puddle-holes, over exposed buried rock ridges, and through beds of blown sand and gravel. He was getting close...he could smell it in the air. There would be music.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Wesley S
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 12:40 PM

Some of her old fears rose to the surface. The ones he'd planted in her brain years ago. Would she be good enough ? Would the wood and strings dance under her bow like she knew they could? Yes - dammit - they would this time. The weeks and months of concentration, practice , the sore fingers - the ridges in her fingertips. It would pay off this time. They would be shown - and the air would sparkle with the music she knew was in her heart.

It would be right this time......

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 01:06 PM

(beautiful, fellahs! Keep 'em going! and thanks for joining in!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 03:19 PM

The faithful old dog, shoved his greying muzzle across the seat and his pink steamy tongue gently teased the mans orange, nicotine stained, fingers as they rested on the gearshift. With no heating in the car, the warmth of the dogs tongue brought a refreshing newness of feeling to his whole hand. Their breath formed patterns of condensation as in itself it battled with the cold to stop its rivulets from becoming ice on the once clear windows of the car.
His lack of confidence in the accuracy of the fuel guage caused the hairs on the back of his wrinkled neck to stand on end as he knew the fuel level must be low. To run out of fuel in such a Godforsaken place would mean certain death unless, by coincidence, some other fool had sallied forth into the wilderness, against all advice.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Wesley S
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 03:45 PM

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly began to stand on end. Now why was that she wondered ? It was as if a connection had been made. And suddenly the old juice had begun to flow again down a long forgotten line. She shivered - as if cold somehow.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 04:23 PM

(Ewww, spooky, I like that! Just a note: usually in story threads, each person comes up with their own character/s. Once in awhile, if their character/s interact with another's, they will write for both characters, but usually just for their own. I am NOT complaining...I LOVE what you guys are doing, just making a note in what I hope is an early faze of a long and fun thread. Thanks!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 06:03 PM

Suddenly!!! Katlaughing realised there was something wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and that butterflies feeling reared itself mercilessly in her abdomen. 'What the hell are they doing now'? she thought to herself....this is not at all what I had planned.
Just then a pick up truck stopped and a man leaned out of the drivers window, which was iced up due to the inclement weather, shouting to her as he did so "Hey Mrs, can ya tell me where I can get fuel for my truck"? His old dog was barking in unison which made his request hard to understand so she had to ask him to repeat it. He ordered the dog to be quiet and repeated the question whilst the dog delicately licked his orange, nicotine stained fingers.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 06:18 PM

(oops! Forgot to name her! Let's see Pansy Rue is taken. How about, Lindy-Lou? I think I like it. Let's make her Lindy-Lou.Thanks, guys.)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 07:29 PM

(GS...if you can't come up with a proper character of your own, and you really must take one of mine, go ahead, I'll make another. But 't would be more sooth and suiting and all that for you to design your own. I suggest Fotheringill for him or her, as the case may be.)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 10:38 PM

Josephine was beginning to wonder if she were at the right location. It was 2:00 and no one else had arrived. She had gotten there early, found a little grove of tall shrubby looking plants that offered a wee bit of shade, and had pitched her tent. She realized camping out here in the high desert was going to be a bit different from camping up the rich, forested hollows in the mountains in the East, where she was from. She'd never had the opportunity to see the West before, and had flown out here early so as to have some time to tour a bit of the region. She was looking forward to meeting these people that she had only known in cyberspace, but was more than a little nervous. She often felt awkward around crowds, especially with people that she really didn't know.

Right now, the way the wind was blowing and the dust was flying, she was wondering if she had made a good choice to spend her limited funds touring. If she had waited and just flown out for the Mudgather, she could have afforded to stay in one of the cabins at the site.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 11:04 PM

(Are these folks heading down toward a bay or up into high desert? Or is it a high desert with a bay in it? :D)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 11:28 PM

(Uh...guess I'm making assumptions that since Kat lives in Colorado or someplace like that, the description was of high desert or the foothills of the Rockies....Kat?)

Janie

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 11:32 PM

(High Desert with a Bay....Somewhere along the west coast of South America?:^)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 12:15 AM

(LOL...actually I had Wyoming, high plains with mtns. in mind, from my early Mudcatting days, but anything you folks want to make it works. There could even be a magic doors opening from one to another. We've had Shangri-la, outer space, steamboats and more...let your imaginations go wild. My character is not me, but she does know Mudcat and it will be her first time meeting any of them in 3D!:-)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 02:46 AM

Sorry Amos but your eloquent writings just got my imagination working overtime and what was written just arrived in my head!
Will begin with another character when I return. Best wishes.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 02:43 PM

Having just arrived home from picturesque Dingle Bay in Ireland, where he had partaken of such scenery as he had never borne witness to before, he decided to go to the local hostely for a quiet pint or two to refresh his long term friendships with the locals.
This would be in stark contrast to the Irish pubs where men in old fashioned style clothes quaffed Guinness with an air of belonging and a boldness befitting wild teenagers and fiddle music filled the air with the occasional accompaniment of the pipes. This would be like stepping into a quiet barn after a night in the chicken coop. This would be like entering Joes cafe after a meal at a top restaurant.
He walked through the doorway of his local with an air of superiority and like he had tales to tell but shock, horror, what met his eyes filled him with disbelief and anguish.......

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 04:22 PM

Behind the bar stood a large and very stout naked man of about 50 years of age. He smiled at the newcomer and called out "welcome to Paradise Valley Bar and Nature Club!" The bartender polished out a nice spot on the bar for the guest, then smiled saying "what'll it be?"
The guest was still a bit non-plussed as he caught the eye of a rather statuesque nude woman at the end of the bar who smiled and sipped a martini. Just behind her a teenager clad only in dirty tennis shoes and Red Sox ball cap was playing a Pac Man machine, and behind him sat two aging folkies; a banjo player in the buff and bareskinned mandolin player, playing the B section of Red-Haired Boy. A third folkie stood nearby rather uncertainly, violin case unsnapped and open, shirt removed and trousers just being rolled beneath the knees. This person's face flushed very red before she looked away, then the other two stopped playing, the bearded banjoist calling out "strip down and come on in! We could definitely use a guitar player!"
The guest turned, his jaw still hanging slack, to look at the bartender, who had a drink poured for him. "I just give you a whiskey," said the barman. "You look like you could use a stiff drink."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 05:36 AM

"If it was a stiff drink I wanted, I would demand an egg flip" quoth the guest with an air of juvenile defiance. "I'll have a 1940's beer barman". The barman now unsure how to handle the situation poured a normal beer (if there is such a thing) into a pint glass and handed it to the guest...."Pour me another 1940's beer while you're there" said the guest so the barman poured him a further pint of normal beer.
"That will be £5($10)" said the barman haughtily. "No it will not" said the guest, "I asked for 1940's beer and you pulled me two pints and 10p(5 cents) is all you're gonna get for the two".

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 06:48 AM

Upon hearing that exchange, Josephine sighed with relief and stepped over the threshhold into the bar. "This has got to be the Mudcat gathering," she said by way of greeting. She looked around the room, taking in all the naked denisons. "Seeing so many people show their butts in one place cinches it!"

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 12:21 PM

Folkies!! The butt of all jokes eh?

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 01:29 PM

The grizzled stranger romped the aged Rover over a rise, the road only a faint memory and all four wheels powered to grip the rolling grass hillside. He looked down on an unusual sight -- a grove, evidently the natural outgrowth of a spring, with a long, rustic log cabin in it. He stopped the Rover on protesting springs and resentful brakes, and clambered out to take a better look at the vale. The dog leapt happily out the door and galloped around him, making large circles of snuffy delight. The two of them studied the scene below.

Around the cabin were scattered a handful of smaller ones -- perhaps just bunkhouses for two or four. The main cabin, though, was remarkably long, as though itheld a large community kitchen, an array of meeting rooms, and what looked from the distance like a bar or perhaps a delicatessen at the far end. Another unusual thing was that, at that particular early afternoon hour, the only place that had people walking in and out of it was the bar extension on the eastend of the main structure. He could make out folks leaving the bar, and heading for the smaller cabins or one of a handful of scattered tents. He could make out other folks coming in toward the bar and ducking into it. It didn't look formal. The folks going in seemed to be wearing jeans and flannel shirts or tee shirts, nothing fancy, and workboots, running shoes or cowboy boots.

The only other odd thing is that the ones leaving seemed to be carrying all their clothes instead of wearing them.

The stranger pushed his bush hat back on his brow and reached down to pat his dog thoughtfully.

"I dunno for sure, Bannock. But I think this is the place."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 02:02 PM

LindyLou shook her hair out from under the helmet, wiped her brow with her bandana and looked down into the small valley. Well, she thought, looks like I found the spot. Off to the west she saw the first place she wanted to visit before meeting any of the Folkies of whom she heard so much about.

Gearing down, she headed down to the west end where there was a big pond with a haze hanging above it. She could smell the sulphur long before she reached the pool. Kicking the stand down for her bike, she turned off the engine, then threw a leg over in a slow dismount. The long ride had left her stiff and sore. She began by pulling her t-shirt off over her head, then ripped off the binding bra she hated to wear. Next came off the long blue jeans. Left in her practical, but brief, cotton undies, she waded into the hot mineral spring. Sitting down along the edge, she let out a long, slow breath, then immersed herself in the steaming hot water. With the fresh crisp breeze above her, she took in long gulps of refreshing air, then stretched out, head back, soaking up the healing relaxation of the minerals in the natural spring. Ah, she thought. I have missed this so much. I should actually be human enough to meet a few folks after an hour or so in here. Wow...this is great!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 02:09 PM

He left his local with a long face but no sooner had he passed through the door than he met his ex-wifes gynaecologist, a clever man,who always decorated his hall through the letterbox. He invited the man back to his office and as they sat in deep conversation, a tall lady passed the window. She must have been tall as the office was on the second floor. There was a tap on the door so he rose, thinking, 'what a strange place to put a tap'. He opened the door and a big blonde rolled her eyes at him, so he picked them up and rolled tham back. He kissed her but she screamed, so he removed his cigar and kissed her again. They quickly descended the stairs and went out onto the street, where a taxi pulled up with a jerk...the jerk jumped out so they got in. As they headed for the lake he told her how much he wanted her body..........but only as it was younger and fitter than his. On arrival at the lake they planned to hire a boat but as the attendant was tied up at the time....yellow rope I think....they went to a nearby hostelry. Before he entered the door he said "Look at those shores"
"What shores"? she asked..."Mine's a pint" he replied.
She said "I hope they have one of those machines in here, I love Johnny Cash" so he broke into the condom machine and got her some.
"Would you like to smoke"? she asked him and he replied that he would so she lit his jumper. He suddenly had the urge to rip all her clothes off but refrained as he had nothing else to put on.
A man sitting next to him said "Have ye got a light Mac"...he said "No but I have a heavy overcoat" I don't think the man was amused as he hit him in the face. "I would like some helicopter flavoured chips" he said to the barman but the barman explained that he only had 'plain' left.
They left the hostelry and as he stepped onto the road he slipped on some doggy do's and fell flat on his back...got up and shook himself down just in time to see a 6'6" man do exactly the same thing. "I just did that" he said and the man got up and hit him in the face saying "You dirty sod, couldn't you wait?". Again he ended up on his back but this time he looked up and saw a shooting star...'What's Clint Eastwood doing here'? he thought to himself. Anyway, Clint helped him to his feet which you could say 'made his day'. They walked quickly away until they came to a fork in the road and wondered who had left it there.
Suddenly the night closed in on them so quickly and they sat pondering where the sun had gone for many hours, until it eventually dawned on them.
They approached a house and rung the bell. The female occupant opened the door in her nightdress and he thought "What a great place to have a door". Her husband was at home with badly damaged teeth from biting his nails...he was a a carpenter........

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 02:50 PM

(GS, old chum, what the hell are you smoking over there?)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 03:13 PM

So sorry but just my vivid imagination coupled with memories. LOL

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 04:17 PM

(WHOO!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 06:19 PM

Hey if you think that's bad you should read some of my poetry.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 07:27 PM

I thought it was freaking hilarious! A very interesting little side excursion, y'might say. That's the very stuff that makes these little stories worth playing in, GS.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 07:54 PM

Absolutely! Don't Bogart that joint, m'friend!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 02 Mar 07 - 01:32 AM

"Whiskey Before Breakfast!" called the banjo player, and the fiddler immediately played a trill in D that led into the first line of the tune. As if they had played it 100 times before, as if they were participating in the 100,000 time that the melody had been played, the fiddler began the melody line, the guitar player banging the accent chords, the strains echoing in the room as feet tapped. Not as if it were being replayed, but as if the song was taken up at the exact point it had left off on the front porch of a soddy on the Kansas Plains 125 years previous.
Outside the room, strains of the music rolled out across crisp remnants of snow banked against the low log structure, and could be heard clearly across the lake upon whose banks the cabin had been raised. Others were summoned by the strange communion offered in the music. These came, approaching the circle of sound with reverence and respect. Instrument cases were unsnapped, the rich red-brown of objects held within, disclosed to the rays of sun that poured through a skylight to kindle the room. One by one they fell to their parts, a great momentum gathering in the sound.
The visitor, having finished a long tale peppered with jokes, paused and sipped the whiskey, felt the sunlight warm on his cheek, heard the music synchronizing the wheels of the past and the future into a melody that said all there was too say about this very moment.
He stared into the circle of smiles, moving hands, and tapping feet, among which the sound moved like spirit made manifest. At that moment, the fiddler began a complex variation of the melody, one which caused his lips to clinch, his eyes to close in concentration, completing the phrase to fall swiftly into the flow of the chorus. The clenched mouth of the fiddler relAxed into a smile, his eyes opened to behold the guest's eyes staring into his, and the fiddler gave a quick nod and wink, as if to affirm that this was a moment worth the keeping, a shared rapture.
With his right foot raised, the banjo player brought the tune to an end, a flourish of sound, and following it the sudden dignity of silence, the pause of fingers upon strings, then the sudden needy meow of a skinny old matron cat who arched her back against the fiddler's shin, filling the room with laughter.
Then, with a slow and dramatic creak, the cabin door opened and a wary dog entered, sniffing curiously at the mingled aromas of cat and folkies in the room. A man appeared behind the dog, doffing his dusty hat, saying "it's ok Barney. Just an old barn cat...and a roomful of naked folk singers..."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 02 Mar 07 - 02:55 AM

The fiddle competition was about to begin and there was an air of optimism and anticipation amongst the crowd of Folkies who had gathered to witness it.
The first contestant appeared in hisw slick black suit with quality collar stitching and fitting him perfectly, obviously tailor made for him. His silk tie stood out in stark contrast to the suit and his snakeskin fiddle case looked incredicle. He drew his Stradivarius from the case, put it to his shoulder, raised his bow and began to play and .....he was crap!!!!!!
The second contestant arrived in a neat sports jacket and tweed trousers, drew his old German violin from its black leather case, raised it to his shoulder and began to play and ....he was crap too!!!!!!!
The last contestant arrived in a ragged old pair of jeans, a dirty looking shirt with a red and white scarf around his neck and holes in his well worn shoes. He lifted a battered old violin which only had three strings from its even more battered old case and raised it to his shoulder and began to play and...............................................................................................................................................He was crap too!!!!!!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 02 Mar 07 - 09:42 AM

Bannock sniffed the cat, but mainly out of courtesy. The barn cat curled a lip, hissed in a sort of subdued manner, and arched its back. Bannock had seen this crap before, and knew it was a bluff. He shook his head at the cat, growled once, and let her know her head would be breakfast if she didn't stop acting like a twit. The cat, dignity intact, turned and started investigating other parts of the room with great interest, thinking about it.

The stranger stepped in and closed the door, hauling in his big Dreadnought case, and stamped the dust off his boots. Looked like there was a dress code. Hell. He hoped no-one pretty was gonna be there.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 02 Mar 07 - 07:41 PM

We stepped out into the freezing night air together, never having felt so close before. I asked him if he wished to come home with me to spend the night and he replied that he would with a great air of anticipation. We walked slowly along the road, engrossed in deep conversation and often his hand would brush against my leg, sending shivers down my spine.
We arrived at the house and I poured him a large whisky, which was his favourite tipple before inviting him upstairs to the bedroom. He sat with me on the edge of the bed, nervously fingering his whisky glass so I took it from him and placed it on the pine bedside table.
I slowly undressed him in front of the mirror, gently caressing each part of his body as I did so, and then I went to bed alone again for yet another lonely night on my own.
Schizophrenia is such a strange affliction.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: frogprince
Date: 02 Mar 07 - 11:01 PM

GSIJDNWMP

(Georgiansilver, I just damn near wet my pants)

That is the most pitiful, sneaky, underhanded, hilarious thing I have read in I don't know when.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:53 AM

Awwww frogprince...thank you from the bottom of our heart....ROFLOL.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 08:39 PM

Having just returned from the Folk concert of all Folk concerts, he decided to down a couple of glasses of whisky as a celebration of his life and his love of Folk music........

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 09:18 AM

Is no-one going to have an attempt at writing something imaginitive on this thread...seems a shame to waste it.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 11:37 AM

(GS;

Are you projecting again? In your last remark you found other's writings irresistible and had to borrow them!

A.)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 12:19 PM

I guess it's one of those things that happens Amos...someone borrowed mine......I don't have a problem with that.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 12:35 PM

The stranger scruffed Bannock's flat black ears, and reluctantly started unbuttoning his road-stained shirt. He was about down to the fourth button when the door swung open and a large figure blocked the entire doorway. The strains of "Angelina Baker" faded on the air as the figure stepped into the room. He was big -- maybe 6'4, towering over the stranger's own six-foot frame. He was hefty -- easy 280, maybe more, the stranger thought. ANother far-flung misfit finding solace among his kind, the eccentric, the too-strange, too-gifted or too-beautiful who came to the world of folk to seek respite from the mad and ugly world.

But then, he noticed the large figure's beard -- long, untamed, black with silver streaks, waving in all directions. And his arms -- thick with muscle and as big as oak trunks. Then he noticed something else. The huge man was carrying a bodhran as big as West Australia, and he looked ready to use it.

Bannock, the friendliest dog in the world when among friends, polled back his left front lip and snarled a low, throaty growl.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 01:32 PM

The naked red-haired man, his skin nearly fluorescing in the dark corner into which he had retired to nurse his Molson's, drew a quick breath as the bearded giant entered, There was no doubt about it...this was Malcolm Dundee. The red-haired man had studied this bluff, ruddy countenance many times in numerous suspect photos provided him by the RCMP. An under cover Mountee himself, he had even mastered the Uillean Pipes in an effort to infiltrate the Folk Circles that Dundee liked to frequent.
Undercover RCMP Detective Curtis York lowered his voice an octave as he ordered another beer, in an effort to avoid Dundee recognizing him. How Dundee would know anything about him, York was unclear on. And in fact Dundee seemed to take no notice of him but only unslung his bodhran, dropped his pants (which caused a collective gasp and flinch among all of those present), stared at the snarling dog and gave three tremendous barks which caused Bannock to seek quick shelter behind his master's right leg.
Dundee then gave a near-deafening roar of laughter and said "Irish Whiskey!" The bartender quickly poured a glass, which Dundee quaffed in a single gulp, slammed down, and said "I'll have the bottle". At which the bartender quickly handed the bottle over. Dundee gripped it, strode over to the circle of musicians, stood the bottle on the floor, sat down and said "I assume ye all know Whiskey in the feckin Jar?" Several of them nodded."Well, play the damn thing then!" he laughed.
York opened the bag that held his Uillean Pipes, glimpsed the handcuffs in a side pocket, and decided it was going to take more than that to get Malcolm Dundee to Toronto.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 04:16 PM

(Bravo, chaps!! LOL!!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:00 PM

Now that LindyLou's skin had shriveled tight until she looked like a tall, tanned prune, she slowly rose up out of the steamy water and shook out her long, now purple hair. She made sure to retract her small antenna up on top of her head, and also covered her third eye with her bangs/fringes. It was usually closed, anyway. She didn't need to open it to *read* anything.

All in all, her time on this planet had been interesting and fulfilling, though she could have done without the experience of "falling in love" and losing that love. She supposed it was an important part of her assimilation and would write up well in her dissertation when she finally went for her Mistress of the Universe degree from the Institute of Flying Kestrels and Whatnot of the Divine. In the meantime, she was enjoying finding out just what a Mudcat was and how to produce the kind of music they seemed to favour. This would be her first time ever meeting them in her Earthskin without the safety barrier of a communication device.

Eschewing her dusty clothing, she straddled the bike, once more, fired it up with a swift kick, felt the sensuous rumble between her legs and down shifted. Climbing back up the hill, she headed over to the long, low building where they all seemed to be gathering. Her x-ray vision showed her she would fit right in, style-wise; it seemed it was de rigeur to go skyclad today.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:14 PM

Josephine moved quietly along the walls, unnoticed in the dim shadows. She had been delighted to see Malcolm come banging into room. Realizing he had not seen her before he moved to the circle of musicians, she thought she'd sneak up and give him a start before he started banging on that confounded drum. She watched the circle of men as she prepared to approach, ready to pantomine a 'shush' if one of them spotted her as she crept up behind the big man. Something about that York fella gave her pause. His eyes were as cold as his posts on Mudcat. And there was something about the way he was studying Malcolm that made her feel unexpectedly suspicious. When she had a chance, she'd mention it to Dundee. Right now, though, she was going to poke him in his nekked ribs and give him a big hug and howdy!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:56 PM

He was the quintessential English gentleman, who was strolling along the embankment of the Thames river in London, when he saw her. She was laid on the grass in just a skimpy skin coloured bikini which first made him believe she was really naked. It was only as he came closer that he realised there were strings to her skin. He became immediately besotted with this lithe, slender bodied, blonde haired beauty whose only blemish seemed to be a wart on the end of her nose.
Roderick approached her and gently whisperd to her, "I am Roderick and I would really appreciate a conversation with you". She sat up quickly and carefully looked him up and down, not missing any feature of his strong male body. "Are you that schwarzenegger guy" she asked him and he disappointed her by replying "Sorry no". "I guess you just look a lot like him in build and looks" she said with an air of knowledgability. He now felt proud and decided to make a move on her, as she was by far the most attractive woman he had ever seen.
However just as he was about to......................

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 06:23 PM

ramble on for another paragraph, he remembered the plot.

The bottle had nearly been drained, and Dundee's face had taken on the bright red of a stop light. The rest of the group of musicians were sweaty and out of breath from trying to keep up with him and play loud enough to be heard. Yet none had left the circle. In truth, they felt a bit like children who sat at a dinner table where a very intimidating Father glowered at them whenever one so much as stopped playing for even part of a song. They were also quite drunk, since Dundee ordered another round of drinks each time a song stopped and wouldn't begin the next until they had, to his expression "here's to yer old Granny's sudden death and Grampy's relentless whorin' what done her in", drained their drinks.
Suddenly, Dundee stood up, tossing the bodhran unexpectedly to York, took in a deep breath that stirred the curtains, and sang "The Lass of Glenshee." Great tears came from his eyes, he gazed at the ceiling as if the Lass her own self had been tacked up there, and truly all of the group became quite moved, because Dundee's singing, while not at all fine, was quite heartfelt.
As he finished, and before he could raise the bottle to drain the dregs, a buxom woman poked him in the ribs and leapt onto his back, saying "Dundee you rotten mick! I've been looking for you seven years to get the child support you owe on the wee bastard you left me carrying!" Briefly, the others saw what a Dundee in the grip of fear might look like, but then he grabbed the woman, swung her 'round, and gripped her like a Kodiak bear would have. Several distinct pops were heard as vertebrae in her back came under the tremendous pressure. Then he held her in front of him and shouted "a dance!" He spun to look at York. "You! Play the Irish Washerwoman!"
York trilled an intro and all dove into the song as the oak-planked floor boomed under the feet of Dundee and Josephine.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 07:47 PM

"Ah, Dundee! I haven't danced like that since the last time I saw you!" panted Josephine, completely winded by their romp around the bar.

They had wrecked the place with their prancing. Chairs were upturned and tables knocked asunder by the vigorous swirling of the two old friends. The sound of their revelry had drawn more people into the bar, and the clothes were piling up by the door. A mandolin player, a fella with a big Taylor guitar strapped to his back, and a petite woman with a fiddle strapped to hers were straightening the tables and chairs--this time leaving room in the middle for a dance or a singaround. Two women-one very tall and one very short, started handing out drinks to all who wanted one. From their accents, it was clear they had travelled all the way from Britain to attend the Mudgather. A short guy with a gray beard and a long, lanky one with a Maine accent joined the women in passing around the libations.

Some one sat down at the piano and began pounding out a lively tune. A voice started up with the lyrics, more joined in on the chorus, and before long it was clear that the first event of the gathering was happening-a pub sing!. The voices were so full and robust that no one but the bartender heard the sound of the bike as it pulled up outside the bar.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 11:41 PM

(Wow, what a grand serpentine!! Well done!!)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 12:21 AM

(I'll try to get Lindy-Lou in here, soon. GREAT lead-in, Janie!!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 10:44 PM

LindyLou listened intently to the raucous music coming from the building in front of her. She parked her bike, scanned the inside with her third eye and saw a bunch of nearly to totally naked people cavorting around. Some were singing at the top of their air bellows and others were picking, strumming, and sawing away on various melodic devices. She allowed herself a small smile. As one fellow swept by with a woman in his arms, she felt a quick jolt in her love region...just a fleeting glimpse and he looked like her lost love, but it could not be for she had buried his left-behind shell herself. Giving a gentle sigh, she strode towards the door and pushed it open.

They all looked at her at once. There she was tall, with legs that didn't quit, purple hair, slanted cat's eyes, full ruby lips, and a figure worthy of the prow of the best pirate ship ever. Shall we say she was "buxom?" Yes, that's it and the eyes of every man in the place seemed glued to her bosom, once they gave her a long full-body scan. Using her third eye, she scanned them all. Reminding herself to talk to Central about name-picking for next time, she really didn't think she looked like a "LindyLou," she laughed out loud and said, "Howdy Gents and Ladies, this must be the Mudcat Gathering, right?" Her voice had a sharpish edge to it, with a bell-like quality, almost as if they were made of glass with some shards missing. It didn't really grate, but it did have an odd effect on one's nerves. She went on, "It's LindyLou, right here in the 3D and I cannot wait to hear you all!" With that, she walked over to the bartender and ordered a Salty Dog, then turned to view the company.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 02:59 AM

To carry on:-
.........engage her in deeper conversation, he spotted that third eye and broke into a cold sweat. 'This is no ordinary woman' he thought to himself, 'this is some freak of nature', as he took one more look at her beautifully rounded breasts and once more looked up and down her body. He so delighted in her body shape that the third eye soon lost its apparent importance. He was now so hooked by his fleshly longings that his rose coloured spectacles cancelled out any imperfection (or as some women would have it....the brain in his trousers took over from the one in his head).
"I have not seen you here before" said Roderick, a statement made in such a way that it demanded an answer from her as though it were a question. "I have not been here long" she replied. "Where do you live dear, do you live in this area or just come here to work"?
"I don't actually live here, I come from afar" she said.
Immediately his enthusiasm waned as he imagined her being there for only one day before returning to some city many miles away and tentatively out of reach. Little did he know that when she said 'afar' she was meaning her own planet.
He desired her body with such fire that he knew he had to bravely ask her the question.
"Are you one of those 'Catters'"? she asked. He gave a negative reply and asked what a 'Catter' is. "A Catter is a Folkie who frequents the Mudcat cafe" she informed him. "Usually a musically minded person who can be full of BS at times, someone who uses a false name generally and may write educatively at times too".
"Mudcat Cafe, I suppose that cafe is in the place you come from" he said, again a statement which demanded an answer.
"No she said it is sure not where I come from but it might as well be"

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 01:11 PM

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. It was kind of a bombshell, ya know? I really feel like going postal with a stapler at this point…"

"Okay, better question: What would you like to do?"

"Go postal with a stapler."

"Har dee har har." his voice over the phone was soft and reassuring in her ear. "I mean that taking all of your options into consideration, what's the plan, Stan?"

"Well, if I don't take the vacation time before my hiring anniversary, I lose all of it. That sucks royally, but with the new management jackals, it's unavoidable. However there is no way I can enjoy a vacation when I've got so much on my plate. The new program, the meeting with the governor, the track team…"

"Shut up and take your vacation." he interrupted.

"Easy for you to say. When was the last time you had a job?"

"I've punched a time-clock or two in my day…"

"Yeah, just the fact that you use the phrase "punched a time-clock" says it's been a while Mister Madison."

"Don't be such a bitch. It's really not as attractive as you think. Tell you what, why don't you use the rest of your workday today to go online, download yourself some new music, and when you get home take the dog for a nice long walk."

"That sounds nice."

"Yup. And with any luck you'll find something dark and mysterious to occupy your time."

"Thanks, Blake. You're a lifesaver."

"No problem, doll. You're a tootsie-pop."

She hung up the phone and peeked over the cubicle walls. Everyone was either gone or busily working. She turned on her computer and found a PM saying "Come Play". She chuckled to herself and began to read. It was early in the day, too early to escape for good, but anyone who saw her for the rest of the afternoon noticed a particular gleam in her eye. One that said plainly "Underneath my clothes, I am completely naked."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 01:22 PM

(LOL...welcome back to the stories, Jendarlin'!!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 01:24 PM

The stranger, with his fourth button still connected, sidled around the edge of the chaos in the great shaking music room, to where the redface incognito bagpipe player was trying hard to make his identities cooperate with each other in the face of his discovery of the huge, much-wanted Dundee, who was still prancing loudly at the other end of the hall and kicking broken chairs with great abandon.

The stranger stood facing the chaotic abandon of the larking folkies, and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "York!" he whispered urgently.

"York!".

The pipes player looked around nervously. "What d'ye want?", he muttered in a guttural whisper.

"Be careful with Dundee. Don't do anything until you meet a particular redhead. She'll have a password."

"What password? What redhead?"

"You'll know her by the password."

"What password, eh?"

"The password is Madison. Blake Madison."

Underneath his sturdy Canadian pallor, Curtis York turned a whiter shade of pale.

His ears reddened, and he gulped involuntarily. He turned with another question, but the stranger, with Bannock the lab close on his heels, was gone, leaving the screen door swinging behind him as he made for the rusty Land Rover high on the hill.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 03:52 PM

HEY AMOS!!! Love the reference to the "Whiter Shade of Pale"....Procul Harum...brings back such memories for me.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 11:43 PM

Let;s all get naked and jump into a pile....Josephine-Josey-sang drunkenly to herself. She was having a grand old time. Hadn't been drunk in years. It messed with her music and her head, but Dundee had talked her into matching shots of whiskey with him....Lessee, there was sumpin she wanted to tell him...what was it? She looked around the room and her eyes landed on York.

"Oh yeh, gotta warn Dundee about York."

As she tried to get up onto her feet, the room suddenly quieted. She glanced over at York, and saw him staring, transfixed, at the door. Then she realized the same was true of every man in the room as they stared in the direction of the swinging doors that led to the bright sunlight outside the bar. There stood this long, cold drink of water, backlit by the afternoon sun....

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 01:01 AM

Malcolm Dundee was staggering around outside the cabin with half a bottle of Bushmill's in his fist, looking for Josephine. He called her name several times..."Josey stop feckin around, ye hot-blooded vixen! I need ye to help me find me feckin pants!" At this point, Dundee tripped over a sapling and fell head-over-heels, but not spilling a drop. As he rotated in a drunken somersault, his extended right arm miraculously held the bottle in a continuous upright position, as if years of training had put it on a kind of autopilot where booze was concerned.

Dundee came to rest on his massive behind, took a long pull on the whiskey, said "arright! Who feckin pushed me!" Then "Jaysus on a Biscuit its feckin freezin out here!" He stood up, rocking back and forth on tree-trunk legs, but tree trunks that bent and swayed in an alcoholic cyclone. He gazed out at the lake, reflecting an endless glory of stars, and said "feckin lovely." He toasted the lake and the stars, took another enormous swallow, shivered, and was reminded of a poem. He stood in a pose of declamation, weight on his back leg, right leg extended and turned toes out, left arm bent with palm out behind his muddy posterior, right hand held as if tucked into a velvet vest. Quickly, he pulled a long twig out of his beard which he had gathered in his tumble, casting it aside, then resuming the pose. He took a deep breath, then farted as if a cannon had discharged in the frost night. Then he began...

"There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee."

He took another drink and swished it around thoughtfully, gulped it while staring at the ground, said "Shit!...was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee..." Then held out the bottle as if signalling the next line to jump on in. Finally he shouted "Got her, god dammit!!"

"Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows." Perplexed again, Dundee mumbled, drank, mumbled again, and finally, like a Ponderosa Pine with a wedge lopped out of the trunk, went over into a cluster of choke cherry bushes.

From the shadows, a palely luminous figure emerged to stand looming over his gigantic prey. Quickly he knelt down and snapped a pair of extra-large handcuffs on the snoring Dundee, speaking loudly into the big man's ear. "In the name of the people of Canada, I place you under arrest for crimes committed in that country which include but are not limited to burglary, grand larceny, inspiring a riot, contempt of court, car theft, large animal theft, despoiling a woodland, public fornication, public urination, lechery, loitering, and poaching. You may remain silent until you have appointed counsel." York stood and caught his breath, then contemplated his next move. Suddenly, Dundee gave a great abbreviated snort and sat up, saying "FECK! Got her!"

"He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

As Dundee finished the line, he suddenly raised both hairy, cuffed wrists, then glanced with a look of animal malice at a small shiny spot that was the ass of York as he disappeared around the cabin corner.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 01:13 AM

(Now is the winter of his discontent
Made brilliant to simmer, by this ass of York...)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 01:24 AM

That is a very good one A! LOL

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 01:46 PM

The cool drink of water made the doorway glow with warmth, in sharp contrast to the dark shadow Dundee had cast when he filled it. She smiled a brilliant smile and looked over her shoulder at the escapades of the Mounty and the roaring giant outside. Her long red hair swung gracefully over pearl-like ears, and her blue eyes sparkled with humor.

"Hi, youall!!", she said brightly. "I escaped!!" She moved her long and shapely bluejeaned legs into the room and the rest of her flowed in after. She opened up a violin case, took out a fiddle, and pushed the case under a chair with a suede-capped toe. Her bright red blouse and her solar smile twinkled in the afternoon light, and she began warming up on Soldier's Joy.

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 03:17 PM

The stranger sat behind the wheel in the silent old Rover and peered down the hill through the dirty windscreen. He slowly folded the small, silvery-metal communicator in his large right paw, and watched the hijinks outside the door of the long cabin, catching glimpses of Dundees large posterior coated with fragments of snow and twigs, as the huge, handcuffed brute started a weaving gallop around the corner of the building, chasing York's smaller and cleaner butt out of sight.

He swung his attention back to the entrance. Right on schedule, bouncing sun-beams in all directions like a blue-jean Madonna, the redhead had pulled up in a small pickup truck and sidled through the door, hefting a violin case. The stranger stared after her, lost in thought. He snapped out of it, blew his nose on a paper towel, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and reached into the back of the Rover for some fixings and a worn and dented frying pan. Bannock would be hungry.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 07:36 PM

Selais de carforet del manet de cour. Marie dalet de ter fornetic el a nostero don terro tel fernecas contrica do perla. Dundee savera del conde maer a costera ti canawa unda del perlicado montre pesco delicatero sonde lare. Bannock entedado del quistadore en porta core tuela unde der pistolete tirequio unexpectaremonte unte il este muertore. Sile vouse note undrsatendere zize staetemente iste note unerstanabele

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 08:59 PM

(GS -- color between the lines, here, wouldja? :D)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 10:02 AM

He put the pan down just outside the driver-side door, where it sat steaming in the cool late Spring afternoon with its rich burden of canned dogfood, and the dog fell to with gusto. Bannock gobbled the stuff up, licked up all the gravy vigorously, inhaled the minute scents clinging to the pan inch by inch, and then pushed the pan around in circles with his nose, backing and filling around it in an energetic dog-incantation designed to make it magically refill. But the stranger was having none of that. He filled a small plastic bown from a jerry can of water strapped to the rear bumper and put it down next to the pan. Bannock fell for the ruse, and began slurping it up with his long opposable tongue.

He sat in a folding camp chair by his tent,and lit an old briar pipe, watching sundown cast long shadows across the vale below, nursing a Guinness, and decided life was good. Or, at least, that it could be good, he thought, reflecting on the memory of the red-headed miracle he had seen earlier. Damn shame that Mounty had gotten carried away before she got to him. Knowing Dundee he would get the charges reduced to drunk and disorderly and have them laughed out of court.

A wandering soul appeared noisily from the brush on the backside of the hill, weaving perilously back and forth toward his camp. He seemed to the stranger to be intensely preoccupied with internal voices of some sort, muttering under his breath. The fellow looked lost, although his zig-zagging path seemed to be accumulating a net vector toward the folkie camp in the vale. But he veered and wandered in so many directions that the stranger thought he might be drunk. The fellow was wearing thin flip-flops, a teeshirt and tight blue hiking shorts. He was dust-coated and looked like a man deprived mightily of something he hadn't noticed was missing.

The meandering traveler passed by the stranger's site about ten yards away, cresting the hill and wandering vaguely down the other side. The stranger could hear the wanderer mumbling to himself, in a liquid susurrus of tongues which sounded like Portuguese Bantu, rhytmic, fluid, and meaningless. The lost, mad soul faded into the twilight, sloping off downhill toward the camp.

The stranger shook his head in bemused sympathy. "Another broken fool, Bannock, overwhelmed by the grinding Wheel of noisy life at the bottom of the gravity well. Jes' another well-frog, I guess." He reached over and flipped open the dusty guitar case lying nearby. He strummed gently, and sang softly, his fingers finding their way from long practice, the runs unfolding over the lengthening sundown shadows like a warm breeze at the start of night.

I didn't know his name
I didn't know his name,
Another man done gone,
I didn't know his name,
Another man done gone....

Bannock finished pushing his water bowl in circles and came over, and turned in the low grass three times around before settling in a happy lump by his chair and dozing to the soft music.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 08:33 PM

(Aw Geeze. Peter T, are you out there? Earth to Peter T.....)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 09:23 AM

(Janie? LEJ? Jen? Kat? Where are youse guys!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 03:48 PM

(I like, I like, Amos! I'll be back this weekend. Had the grandson late the past two nights and all day today, plus trying to get our taxes done.:-)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 08:54 PM

For years afterward, Josey would break into fits of laughter every time she thought of it.

It was the melodeon player what saved the asses of both York and Dundee and made them friends for life.

When Josey toppled over onto the dance floor, a few kind souls lifted her by her heels and shoulders and carefully deposited her on the pile of clothes by the door. The sound of her snoring drove a few people away from the tables nearest where she lay sleeping off the effects of the Bushmill(s), but the stringband that had materialized out of the disparate musicians simply adapted themselves to her cadence. She slept peacefully on for a good 45 minutes. Occasionally she would get a bit restless and mutter "Who the hell is Blake Madison," but then she'd settle back into sleep, snug under the cotton shirts, jeans and jackets that one of the Englishwomen had laid over her, rather like a patchwork quilt.

She came to abruptly as folkies stampeded out the door, many of them jerking their clothes out from under and off top of her as they fled out into the night, hurried pulling on jackets and jeans against the evening chill.

"Huh? Wha...? She bolted upright and understood in an instance what had happened. She, too, rose and fled into the dark chill of the night, intent on getting as far away from the melodeon as she could.

York was running just a little ahead of Dundee. The agile, fit Mountie knew he could outrun the big man with no problem, and had slowed enough to tease Dundee into thinking he had a chance to catch him. He was grinning with victory when he ran out of the brush and back into the clearing. Startled by the crowd that had moved outside of the bar, he skidded to a halt. Dundee burst out into the clearing right behind him, roared like an enraged grizzly, and charged the smaller man. No doubt about it-one of 'em was about to die.

The melodeon player had follwed the crowd to the door. Taking in the scene in an instant, he knew his time for glory had come. He knewjust the tune to play to enhance the drama of the moment! Marching boldly into the crowd, shoulders back, chest out, he began to turn the crank just as Dundee's handcuffed arms went over Yorks head to throttle him....

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 09:08 PM

Lindy-Lou was mostly watching the goings-on in the clearing, both puzzled and amused. Her third eye, casually scanning the surrounding area, noticed that Rodney had emerged from a copse of trees on the far edge of the hill above them. Then a motion up on the ridge caught her attention. She watched as the stranger stood and stretched. He reached into the truck and got his hat, which he settled firmly on his head. Without haste, he doused the campfire, called his dog, then set out toward the clearing.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 10:12 PM

That's the spirit Janie!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 10:15 PM

(Go Janie, go! The cavalry, in the nick o' time!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 10:53 PM

(...and then what happened?)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 11:24 PM

(Well done, Janie!! I promise to get back in here this weekend!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 10 Mar 07 - 04:04 AM

He had been driving 32 hours non-stop. Unless you counted the 45 minute nap at a deserted filling station somewhere between Colby and Hays Kansas. The sun was setting now, and he was listening to Jay Farrar's forlorn voice intoning
"she's a cemetery savior
blown down from Northern Skies
did time on the asphalt plains
she's a cemetery savior..."
then the electric buzz of the steel guitar fed through a Marshall Silver Jubilee that zipped through his ears, carrying away all negative thoughts. Well, most negative thoughts.
He was still not sure if keeping tabs on an aging California folkie who was on the lamb from an ICBM launch facility in San Diego was his bailliwick. And he wasn't sure at all that the 5000 plus expenses he was being paid was worth this marathon journey through the nightmare of the American heartland. He was still haunted by the kid who'd waitedon him at breakfast at Mamas Cafe in Denver. The kid had seated him at 1:15 am in the empty restaurant, he had ordered a hearty breakfast of chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes, and the kid had told him he had been busted one year previously for possession with intent to sell cocaine, amphetamines, LSD and mushrooms. Now the kid was clean, he didn't miss the parties, the bankroll, the BMW, the casual sex...he had a clean system and Jesus. The kid was 27. Madison sat listening and realized what a dilletante he had been when it came to life on the wild side. No BMWs, no bankroll. Maybe the occasional hit of acid before going to see 2001:A Space Odyssey. Yeah, there was the whiskey, but Madison was upholding a family tradition in that respect. No, all the doors that Blake and his cohorts had pried open in the 60's in the name of freedom, had instead admitted a host of monsters.
Out of some sense of responsibility for the kid's tough breaks, Madison left him a 5 dollar tip on a 9 dollar tab, left the kid wiping a clean table in an empty restaurant in the depths of the American night, and swung the Mercury back out and onto the Great Eastern Highway.
Blake glanced at the duffle on the passenger seat, the one that held a change of socks and underwear, 400 dollars in cash, three fifths of Four Roses, and 5 cds which included Love's Forever Changes, Miles Davis' Kinda Blue, Sweetheartof the Rodeo, the Son Volt Straightaways cd he had in the box, and The Very Best of the Limelighters, which was Madison's attempt at absorbing some folkie ambiance before hitting this "Mudcat Getaway". Madison glanced down at his mustard-stained blazer, crumpled tie, threadbare slacks,and beat-up wingtips and mumbled "I look more like Dean Martin at the end of a 9 day binge than Pete Seeger". He stared for a moment at the glove box, then popped the hatch and took the 38 caliber revolver out, checked the safety, and stashed it under the passenger seat.
He steered the Merc onto a gravel side road and squinted at a sign that said "Paradise Valley ahead 5 miles." He ate two more No-Doz which he chased with a slug of bourbon, and prepared to enter the folkie atmosphere.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Partridge
Date: 10 Mar 07 - 04:58 AM

I'm really enjoying this........but am scared to join in DOH!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 10 Mar 07 - 05:02 AM

(Oh, hot damn. Heeeee's baaack!)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 12 Mar 07 - 09:47 PM

The stranger decided to give the merry-makers another chance; besides, he wanted to make music, and hear music and see Red. So he whistled Bannock back from the gopherhole he had found behind the tent, picked up his Dreadnought case, and strolled down the hill in the lengthening shadows. Halfway down he scanned the purple horizon, and noticed a pair of pircing, bouncing headlight beams wending through the trees over by the approach road. From the way they danced he could tell it a big, springy car -- maybe a '79 Buick, he thought -- and he could tell something else, too. It was being driven by someone from the city, who had no concept of how to hande a muddy, rutted back-country road in a car. He smiled and scanned the view in toward the clearing. At the edge of the space around the main lodge, he spotted the faint image of the madcap traveler who had zigzagged through his campsite earlier. The turquoise blue of his short hiking shorts reflected palely in the shadows of early evening, and as the stranger's eyes adjusted to the night he could see the man was waving his arms emphatically, facing into the woods. There was no-one visible. The stranger assumed the madcap wanderer was just having himself a spirited mumble with his Higher Self or some such thing.

The twilight was split in half by the sound of single shot, and the demented traveler at the edge of the woods threw his hands to his throat and keeled over into the pine needles.

The stranger broke into a run.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Mar 07 - 11:21 PM

Lindy-Lou finally just let herself go; she took on the persona assigned and assimilated. Heck, she sorta knew most the folk there anyway if ya could count the cyberchats, Paltalk jams and telephone calls. Strange bits of conversation flitted through her mind as well as riffs from bygone pleasures. She reached behind her, slung her fiddle case across her front and lifted the strap over her head. Setting it down on one of the tables, she opened it and began to tune up, as well as tighten and rosin the beau (sorry, couldn't resist!)

As she started to play, a strange mist seemed to envelop her; it glittered and glinted with some kind of strange light. Most folks had their eyes closed and were listening. They knew they'd heard the tune before. All of a sudden one of them remember and put it together, shouting out, "It's Lindy-Lou!! I'd know that tune and fiddle anywhere. Remember back in HearMe, June of '01? Heya, Lindy! Howya doing, gyrl? What was the name of that tune, again?"

It took a minute before Lindy responded. She stopped mid-tune, turned toward her old compadre and smiled, "Why, Bertdarlin'...I called that one Nebula Rising. It's so nice to see you, again." As soon as she'd stopped playing the mist gathered itself and left through the open window, for all the world looking like the ghost of Christmas Lost. Just as Lindy started to play another tune, they all stopped dead in their tracks as they heard the shot ring out.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 02:23 AM

Madison really had to pee. He'd had 4 cups of coffee since he crossed the state line and then a 32 oz Hawaiian Punch Slurpee at a convenience store in Denison. The bouncing of the road ruts, rocks, and tree roots under the Merc wasn't helping matters, but he knew he was close to the camp : Ahead he saw lights in the window of the cabin, shining through some sort of low-lying fog.

The knowledge that he was about to meet a group of sandal-wearing, beret-sporting, bearded Burl Ives's and buxom bra-less patchouli-scented Mama Casses in flannel mumus, all of whom were sure to see through him, despite his extensive knowledge of the Limelighters gleaned from listening to 2 1/3 of their songs, this knowledge made him a bit nervous. These people were throwbacks to the coffee houses and poetry readings of the fifties. They probably had bongo drums and sipped espresso and talked about Kafka and wore "Ban the Bomb" buttons. They probably still smoked pot from large hookahs in the centers of meditation circles...at least he hoped they still did. He suddenly regretted passing Gino's Submarine Station back on the highway. He was not likely to find any pepperoni or sausage among the folkies. No burgers, or pizza, or frozen enchilada dinners. No. These people probably brought organic squash and brown rice they had grown and harvested themselves. They would certainly have a score of rag-tag, filthy, ringworm-infested children running around with shirts and no pants on. They would begin everyday with Little Houses made of Ticky-tacky strummed on a balalaika by some tousel-haired moron with a bobbing adam's-apple, a belly-full of prozac, and a gentle smile who would play gently just outside your door until the sound would reverberate in your head like the driving of Tom Henry's railspike, or Phil Bunyan's ax, or something. He would smile as you headed for the bathroom and whisper "good morning friend!" Every night would end with everyone holding hands and singing Michael Row the Boat Ashore with tears in their eyes. One other thing....there would be no liquor. He silently congratulated himself on laying in a cache of whiskey, then realized he'd better hide it in the woods or the folkies would have it, just to relieve themselves from the monotony.

But he felt nervous and uncertain, and he needed a smoke. A pee and a smoke. The Pall Mall pack was still empty, and he rooted in the ash tray for a significant butt. He found one about three-quarters of an inch long, pushed the lighter in, and held the lighter uncomfortably close to his face as he attempted to light it. Just as the end ignited, he hit a small boulder or something, jammed the cigarette into the lighter element, and the ember burst all over his pants. Frantically, he began to smack the little pieces of burning ash, stepping hard on the brake. The Merc came to a stop in the middle of a small stream that was in flood and crossed the drive. The splash of muddy water hit the windshield as if thrown from a bucket, and that's when the engine quit. He turned the key, and the starter gave a weak sputter. The second twist of the key yielded even less. "Son of a bitch," Madison said, without much conviction. He pushed the lighter in. At least that still worked. He got the butt lit, and as he drew in the smoke, the sound of the stream filled his ears, and he realized again the urgency to pee. He opened the door, clicked off the dome lights, stood on the door bottom, leaned against the open door and began to answer nature's call.

Somewhere, a violin sung a soft melody. Madison sighed with relief, zipped up, then saw a flash 3 or 4 hundred feet away at the forest edge, followed by the sharp report of a small-caliber handgun. "Damn it. This I don't need." Stepping into the stream and soaking his wingtips, he squished off toward the scene of the shot.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 08:26 AM

(LOL!! The image of this flatfoot city dick wandering into Camp Hugatree is too rich!! Well done, amigo.)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 09:18 AM

(I second that! Madison rides again!! Whoo-hoo!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 12:38 PM

Red quietly closed the cabin door behind her. She leaned against it and gave a deep sigh as she reached down to touch her toes. Sitting on the plane, train, car, covered wagon, and pack mule it took to get to this camp, and then sitting again to play in the Tavern had just about dissolved any of the goodwill that she had left. She had tiptoed from the Tavern (not that any had noticed, given the theatrics of the gigantic one) and now stood tall, reaching her hands toward the exposed beams of the cabin roof.

She tucked the fiddle away gently in its case, and then turned to her suitcase. She rummaged for a minute until she found a decrepit pair of running shoes and pulled them on. She then pulled a sweatshirt over her head and sifted through a pocket full of SD cards in her suitcase to find the one marked "RUN". She plugged it in and hit 'play' on the device in her pocket before heading out into the sunshine. Immediately a deep, bass throbbing began in her ears and she skipped off down the road

You're designed so intelligent
Ain't no way that was an accident
Come on shake your monkey hips
My pretty, little creationist…..oh yeah

Ain't gonna anthropomorphosize yuh
Or perversely polymorphosize yuh, yeah
Little girl you look so sweet
You gotta dance like a monkey, dance like a monkey, child…

As she rounded the Tavern she grinned and shook her head. Public nudity, intoxication, and more than likely a conflagration, or even a jello-pit or two before the night was over. It was a wonder that anyone could imagine these gatherings tame.

Non-believers blame it all on apes
It's monkey-time I wanna see you shake
Evolution is obsolete
You gotta dance like a monkey, dance like a monkey, child
Stomp your hands and clap your feet
You gotta dance like a monkey, dance like a monkey, child

She began to pick up her feet a bit and breathe deep. She noticed the small camp where the dog with a decidedly full belly had dug out a small hole in the dirt and lay with his tummy in the sunshine. "Some guys have all the luck.." she chuckled to herself, and then took a fairly well-marked trail back into the trees.

C'mon pretty baby, won't you take a chance?
Be my natural selection and dance, dance, dance
Exorcise your demons with that monkey grin
'Cause we gonna inherit the wind

Let 'em fight it out in the Supreme Court
That's such a mad, lame indoor sport
Wave your arms and legs up in the air
Rock it like a monkey, like you just don't care
Evolution is obsolete
You gotta dance like a monkey, dance like a monkey, child
Stomp your hands and clap your feet
You gotta dance like a monkey, dance like a monkey, child

She had just rock-skipped across a stream, and The New York Dolls were just winding down in her ears. In the brief second before Reverend Horton Heat began complaining about his "F*cked-Up Ford", she heard the sharp crack of gunshot and skidded to a halt.

She ripped the buds from her ears and tried to quiet her gulping breath and thumping heart. Where had the shot come from? Exertion and adrenaline competed for valuable space in her bloodstream while she looked around wide-eyed in the relative dimness of the trees. Who would be firing a gun so close to a campground full of folkies? She wound her headphone cords and tucked them into her pocket as quietly as she could, and then began gingerly picking her way through the trees to what looked like a clearing up ahead.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 01:04 PM

(Whoeee... a moment of Cusp doth approach!!.... Way ta go, Red!)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 02:29 PM

Red stepped into the clearing and into a puddle of goo that was pooling up around the low-slung Merc in the drive. She knew the car, and the driver, and also knew that those two things paired up with the gunshot she'd just heard made for a 'Holy Shit' trifecta of no-good.

"Madison…" she hissed. "So help me…." She heard the squish of water-logged socks trapped in wingtips and turned to see him re-enter the clearing.

"Red? What are you doing here?"

"Enforced vacation. It was your idea, remember? What about you?"

"Can I get away with a lie about the irresistible lure of folk music?" The woman grimaced and he continued: "Yeah, that's what I thought. I got a little bit of work that may be more difficult than first imagined."

"The gunshot?"

"Yup. Just on my way to investigate."

"Better grab your gear before this wreck sinks into oblivion. Need a hand?"

When they exited the clearing, they saw a small group of people gathered around a form lying on the ground. The sleepy dog snuffed around the group warily. Thankfully the raucous nature of the gathering had ensured that the majority of revelers had not seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. Red gave a small sigh of relief—there was nothing Blake Madison hated more than a murder scene surrounded by looky-lous.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 04:00 PM

Madison checked the lifeless form of the hiker. A single hole like a blue caste-mark lay in the forehead. Madison stood up, scratched under his fedora for a moment, and finally looked at Red. "I'm amazed," he said. "What do you mean?"
"Two things," Madison extended two fingers. "First, when the hell did I tell you you should go unwind at a flippin Folkie Retreat?"
"And nudist colony," she added.
"..and nudist..." repeated Madison. It was then he was struck with the realization that everyone in the gathering crowd was naked except for Blake himself, Red, and the gunshot victim.
"You'd think a guy who makes his living as an investigator would have caught that one a little earlier," she said.
"I never claimed to have any of the traditional qualifications," he said.Then he shrugged it off and extended his second finger. "And number two. What the hell is the road doing running through a river?"
"Snow melt and an ice jam further down the creek," Red answered," water's been rising for the last 12 hours." Madison watched the water now eddying up around the Merc's door handles."Is there another way out?"
She simply shook her head. "Your cell phone work?" She smiled "nobody's cell works out here. And no, there's no land line."
He instinctively reached for a cigarette, feeling around in his shirt pocket. "Hell of A time to quit smoking" he said.
"What about him?" Red asked.
"Oh, him. Deader than a carp."
"We can't leave him here, can we?"
"Well, we'd be disturbing a crime scene. Hey you..Mermaid Tattoo!" A large bearded fellow with a digital camera stepped forward. "Get a couple of shots of the scene, will you?" The man did as asked. As the man moved around the corpse and the flashes illuminated the surrounding crowd of nude folkies, Madison said "They have a big freezer here?"
"They have a refrigerated locker at the main cabin behind the kitchen."
"OK. Hey, Aussie hat!" The grizzled master of the sleeping Bannock clenched his pipe in his teeth and said "ok", grabbing the dead man by the ankles. Madison grabbed under his armpits and said "lead the way, Red."

They lumbered slowly along toward the cabin and Aussie hat said "stroke of luck, you being a cop and being here when somebody's murdered." Madison grimaced saying "I'm not a cop. I'm a private dick." The Aussie cap smiled and said "a matter of infidelity?"
"Something like that. Hold on a minute." He put the shoulders down on the ground and they paused. "You're not very good at your job, are you Mr Private Dick? You think I don't recognize that Mercury? That I haven't been seeing you three cars behind me all the way from San Diego?" Madison smiled. "I guess the jigs up, Mr Argent."

They picked up the body again, and Madison said "Say Mr Argent. You carry a gun don't you?" Argent smiled and said "Theresa would have already told you that. It's in my truck. Why? Do you think I shot him?"
"No Mr Argent. You carry a .357 Mag. Guy wouldn't have a forehead if you'd used that. No this is small caliber, .22 or so, but from a distance, and in the dark."
"So, I'm in the clear?"
"Your pistol is," said Madison.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 04:15 PM

*GASP* duh-duh-duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (good stuff y'all)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 10:01 PM

Ominous clouds rolled over the sun as the group closed the door on the industrial freezer. Red looked up to the sky and shivered involuntarily. The warm winds so plentiful earlier in the day had long since vanished, and with the sun setting into a dark wall of clouds it looked like they were in for a rainy night. She knew it wouldn't do the streams any good, but she was secretly grateful that Madison was there. At least he had the foresight to have Mermaid-Man take pictures before the crime scene was totally washed away.

Red dusted her hands off just above her mud-splattered knees and turned to speak to Madison and Argent. Only the former was present, and with a nasty look on his face, too. "He ran for it?" she asked.

"He won't get too far." Madison replied. "Probably just trying to get someplace dry before the rain hits. We should do the same."

"There's a spare bunk in our cabin. You're welcome to it. I apologize in advance, but your upstairs neighbor is Mermaid Man's big brother. In your prayers tonight give a shout out to the gods of sturdy lumber and strong nails." She grinned.

The two reached the cabin as the first sprinkles fell. Red pointed toward a bottom bunk in the corner and when Madison turned to thank her all he got for his troubles was a great view of the cabin door. "Fan-freakin'-tastic," he thought to himself as he tucked the .38 under his pillow.

Some time later he heard footsteps approaching the cabin—someone was running hard to beat the rain—and narrowly dodged the swinging door as Red shot into the cabin with her arms loaded.

"This is the best I could do on short notice." She said as she flipped the gear out onto his bunk. Dry socks, a Turkey Turd Beer sweatshirt, a half-eaten bag of cheetos and a pack of smokes that looked as if it'd been shoved in a glove box since the early eighties. Manna from heaven as far as Blake Madison was concerned. "Now you owe me one." She grinned.

"What? Should I save your life again" he asked.

"Now," she growled, grabbing the cheetos and cigarettes, "This crap here is the only sin to be had for miles around. I suggest you be nice. Especially since I came up with a primo cock-n-bull story to keep people out of the freezer until we know more." With that admission she tossed the goods back on the bed and herself followed quickly behind them. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, head in hands, elbows on knees, and asked the 64K questions: "So, what's up with this Argent, and better yet, who's Teresa?"

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 10:27 PM

(As Patton said on the morning after battle, surveying the ruination, "Dear Gawd, I do love it so!!" )

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 11:05 PM

Lindy-Lou wasn't sure what a looky-lou was but she wasn't going to find out, either. As soon as she'd seen the stiff, she hightailed it out of there, grabbed her fiddle from the cabin, well, she couldn't very well leave it behind. It had been gifted her by the Great Tone-Bum from the outer galaxy of Hobonimus, it's like unknown in any known universe. To the earth-bound it just looked like an old beater, but with a well-practised third eye the beauty and rarity of it shone like a beacon, glimmering shoals of colour in its body almost susurrating in a blend of otherwordly tunes.

Once she cleared the meadow and scooted carefully past the hot springs, Lindy found an outcropping of granite boulders to hunker down behind. With her Long-View, she could keep an eye on her folk friends and watch for the projectile-spewing weapon which had apparently killed the stranger. It was a bitch, really, being constrained by the ethics board. The earth-bound didn't know how right they'd gotten it when they made the popular show, Star Trek, in which no one was allowed to interfere with local happenings.Prime Directive, indeed. A much more succinct way of putting it than the "The sort of bloody nonsense up with which we shall not put" which dominated her Universal Codebook. She could have saved the hiker, but her Implant Cue was programmed specifically against that. She shook her head at the tears that leaked from her eyes. Not intervening is what left her missing the Love of her artificial heart. If only she could have saved him, she wouldn't be alone on a planet far from home still trying to complete a sorry-assed mission which had been dragged out over millennia, herself being the latest sacrifice to the Great and Terrible Counsel of Stringed Ones and their search for the Ultimate Folkie.

Sitting as still as a statue, she opened her third eye and let her antennae emerge from the top of her head. As she stilled her thoughts, she began to transmit...Urgent...advise on protocol...one earth-bound dead...abort mission? She sat back, concentrating on an answer, waiting for it to transcend to her space.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 11:50 PM

"I'm working for Theresa," Madison said, then lit one of the bent Lucky Strikes that had probably been manufactured in the 40s. He inhaled deeply, coughed uncontrollably for about 20 seconds and said through clenched teeth "museum quality." He sat down on the bed and said "Argent's ok. He just pulled a disappearing act. Took out half the 401 K, packed his bags, left for work one morning and never came back. Theresa's his wife, a real trooper that really gives a damn about him." Madison took another pull on the Lucky and exhaled saying "wow...wonder what that's like." Outside some one began to sing "Wild Mountain Thyme" in a clear tenor voice, and the entire group of folkies joined in a soaring harmony on the chorus "...and we'll all go together." Madison paused, looking almost wistful, and said "they're hipper than I thought. That's a Byrds song." Red laughed and said "it's a folk song. See? Give these people a chance. You might like them." Madison smiled and said "we'll see. At least one of them is a murderer." He smiled the Blake Madison goofy good-natured smile that he never knew women liked, and said "maybe it's you done the killin." She laughed and said "so you're supposed to keep an eye on Argent, or take him back, or what?"
"Give me some of those Cheetoes," he said. "Well, its complicated. Theresa is not upset that he's having a little mid-life fiesta. I told her he's not screwing around on her. But, Argent is a code-writer and programmer for the government. In fact," he said, popping another Cheeto," he's the main programmer for NORAD."
"You mean the missile system?"
"Yep. He holds the highest priority clearance for a private citizen in the US government. He's not been to the office for 6 days and they're becoming a wee bit concerned, Theresa's been telling them he's got severe laryngitis. But if they find out he's flown the coop..."
"They'll send someone after him."
"Right. The goon squad, and the feds have some big-time goons. You heard him say he's armed, right? He left a note, says he's been a caged animal for 23 years and he's done, and he's not going back alive."
"And this shooting. Does it have anything to do with him?"
Madison examined the cheeto stain on his Lucky Strike butt and said "you tell me."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 12:34 AM

Argent, still dressed and glad of it, slipped out the back door of the kitchen as the heavy freezer was locked down, and gave Bannock his soft secret whistle. Together they wended their way up to the Rover. His head was spinning at the way things had gone -- the Mounty flying off the handle like that, Red missing her connection with hi as a result, Blake Madison showing up, the killing of the wandering loony. He popped another Guinness, gave the dog some water, and stretched out in the old camp chair. Down the hill, a violet glow caught his attention, and he noticed an antennaed profiles tucked behind some boulders, glowing in the night. "Geeze, Bannock! I didn't know these gettogethers brought them in from Arcturus!"
Bannock yawned and made a gwamping sort of sound in reply. He'd spotted the ET in the crowd the first trip down, but she was clearly not dangerous, and smelled okay.

Miffed at the black dog's rebuttal, Argent lit his pipe again.

"I don't get it, Bannock. A .22 from the woods? Out here? Why? Who was that loony sounding dudelo who just got taken out?"

"And where did the Mountie go with Dundee? Were they in the woods? Why take out someone as harmless as a wet poptart? Bannock, what the hell is going on down there?"

Bannock was starting to snore, leaving the lanky stranger alone with his thoughts as the moon rose broad and silvered over the lake.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 09:23 AM

Damn. Just her luck she'd get a negative back from HQ. Lindy tucked her com-boosters back under her hair, closed her third eye lid and stood up to stretch. There was nothing for it but she'd have to rejoin her friends and hope none of them had noticed her absence. She was back in the game and the hunt was on. She really wished she'd been called off. if she ever did find the UF, she might have to turn over her fiddle and that was something she didn't want to do. In the meantime, she heard her Mudcat friends singing one of her favourite tunes, so she added her voice as she strode down the hill to join them...all around the bloomin' heather...

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 10:51 AM

"Hmm, I guess Argent seems all right considering the circumstances. Taking a break from the real-world is hardly tantamount to murder." She sighed. "Well, at least we know the military goons can't get in if we can't get out, right?" She looked at him hopefully and was not impressed with the lack of confidence radiating back at her.

"Big time military, Red" he said. "Equipment and technology you can't even imagine…. Real 'Area 51' type-of-shit" he took another drag on the unluckiest of the Strikes and continued: "If they felt like it, they could come for Argent with anything from Rambo to ET. His wife is scared that whatever secrets he might be carrying would be enough for him to disappear completely. If not from our own government, then from some other one who might want to 'help' him defect. And I get to try and sort it out for a lousy 5K."

"Bummer" said Red, as she took the cheetos bag and upended it in her mouth. She didn't get much for her trouble except a fine coating of cheeto-dust that she brushed off the front of her shirt in that Red Locks goofy good-natured way that she never knew men liked. "Aw, shit" she grumbled.

Outside, beautiful rendition of Wild Mountain Thyme had ended and the rain began to patter its applause on the tin roof. The Howling Coyote Jug Band and Kazoo Chorus was tuning up and it was looking to be a regular night at Folk Camp. They paused for a moment and looked out the window to see a beautiful woman come down the hill and join the others. In a trick of the dusk and weather, she appeared to float down the rocks with her fiddle. Blake blinked twice and Red rubbed her eyes, but neither commented to the other about what they thought they just saw.

"Ummmm," Blake started, then changed his mind. "Anyway, what's the deal with these folks? Am I trapped at naked day-camp only to subsist on bark and granola?"

"Naw. They're okay folks. It's only naked camp in as much as your modesty will allow. Hell, you probably wear less on a day at the beach. And, the chow is nothing to turn your nose up at. There's a cook here that can make gourmet out of garbage. You'll be fine."

"Unlike the stiff in the freezer" he countered.

"I told you I have that covered," she said. "There's a woman here who is fond of footie-pajamas. She plans a big surprise finale with a lot of costumes and inflatable toys," she paused to let the wave of astonishment pass over Madison's face before she continued: "I passed around that it's going to be phenomenal this year and she is storing the props in the freezer for secrecy. No peekies. The cook said he'd run off any rubbernecks…."

Blake Madison waved his hand briefly to stop her. His astonishment was more a flash of unbidden curiosity at the thought of what a bunch of frozen inflatable toys might do to a herd of naked folks that from what he'd seen were mostly hung like basset hounds and tube socks with shot elastic. "Stop, please," he begged. "Poison in small doses." When he gathered himself, and lit another Lucky Strike, he continued: "The guy in the freezer will be fine. He's dead. It's the living people, particularly the one who shot him, that we need to be worrying about at this point."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 11:07 AM

"Well, here's the deal, sweety. The cover is holding up fine as far as most of the folkies here go. But this Madison guy you threw into the mix to add credibility is a little better than you thought based on his cheap office address and his credit account and ben-Ikilk's Liquor and Deli. He's actually a bit of an intell gem, in his shabby way. The other thing is that someone's gone and stirred the coals by taking out one of the tree-huggers. ... Yeah, a .22 between the ibbles, nasty round hole with blackened edges right in the center. No, I wasn't involved -- I was up the hill having a break... So I need you to get back to Capo One with this, Terry... let him know I'm playing it cool but I am a little concerned. Also it looks like one of the fiddle players is a first cousin to the Area 51 tribe, tell him. He'll understand. No, I can't explain. I gotta go -- I joined a jug band and they're tuning up...I love you too. You know that, right? I wouldn't be here if I didn't...Loved not duty more, you know, and all that...Hugs...Keep the bed warm for me, alone....Yeah me, too... Bye now...".

He folded the microcell and slipped it into his jeans pocket, and grabbed the Dreadnought. "Lie down. Good boy. Are you a good Black Dog? Are ya? What're you good for? Yeah, yeah...." Bannock panted happily and curled into a loop on the floor. Argent drew the broad leather strap over his shoulders and started tuning. He ran a few riffs from "Boil Them Cabbage Down", and stepped over to the corner where the rest of the jugband was warming up.

Runs and riffs and twangs gradually crescendoed in the late, cool evening air as it wafted through the crowded great room, filled with mingling folkies of all sizes and states of dress, carrying the scent of fresh mountain rain.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 11:17 AM

(Hey -- I'm sorry, but is it raining, or is it not? I thought they'd all be in the hall staying dry...)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Scrump
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 11:37 AM

100!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 12:10 PM

Scrumps centenary was quite a party, after all reaching 100 is not likely to happen for everyone. Poor old Scrump was bent in the middle like a one stringed fiddle and his skin hung from his chin as does the dewlap on a bovine. However, his faculties had not diminished with age and he was never one to miss a good opportunity (as the previous post bears witness). Reaching 100 for him was yet just another milestone in his life and with a bonus of the Queen posting congratulations to him on her own 'Mudcat' thread.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 12:30 PM

In the balmy sundown light of a California spring twilight, Theresa Argent paced the rich Spanish tiles of her patio, ignoring the far reaches of the blue Pacific gradually turning orange in the dipping sun. The speakers hidden in the synthetic boulders scattered around the garden among the catii and bougainvillea were warbling with the voice of Christine LAvin.

It was the kind of love
You never recover from
Even though she's found another one
To take his place,
She never will escape the truth.
And at times like this
When the moon is right
And the air is foggy
Like it is tonight
She thinks about
What might have been
If she had just held on to him,
The kind of love
You never recover from...."

She muttered angrily at the swell of affection the song brought out in her, and tried to focus. She put down her cell phone and moved inside to the wood-paneled library, opening a polished oak box to reveal a sturdy metallic handset. She picked it up and pushed two numbers on its numberpad.

"Capo Two, High E", she said, feeling vaguely foolish. There was an electornic hum that burbled for several seconds, and a deep male voice came on.

"Yo Terry, what's new?"

"Update is one folkie taken out by unknown assailant; cover holding, but that Madison character you suggested is turning out to have more than one brain cell and may be a risk. One fiddler seems to be kin to Area 51 tribe -- he said you would understand that." she rattled off, trying to sound self---popssessed and competent. The effort didn't take.

"And listen, you flat-footed fathead -- if one hair on that man's head is harme dby this stupid cops-and-robbers game I will personally hunt you down and castrate you with a butter knife. A promise, not a threat. "

"Whoah, Terry!! Deep breaths here!! If this wasn't critical to national security I never would have asked the best man for the job to do it. You know that."

"I don't give a shit, Wallace. What I said stands. I need him back, and I need him back in one piece."

"OK, ok. I have duly noted your threat of physical harm to a representative of the United States government." He was trying to inject humor, but her mood wasn't amenable to it.

"Gummint, smummint, Wallace. This is me you're talking to. No crap on this one, you understand?"

"Read you loud and clear, Terry. Thanks for the update. I will bring him home."

She hung up, skeptical, and returned to the patio, breathing hard and wishing Daniel had never worked for people like that.

Stay with me...oh, stay with me.
This is the kind of love you never recover from....

She turned her back on the sweet melody and stared angrily out at the Pacific, hoping to see a green flash, fuming.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 09:13 AM

(so, then what happened....?)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 09:23 AM

You mean you....er...want....someone to carry on with .....your story Amos?

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 12:15 PM

(GS: Traditionally, we use certain conventions in shared-fiction threads. One is not to mess with another's character overmuch. Another is to be flexible and creative about new plot developments and extend one's own plot developments from the existing plot elements in a way that does not shatter the attention. A third is to put asides in parentheses so they are visually separate from the actual story. A fourth is to creatively and flexibly contribute with due regard to the ordinary need for continuity and coherency. You (and Scrump) have not learned these fine points so I am calling them out here so we can play all under the same agreements.)

A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 04:20 PM

I was obviously under a misapprehension here as I understood threads to be something one necessarily added to or took part in and did not take over as an individual. From my limited experience of the Cat I had certainly not observed the use of your 'tradition' but as you have suggested that I was out of order, I will take great care in not borrowing any of your characters in future and could only ask your humble forgiveness for straying into what you feel is some sacred area.
Presumably your invitation... (so, then what happened....?) is a throwing open of your 'individual' space to anyone who wishes to partake of your rendering....I find that somewhat interesting.
May all your posts echo your sentiments.
Best wishes, Mike.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 08:34 PM

The Mounty peered out from the mouth of the cave, wondering if the pre-dawn sprinkle was going to let up. His mouth felt like forest floor, mossy and sour, and his legs ached and his ass hurt.

He wished he had a drink. He wished he had a gig mug of steaming black coffee. He wished a lot of things.

A big drop, condensed from a rock fragment above his head, fell and hit his nose, splashing cold rainwater in his eyes. He blinked and winced and pulled back from the cave entrance.

A little further in, sprawled on a collection of pine branches, the large form of Malcolm Dundee snored, hiccuped, burped and stirred in a loud sleep.

The Mounty looked at him bitterly and kicked the broken handcuffs lying in the dust at his feet.

"God DAMMIT," he muttered. I wish I could QUIT you!!"

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 09:51 PM

(There are some good and helpful "guidelines/suggestions" on ho the story threads have worked in the past in this thread, fwiw.)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 10:34 PM

Just before he switched off the light, Madison opened yet again the small black synthetic-leather covered booklet which had been stamped in gilt The Lives of the Stars. He had originally supposed it to be one of those supermarket checkout books with all the skinny on Brad and Angelina. Opening it, the entire book seemed to be written in a combination of Chinese characters, heiroglyphs, and algebraic equations, and a small notation on the flyleaf that said "Dear Smurch, Don't be layte to the gayte, your ffriend Belzer".
Other than that, the poor sap's shorts pockets had held only a Swiss Army knife, the key to his Nissan, and three wrapped licorice, or maybe chocolate, hard candies.
Madison stashed the booklet behind the curtain by his bed, and lay for a few minutes thinking about the whole very strange situation he had found himself in. He had a strange momentary vision of a school of fish swimming around behind the windows of the submerged Mercury Caprice, and then fell of into a sleep that was filled with floating images that eventually resolved them selves into a surreal, but vivid, dream.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 10:48 PM

Ah hell, bold didn't close after "The Lives of the Stars". Can you repair, Katlaughing? and put an "s" in "supposed"? :>)

Anything for you, my LeeJ:-)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 10:54 PM

Josey didn't learn about the shooting until she cam down to the main lodge for coffee the next morning. After telling her to keep it under her hat, Lindy-Lou had told her what happened. It scared her that she had slept through something like that--her tent wasn't but 50 yards from where the murder had occurred. It wasn't the whiskey, she'd been sober as a judge by the time she had gone off to her little tent. Maybe she should dig into her pockets and pay the difference to sleep in one of the bunk houses.

Lindy-Lou could read her thoughts, it seemed. She insisted that Josey move down and occupy the vacant bunk in the cabin where she was staying.

"Surely none of the 'catters would have done this," she mused. They could get awfully mean and rude on-line, but she had been to many a gathering, and knew that those on-line hostilities melted away when these people were together in the flesh, standing firmly on the common ground of their love of the music. It did worry her at first that she didn't see Malcolm or York anywhere, but when she asked, Lindy-Lou assured her the melodeon player was still hanging by the back of his jacket from the big pine at the edge of the clearing, his instrument carefully hung beside him, just out of his reach.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 16 Mar 07 - 11:10 AM

Red woke to the kind of crisp dawn that only exists after a good rain, and knew that today was going to be a beautiful one. Following shortly behind was the realization that bunks should be listed under 'cruel and unusual punishment' in whatever passed for the Geneva Convention these days. She ached in every joint and muscle, and wished she'd done more drinking and singing last night. A hangover would be less painful.

She gingerly got out of bed, trying not to wake her snoring bunkmates, and went outside. The pretty, floaty woman with the fiddle had mentioned a hot springs to her the day before and it sounded like a brilliant idea now. The grass outside was still wet, so she did a few sun salutations on the porch to work out the kinkies and headed towards a trail on the edge of the camp. She gave a look towards the kitchen-slash-Paradise Valley Bar and Nature Club when she heard pots clanging, but knew he wasn't going anywhere while there was breakfast to be cooked. She had time to spare.

She found the hot springs simply by following a trail of discarded clothing. Something in her would never let her 'randomly strew' anything, so she carefully folded her kit and slid into the hot water. Instant rejuvenation. There was something otherworldly about sinking beneath the mineral water and hearing it hum in your ears. She came up, took a deep breath, and then sank to the bottom of the spring. Yesterday was too weird, and too close for comfort, and as she surfaced, she had a flash of pre-dream memory. Blake Madison had some kind of book, and he was reading it before he went lights-out. Damn it.

"Shit, Madison…" she exhaled as she broke the top of the water.

"What did you just say?"

Red splashed full-circle and saw a pale man on the edge of the tree line. She slid to protective cover at the edge of the spring, grabbing for her pile of clothing and barked: "Who the f*ck are you?"

After spending the night in a cave with the Dundee of his dreams, Curtis York could care less about the naked woman in the puddle. He had spent the night listening to the unbelievable tales that the lummox had told him, and had stumbled into the day in a sort of a trance. When he'd reached the clearing and heard the red-headed woman say "Madison", the words of the stranger he met came back to him in a flood.

"Be careful with Dundee. Don't do anything until you meet a particular redhead. She'll have a password."

"What password? What redhead?"

"You'll know her by the password."

"What password, eh?"

"The password is Madison. Blake Madison."

His reverie was broken by the hiss of the rock that just winged past his ear. The woman had managed to get her shirt on, and by doing so had given herself modesty and a greater reach of projectiles. "How dare you sneak up.." the woman's rant continued. Curtis York was oblivious. He turned back towards the cave and seemed not to notice the rocks bouncing off his legs and back.

Red scrambled from the spring and wrestled wet skin into the rest of her clothes. Her hands were shaking and her heart thumped in her ears. She hated being startled, and whether he knew it or not, that skinny-pale dude had just rocketed to the top of her shit-list. She ran back to the camp and straight to the kitchen. The cook was a certified giant of a man, made only more so by comparison to the dishwasher he had in his employ. The cook stood bent over the griddle, flipping enormous buckwheat pancakes and stirring a pot of blackberry syrup, while the tiny dishwasher stood on a chair enveloped in steam, happily scrubbing away at the pots and pans she gathered from the counter.

Red leaned against the doorjamb and purred: "Y'all need any help?" The giant spun around and gave Red a bear hug, happily reciting his part of the code in his heavily accented growl: "You can take out the trash!" The dishwasher chirped: "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?" and the three dissolved into giggles. It had been far too long since they had seen one another, but that was the way of the world sometimes.

Red sat on a dishtowel on the counter so that she could get a good view of the window and the door. She listened to the cook and noted the drawings that the tiny woman made on the side of the fogged up refrigerator. Whenever anyone would come too close to earshot, Red picked up the only instrument that could survive the heat and humidity of the camp kitchen—a plastic ukulele—and started singing "Sister Kate" at the top of her lungs. The other two would follow behind, and anyone passing would be treated to three-part harmony and nothing else.

I may be late, but I'll be up to date
When I can shimmy like my sister Kate

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 16 Mar 07 - 12:03 PM

(Wow!! Brill knitting job, Jen!)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 16 Mar 07 - 10:23 PM

Blake Madison's Dream

In his dream, Blake was walking in the woods surrounding the cabin with David Crosby. Crosby was telling him how good it was to see him again, and Blake was realizing that he and Dave had been buddies for a long time, although Dave was unknown to the others in Blake's inner circle. Blake secretly hoped he would run into Red or Veronika Wheatley so he could impress them with this casual friendship with his pal Dave.

Blake and Dave paused at the scene of Smurch's shooting and Blake remarked about the seemingly random nature of it, and Dave said "like a bolt out of the blue." This struck Blake as something significant, and Crosby beamed at him and Madison realized that it wasn't Dave at all but Bob Dylan, who was also a frequent guest in Madison's dream landscapes. Yes, it was Dylan, and he was beaming, shockingly. Then Dylan said "check that out." He pointed across the lake at a silvery football-shape that was hovering low in the sky.

Dylan and Blake decided they would walk around the lake to investigate. On their way, they discovered a bumper car track hidden in the trees. Most of the folkies from the camp were already grabbing cars for the big race, and Madison said "We better hurry or we'll miss the fun." But Dylan had morphed into Argent, although he still had Dylan's voice. Argent chuckled and jumped into a purple bumper-car, and Madison looked around and finally saw a rusty gray car that looked barely operable. He saw the strange but attractive Lindy-Lou woman waving a starter's flag, and all the folkies roared off. Madison pushed the pedal, but his car wouldn't go. He then realized it had no bottom to it, and he could use his feet to propel it, Fred Flintstone style.

Madison got off the line in a cloud of dust, and with the appropriate bongo flurry and gunshot sound effects. Soon he had passed them all, and in fact couldn't see them. The track became rough, then disappeared among the vines, roots, and strange flowers of what was now an exotic and vaguely threatening rainforest. He stopped the car, and realized he was surrounded by jungle, and that the jungle was surrounded by water. Behind him, he heard the folkies singing a song together...Christ, it was There's a Meetin' Here Tonight and they sounded exactly like the Limeliters and somebody, probably Argent, was warbling just like Glen Yarborough.
Madison found a way through the jungle and the folkies had set up an uncanny facsimile of the original Hungry i there in a clearing.

Madison found a seat at a little round table, and a shapely beatnik chick in tights, sandals, a striped sweater and beret walked up with a tray and he ordered a Four Roses neat. At this everything stopped momentarily, as if everyone was in shock...then they all laughed and indicated that there was a bottle of Four Roses on every table. Blake laughed with them, and the music began again, this time cool jazz; a sax and a bass player on stage. Madison was enjoying the music when he noticed Argent having a lively conversation with another man whose back was to him. They had spilled wine all over the table cloth, and it was dripping and pooling on the floor under them. Argent picked something up off of the table...it was the little book, the Lives of the Stars. Argent opened it, then looked straight at Blake, pointing him out to the other man, who turned and stared at Madison. It was Smurch, skin ghastly white, blood running down his face from the wound in his forehead, eyes sightless. Madison stumbled up and found a door behind him, burst through it out onto a street that looked like Sunset Strip.

A taxi pulled up, the door opened, and at the wheel sat the woman, Lindy Lou, who said dramatically "room for one more." He staggered back, the cab door closed, and the taxi drove off. As Madison watched it, a hand fell on his shoulder. He knew without looking that it was the corpse of Smurch. His heart pounding, he turned to see only a shadow-shape of something with eyes that burned into his, the long fingers tightening painfully into his shoulder. It leaned close and growled "get out of this!"

That was when Madison awoke, sheets damp with perspiration, morning light streaming into the bunk room. He reached for the book on the sill behind him, and was not surprised in the least that it was gone.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 17 Mar 07 - 12:00 AM

Meanwhile back at the ranch folk house, Lindy Lou had been busy. She didn't even have to scan Josey to know she was scared, so once she got her settled, she could turn her attention to the others; she'd have to keep a close eye on her, though. She was one sweetie she meant to protect. Dang, but that Madison was some imaginative fellow. Just as well he thought it was all a dream. HQ snuck that one in under the radar, even her radar and she was pissed. It was probably that dirty rat, Fink Adye, trying to get her in trouble again. A girl like her could go clear across three galaxies, change bodies a zillion times, and lay a trail the best doghound of the Universe couldn't follow, but that Fink could still find her. And, he was too chickenshit (usefull word she'd picked up while here) to attack her directly. No, his subtlety was in the details, barely traceable and always designed to get her in trouble.

Having to implant some dream sequences wasn't hard BUT she sure didn't like interfering with folks that way. Good thing for her Madison was *open* to suggestion even though he put forth such a hard-boiled exterior, she knew he was soft-boiled inside. He'd better watch his peas and cues with that Mz. Red, too, or Lindy wasn't much of a character reader!

She sure wished they could get down to some more fiddlin'...she was dying to try some new licks she'd learned from a Jay Ungar DVD.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 17 Mar 07 - 03:10 AM

Red left the kitchen by the other doorway and was startled to see that the bartender was standing behind the bar this early in the morning. He casually took the towel from his shoulder and polished a glass. The curious look in his eyes belied the even tone of his voice when he asked her: "So, you know those two?"

She nodded cautiously and replied, "Yeah, we go way back. Actually, they were the ones who introduced me to folk music."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I can honestly say if it weren't for those two I wouldn't be where I am today. Which is here."

"Do tell." Said the bartender as he took a tall glass out of the rack and motioned Red toward a barstool. "This one's on me. What'll you have?"

"Strawberry milkshake." The bartender looked at her incredulously as she finished: "What goes better with pancakes?"

When the bartender finally placed the glass in front of her, Red took a deep breath and began her tale:

"You might not know it from the look of them, but those two are some of the finest circus performers who have ever lived." The bartender stifled a laugh as he turned to look back into the kitchen, but Red pushed on: "Ivan was the strongest man in all of Russia, and Li Su was the smallest woman in China. It was fate that they meet and fall in love. Ivan would entertain the crowds by lifting carriages and cars, and there was even an elephant he had an 'arrangement' with—if the elephant would tread gently, he could stand on Ivan's shoulders and Ivan would give him treats of peanuts and ice cream after the elephant's handler had gone to bed. At the end of the night's performance, the lights would dim and Ivan would enter the big top carrying Li Su on a pillow. He would place the pillow on a barrel in the center ring and she would unfold like a blossom and sing in the sweetest voice—it was otherworldly how her tiny body could produce a noise to fill that tent, but she did it."

"And you know this how?" asked the bartender.

"They used to be my babysitters." The bartender choked a bit and Red continued: "Yes, babysitters. Them, and a wonderful geek with Tourettes'. I learned a lot about music, Russian literature, and by the time I was potty-trained I could swear like a Teamster." The bartender continued to sputter a bit before pulling up a chair of his own. Red took it as a signal to continue, please.

"My mother was a Les Serrures—of the world famous Les Serrures Circus? Twice a day, three times on matinee days, she would be shot out of a cannon. One day, my grandfather scored a major coup and signed on a Portuguese acrobatic family, the Flying Fechamentos. My father, the youngest Fechamentos brother, saw my mother. Poof, that was it. My mother always used to say "Les Serrures means 'the locks', Os Fechamentos means 'the locks'. Our eyes locked, and c'est finis." Sappy, but true."

The bartender's brows were knit in disbelief and concentration. "So you are all still in the circus?"

Red's face darkened slightly, "No. Les Serrures is no more…. There was an 'accident' and the three of us managed to get out with our lives. They are the only real family I have left. They sent me a message to come to this camp and I couldn't resist the chance to see them again."

"Any chance they have anything to do with that body in the freezer?"

It was Red's turn to choke and she wiped a bit of errant strawberry from her chin as the bartender explained: "I keep my lime wedges in the walk-in. I went in for the garnish and came out for the garish, if you know what I mean. I still haven't gone back in there."

"Well, I don't think you should tell anyone about him just yet. No sense turning the entire camp upside down, and possibly tipping our hand to a murderer. Just ask Ivan if you need more fruit. I need to go spread the word about breakfast." She stood to go find Madison and tell him that the quiet of camp was quickly unraveling.

The bartender nodded carefully before asking: "Circus, huh?"

Red smiled gently as she reached across the bar for a plastic cup full of butter knives. She palmed them gently for a second and then rapid-fired them one by one into the wall between the "Ladies" and "Gents". A perfectly symmetrical heart appeared in a silver flash. When the slack-jawed bartender turned back to her, she did a graceful back hand-spring and said "Ta-Da! Now, don't forget to save me some of those pancakes." And with that she was gone.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 17 Mar 07 - 03:14 PM

(Butter Knives!!!?? Oh great day in the morning!! ROFLMAO!)


A

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 07 - 12:02 PM

The stranger was rustling up breakfast on his hill-top site as the sun rose. Bannock was highly interested, because the frying pan smelled like bacon. Argent whipped up some eggs in a cup and scrambled them in. When they reached the right texture, he dished them out onto two paper plates. He picked up one of the bacons trips drying on paper towels and sprinkled it in crumbs over one of the plates and slid it over to the dog. Bannock ate in an ecstatic trance, while the stranger sipped black coffee from a huge tin mug and ate his portion, a bit more neatly. He had just leaned back in satisfaction, his plate scraped clean, and lit a small cheroot, when his morning sunlight was interrupted by a shadow. He opened his eyes and squinted up at the towering figure of Man-Mountain Dundee, garbed in tattered blue coveralls and looking quite unkempt. His chinhairs sprouted wildly in all directions. His head aire, only slightly less abundant, did also. His armpits sought in vain to match the abandon of his chin and head.

"Mister Dundee, I presume," Argent said in a cautiously friendly tone. "To what do I owe the honor.".

"I found something I think might be important." Dundee replied simply. "SOmehow I get the idea youse should have it."

A giant paw came swinging toward Argent like an Airbus. It held a small rectangular slab of stone. About four inches wide and two thick, maybe six inches long, Argent thought, as he reached out to accept the offer.

"What is it?", Argent asked.

"I dunno. I get...you know... impressions, like. Like voices, only in pictures. I get 'em whether I want 'em or not. When I found this thing in a cave over there it felt, I dunno...important like. And I got the impression you'd know what to do wid it. 'S all I know, okay?"

"OK. Thanks for thinking of me." The man-mountain turned and lumbered down toward the edge of the woods, ignoring him.

He looked at the slab. It weighed about two pounds, he thought. The back was a greenish dark glaze, or polished by wear, with a quiet glistening backlilght to it. Jade? He couldn't quite place it.

He turned it over, and nearly dropped it. He leaned over and traced the hieroglyphic figures with his finger. Three hours later, he was still there, his brow wrinkled in thought, the coffee mug empty, lightly tracing the intricate inscriptions.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 07 - 02:47 PM

...

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 07 - 09:34 PM

----

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 07 - 11:57 PM

sigh...

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 21 Mar 07 - 03:30 PM

AHEM!!!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 21 Mar 07 - 08:28 PM

Sorry. Been too busy to crank Madison up again. Maybe tomorrow...

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 02 Apr 07 - 05:29 PM

Pere Les Serrures shivered a bit uncontrollably as he looked out from the balcony to the Pacific. The breeze coming in off of the ocean always chilled him. His frail shoulders were wrapped in a woolen shawl and the oxygen tank he had been tethered to so long ago hissed ceaselessly at his side. If he had the strength, say, of his current wife, he would have thrown the canister into the sea long ago. As it was now, he could barely lift his own arms, but the hiss never faded into white noise for him. It was a constant reminder, like the hiss of the disappointed crowd, or of the gas chambers that he narrowly avoided by making his deals with the devils. Every night it had been the same. His sturdy Peruvian nurse-wife would shuffle around the house on her fat little legs, and he would sit on the balcony looking for the green flash in the sky and thinking of days gone by.

In the days since he had received the phone call from Joam alerting him to the business in America, and his granddaughter's involvement in it, he had become increasingly agitated. He sat out at night, scanning the skies, and shouting out to 'La Bera' for water. He often thought that the stumpy thing had a kind heart, but the typical temper that one finds in browner people. She might sweetly bring him a glass, or she might turn a hose on him in a screaming rage. At this point he was beyond caring.

He heard the pots in the kitchen clatter, which only meant that the woman must be soaking the ever-present beans for the following day. He softly sighed and closed his eyes, desperately trying to remember the face of his beloved first wife, but only came up with the icy eyes of his long-dead daughter.

Peyrrine. When she had been little, she had been his GiGi, but in the times his memory could recall now, she was simply Peyrrine. Tall, slim, and with the detachment of personality that often frightened him despite his previous dealings with undesirable types on every continent. This girl who grew into such a woman. He remembered hearing her snap her collarbone. The cannon fired and her shoulder caught the lip as she flew from it. The noise, paired with the smell of the flash powder sickened him even in memory, but nothing scared him so badly as seeing her defiant face as she rolled out of the catch-net and back to earth.

He thought she had been joking when she said she had fallen in love with the tumbler. All of the boys looked the same to him, it was really only their father that he ever had any business with, but he knew better than to defy his daughter. When she had announced her pregnancy and he forbade her going anywhere near the cannon, she simply laughed. He wondered if his granddaughter knew how much time she spent air-borne before her mother's belly grew too big to fit in the barrel.

His business partners also took notice of the new additions to the family. The addition of the Portuguese family had made the circus profitable in more ways than one. The letters arrived in the dark of night, whoever delivered them didn't even startle the animals in their cages. There was simply one line of neat handwriting, detailing the object to be taken, and nothing more. The details were left to himself and Fechamento. For years the arrangement worked well. The circus prospered while others around it caved to popular culture. They stole enough to keep themselves afloat. That was until Fechamento started dropping hints about their shared granddaughter.

Les Serrures' memory may have been fading, but that day stood out clear in his memory. The two men sitting in the shade of the car, watching the young girl go to her studies. The big Russian and the little Chinese woman had proved excellent nursemaids from the moment that Peyrrine had decided that motherhood wasn't as glamorous as the big-top, and the unlikely pair schooled the girl as much as possible given their nomadic lifestyle. It was that sunny day, when Ivan was feeding the elephants, that their granddaughter needed a quiet place to study. They watched as Ivan grinned and she stepped into his enormous hand, one push and she had vaulted to the top of the elephant's broad back, and nimbly turned around to catch Li Su, who was tossed up quickly after.

Fechamento grunted in surprise, but Les Serrures had shot him a look that ended all thought of discussion. His granddaughter was not going to be involved in their business. No matter if the gigantic Russian could break into or out of anything with brute strength, no matter if the Chinawoman could squeeze between bars and slip into pipes, no matter if their granddaughter had inherited both her father's agility and her mother's sense of cool calculation. He'd see them all dead before it happened.

But it had happened. And now he sat, a useless husk of a man, waiting for the flash in the sky that would mean everything in his life to this point was for a purpose.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 05:24 PM

He couldn't get over how familiar the engraved glyphs on the deep green rock looked to him. Bannock got restless and wandered in circles, smelling ants, and the sun climbed and declined. Finally he looked up, and frowned quizzically, struck by a new thought. He reached into the back of his truck for a vial, and placing it in his pocket, strolled down the hill to the back door of the kitchen He wandered through the door aimlessly, trying to look like a folkie in quest of a cup of coffee, but as it turned out his ruse was unneeded. The kitchen was finished with lunch and not yet busy with dinner preps, and neiother the giant Russian nor the Chinese girl were in evidence. He walked to the huge stainless fridge door, where he had glimpsed an intense conversation going on between Red and the cook crew the evening before, and took the vial out of his pocket. He sprayed the surface of the stainless steel door, and watched, astonished. The ultrafine powder settled where fingers had drawn figures and forms, and outlined the prints around the door handle, the palm-lines along the edge where it was usually pushed to close it, and across the wide center, an array of crudely drawn geometric forms.   There were five of them, in random alignment, and all five were perfect duplicates of some of the forms carved into the rock he had been given by Dundee.

Argent reached into a bluejean pocket and took out his microcell, balanced it between thumb and forefinger, and snapped three pictures of the forms on the refrigerator door. He grabbed a paper towel, and wiped the telltale powder off the fridge, jammed it into his pocket, and headed back up toward his Land Rover.

Uncurling from a dark corner on the far side of the kitchen, the tiny Chinese woman walked softly to the door and watched him climb the hill, watching and frowning unhappily until he disappeared from sight.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 06:48 PM

Although he'd never admit it out loud, Agent Rex Edgewater was continually surprised at what the government chose to hide from its ordinary citizens.

When he had been recruited for special cases early in his career, his roommate had celebrated by renting every X-Files DVD he could get his hands on and subsequently quizzing Rex on the details of alien life forms and all sorts of "The Truth is Out There" nonsense. Rex had played along good-naturedly, knowing full well he'd never come across anything worth writing FOX about. He did the job, and he kept his mouth shut. That was what the agency prized above all things.

That, and Rex's uncanny ability to connect the dots.

As he sat that night in his dark office, surrounded by teetering files that dated back well before World War II, dots began to form before his eyes. Unbelievable dots that made him doubt the sanity of his employer. A circus as the foremost training ground for the greatest spies of the 20th century? Where was the logic?

The data had been collected over the years in great detail. The old Frenchman worked both sides of the line for a while during the war, making deals with both the Germans and Russians to save his own hide, but in doing so found he had great aptitude. This scared Rex Edgewater to his very soul. How many demons in this world were presented with something so heinous only to find they were good at it, good enough to perfect it to art? Whatever number that was, add one more.

The Frenchman teamed up after the war with a Portuguese family with mafia ties and had been tailed and photographed stealing everything from state secrets to bio-weapons, jewelry to statuary, and in one strange case--a prized orchid. They were unstoppable and apparently had no conscience. After reading notes of suspected jewel thievery and the supposed case of the lion-tamer's filling the carcasses of dead rabbits with the jewels and feeding them to his charges to pass (haha) through customs, Rex stopped reading and put his hands to his eyes. He needed a drink, badly.

As he stood to grab his coat, he knocked over a pile of files and sent them sliding across his desk. A photograph skittered out of the top file and Rex caught it before it flew to the floor. The picture was grainy, and taken from some distance, but showed a little girl of four or five, walking hand in hand with a man that Rex knew to be Ivan Turgenev. The bloodthirsty bastard was probably taking the little girl off to throw her in a pot of stew. When Rex went to put the photo back into the file he saw another photo, this time in much better resolution, of the girl. She was probably ten now, grinning like a goon and hanging upside down from the bars of the tiger cage. The tiger looked nonplussed, the girl ecstatic.

Rex chuckled at the sight and unconsciously sat back in his chair, his drink momentarily forgotten while the life of the Frenchman's granddaughter unfolded in front of him. The great cities of Europe seemed to be the Circus' playground. The photos and documents showed her sightseeing --and probably planning out escape routes-- with Ivan Turgenev, Li Su, and a man that Rex determined to be her uncles; Joam, Lupo, and Nuno Fechamento. There was also a great deal of documentation about a tussle between a Canadian, Malcolm Dundee, and the family. Rex shuddered to think he might have to work with the RCMP on this one. It was never as much fun as one might imagine.

The last, and most recent photograph was the one that burned itself into Agent Edgewater's brain. It was taken in the woods just outside a known nudist camp and folkie watering hole and showed her running through the trees. She had headphones on and was sweat-soaked. Concentration shaded her eyes and Agent Edgewater found her beautiful. He brought himself to heel by remembering that it must have been taken just before Agent Scrump was killed.

The investigation was his now. He stood quickly and began to gather everything he thought he might need. He would take the first flight west and try to reach the camp before dawn.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 07:23 PM

(YES!! Thanks , you two! I'll try to come in later this week!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 07:33 PM

"Sweetie, I'm going to beam you some images. They're not good but I need to know what they represent -- they are symbols of some kind, ya know? Icons, or glyphs or Sanskrit doodles. Hell, I dunno what they are, but they might be important, and they have something to do with that buncha ex-circus players Wallace was asking abut. Can you get him to mainline it to IT and get their visual form algorithm cooking on it? I just know there's some meat behind these potatoes. "

He stood leaning against the Rover, comfortable in the afternoon sun, and listened to Theresa. He could tell she was on edge about this piece of work, but she was biting her lip and coming through like a trouper. He reflected for the ten tousandth time how fine and fortunate it was to have a woman like that in his life.

"Tell him he does it or I come home empty handed and the place is wide open to the depredations of Edgewater, Scrump and, oh, yeah, Blake Madison, the private dick. He want that? Twist his gonads a little, honey. He'll see the light."

She said something terse which made him laugh warmly.

"Ya know who loves ya, Terry? Me. Talk to ya soon, darlin' and thanks for being you."

He set the microcell to transmit the digital files showing the telltale lines on the fridge. Then he whistled up Bannock, who was tired of chasing worms and looking around for something intertesting to do, and unpacked his Dreadnought, and strolled down to the rustic ranchouse where the strains of a fun time were floating up through the afternoon air.

Bile them cabbage down!
Bile them cabbage down!
Only song I know to sing
Is bile them cabbage down...

Bannock loped cheerily down the hill behind, ahead of, through and around him, as the music grew louder.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 10:31 PM

Red grudgingly gave up her search for Blake Madison and edged her way into a singing circle that appeared to be having a helluva time. A reed-thin woman was singing a song about a bird-of-paradise tattoo. As Red sat down and joined in the chorus, she rolled over questions in her mind. Where had Madison gotten off to? And better yet where was that book he was bogarting? She felt lucky that no one had figured out about Scrump yet, but that was only a matter of time. When that inevitably happened, how was she going to protect herself? She was pretty sure that Ivan wasn't responsible. The guy was shot-- not crunched and folded in half in a footlocker at the bottom of the lake. And Scrump had been shot, not poisoned, so that probably let Li Su off the hook. Then again, after their spotty history, she wouldn't put anything past them.

Suddenly, the man beside her with the wild beard and wilder eyes burst into song. He sang about Lydia the tattooed lady, and Red began to notice a theme. She also noticed that the gentleman in question felt the need to do an interpretive dance to accompany his singing. Naked as the day he was born and a damn sight hairier--Red shuddered and looked away just in time to see Li Su standing in the door of the kitchen. She was watching a man go up the hill and shaking her head. The guy walking up the hill didn't look like the guy who had interrupted her in the hot springs…. He looked like Argent. Great. Another bozo to keep tabs on.

When the dancing man finally crescendoed and the admiral had married Lydia, Red took a deep breath and began:
Rapid Roy that stock car boy
He's too much to believe
You know he's always got an extra pack of cigarettes
Rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve
He got a tattoo on his arm that say "Baby"
He got another one that just say "Hey"…..



Miles above and beyond this scene, Agent Rex Edgewater took a cd from his bag and slid it into his laptop. He chose a particular interrogation from the menu and put his headphones on. He had handsomely caught the attentions of a stewardess when he boarded the plane, and she had spent the past half-hour trying to get him to notice her, but he was deep in concentration and thinking about Red. The laptop screen showed a dismal brick interrogation room. At one end of the table was Scrump. At the other end was Red. Just when Edgewater thought the two couldn't be any more different, Scrump would get more agitated and Red would get more relaxed. It would have been comical if there hadn't been millions of dollars and several lives at stake.

"Miss Locks, you have been advised of your rights?"

"Yes. And my lefts are feeling lonely."

"Miss Locks, you are aware that you have been connected to both the Les Serrures ring and the Fechamento crime family?"

"Merely an accident of birth. Anyone with a crackerjack badge could have figured that out. Do you have a crackerjack badge, agent?"

Scrump grimaced and began laying out evidence on the table. If any of it was new to Red, she didn't show it. He grilled her about her bank accounts, and she waved it off as a family trust. Surely the Fechamento family lawyers had given him the papers? Scrump questioned her about the accident at the grounds that killed so many of the staff. Red reminded him of Blake Madison's testimony at the grand jury trial that had exonerated her on all counts. Red smiled placidly and Scrump continued his barrage of questions. She had him outclassed by a country mile and he knew it. By the time the family lawyers arrived, Scrump was pit-stained and furious. Red was immediately released and had the audacity to shake Scrump's hand on her way out the door.

Amazing, Rex thought as he turned off the screen. If he could put her away for Scrump's death, he'd be a hero. If it turned out that she was actually innocent, he just might ask her out for a drink.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 10:47 PM

(Whooooee!! Damn shame Jen has to go on vacation right at this critical passage. But hell, they're all critical...)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 03 Apr 07 - 11:39 PM

Rollin in my sweet baby's arms
Madison was lying in the canoe, his head propped on a life preserver, singing along with the Leon Russell tune being pumped from his Ipod. Occasionally he would take a long pull on the quart of Four Roses and tug the fishing line that ran just under his big toe. A little action always seemed to tantalize the small mouth bass, or so he believed. Despite the tugging he hadn't had so much as a bite all morning, and now the sun was high in the sky.
where was you last Saturday Night? he sang in an oblivious off key fashion, the discreet Sony headphones preventing any sound from his mouth reaching his ears.
The song ended and Blake scrolled through the song selections, finally deciding on Lay around the Shanty and Put a Good Buzz On. This reminded him that he had hidden a doobie in the secret pocket of his wallet, and as he sang along, he rooted through the pockets of the slacks he had shed an hour ago until he found the stash. He lit the spliftie, exhaled deeply, and his shouted "wooo HOOO!" echoed across the lake. He had finally managed to put the entire puzzling affair of Smurch's murder out of his head. "These things have a way of working themselves out," he thought, his mouth unconsciously yammering the thought out loud. He tipped up the whiskey, and suddenly felt a ferocious yank on the fishing line. With a Hot damn! he jerked the pole to set the hook, felt the line running out against the drag as the fish dove deep. He stuck the joint between his lips and stood up for leverage, peering over the side. "Ah crap," he said. He was hung up. On the topmost branch of a 230 foot high Ponderosa Pine.
As the line strained, then snapped, Madison looked up to see the bay doors of a huge hovering craft sliding open to admit him and his canoe. Mouth agape, he pinched the ash on the doobie and flicked it into the bottom of the boat as John Prine sang into his ears you may see me tonight with an illegal smile, it don't cost very much, but it lasts a long while.
The doors latched shut under him, and the canoe settled onto them with a metallic creak. It was dark, dark and cool inside. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed several shadowy figures moving in his peripheral vision, and strangely luminous orbs...eyes. Blake realized he was holding the fishing pole like a baseball bat poised over his shoulder, and reckoned the aliens in the craft might see that as a threatening gesture, so he slowly placed it in the bottom of the boat. Taking the lid off of the Four Roses, he offered it with a grin to the shadow-watchers. "No? Well...hope you don't mind if I have a quick snoot." He gurgled down some bourbon, held up his forefinger and said "OK, now listen. I don't know what you guys have in mind, but no messing around with my belly-button...and anal probes are strictly out of the question!"
No sooner had Madison spoken these words than the shadows rushed in on him, he felt a tremendous throbbing sensation in his temples, and lost consciousness.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Janie
Date: 04 Apr 07 - 12:57 AM

"Hell's Bell's," thought Josie.

It didn't matter if it was 3, 5 or 10 years between the times she bumped into the big Irishman. It always turned into trouble.

She'd been infatuated with him for 25 years, very much against her better judgement. She'd known him for a rogue the first time she laid eyes on him. Knew she had been just one notch above a one night stand at that first gathering, and had never made that same mistake with him again. They kept in casual touch on the 'Cat, bantering on threads and occasionally pm'ing each other, maintaining that oddly intimate relationship that you do sometimes with folks on-line. At the gatherings, he flirted with her just enough to keep her alert to his whereabouts, just enough so that she couldn't quite drop him from the radar. She played the role of girl pal. Actually, she preferred it that way. And truth to tell, they really did have fun.

But there was always trouble. And she was always rescuing him--at least by her lights. Once in a blue moon, he'd stop by on his way through Dayton, or she'd stop by on her way over to Norfolk, on the Virginia coast, and one of them would play hookey from work, and pal around for the day. But there had that once, what was it, maybe 8 years ago when he had showed up on her doorstep, unannounced, needing a place to hide. It was then he had told her about the circus--probably wouldn't have if he hadn't been drunk-and brought up some pictures on the internet for her to see. She'd taken it all with a grain of salt at the time, and hadn't given it another thougt since then.

But she remembered the faces of the two-maybe because they were so different from one another, and when she saw them step out the back door of the kitchen, she suddenly knew he had been deadly serious.

She had find and warn him.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 12:20 PM

Agent Rex Edgewater found the rest of his flight uneventful. He had gathered his bags at the airport and taken a taxi to a crummy motel on the highway. Therein he quickly showered and changed from his suit to a pair of faded jeans and a Colin Spring t-shirt that his last girlfriend had left in his apartment. He tousled his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. Scruffination appeared complete. Hopefully the folkies were too drunk or stoned to pay him much attention.

On his way out the door, Agent Edgewater pocketed his room key, his cell phone, and a handkerchief-wrapped bundle. Inside was his secret pride and joy Hohner Chrominica. The guys in the office would piss themselves laughing to know it, but Rex had loved the 'harps ever since he was 10 and his uncle had pressed one into his hand as he was rushed off to summer camp. Occasionally he would spend sunny weekend days noodling in the park. When passers-by threw him a buck, he'd take himself out for coffee. Such was the life of a secret agent.

He thumbed a ride from the highway and when the kindly strangers dropped him off at the end of a soggy rut-laden road to nowhere, he thanked them and started walking. The storms had passed and it was a sunny day, so he stuck to the quickly-drying median and made good time. He heard the water before he saw it, and reached the swollen creek well before noon. Lucky for him, but unluckily for some poor bastard, there was an enormous car parked and half-submerged in the creek. He scrambled a bit, then took a running jump to land on the expanse of trunk. He walked across the sturdy but groaning roof, and jumped too the hood. One wildly flailing jump later, he was in.

The camp was a hum of song and of lazy activity. A dog sauntered up from a nearby campsite to greet him. Rex squatted down and ruffed the dog's neck in greeting, but warily looked around the meadow. A few clumped cabins, a big main building, and a smattering of tents and outdoor showers hung from the trees. Shouldn't take to long to acquaint himself with the new territory.

He heard the dog's owner call from the camp trailer. A tallish man in a bush hat waved him over to follow the dog.
"I apologize," said the dog's owner. "He feels the need to make a nuisance of himself on a regular basis."

"No problem," replied Rex. "I like dogs. What's his name?"

"Bannock. And yours?"

"Oh, sorry. Rex." With this Rex stuck out his hand and shook the man's hand.

"Well, welcome, Rex. You are just in time for some grub." The man nodded toward the main building to where a line was forming. He got a whiff of something warm and spicy, enchiladas maybe, and then saw Red trotting towards the line. Definitely a hot tamale. "Go ahead," the man said. "I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Rex walked as fast as he could and managed to stumble and cut his way into the line right behind Red. She was talking to the man in front of her.
"You haven't seen Madison?" she asked.

"Naw. Not since I crawled into the cabin the other night. Maybe he just got lucky? Chicks dig the rumpled look."

Red chuckled and replied, "We do, do we?" She sobered a bit and continued: "Well, I hope you are right. Some people's friends, huh?

The big man grinned at Red and said, "You know…. Once upon a time, an anthropologist was cataloging South American folk remedies. A tribal medicine man told him that fronds of a certain fern are a sure cure for constipation. When the anthropologist expressed doubts, the shaman looked him in the eye and said, "With fronds like these, who needs enemas." Goes to show you just can't tell."

Red threw back her head and laughed. "You heard about the Tells, didn't you?" she replied. "Evidence has been found that William Tell and family were avid bowlers. However, all the league records were destroyed in a fire, so we'll never know for whom the Tells bowled."

Red and the big man dissolved into chuckles. The man saw Rex looking at them and said "This one doesn't miss a beat."

Rex seized the opportunity and said to the man: "You know, back in the 1800's, the Tate Watch Co. of Massachusetts wanted to start producing other products. They chose to make compasses for the pioneers traveling west. Their watches had been excellent, but the compasses were so unreliable that people often ended up in Mexico or Canada. Thus the expression, "He who has a Tate's is lost."

Red turned around to face him slack-jawed then erupted into giggles. She linked arms with the both of them and said: "I don't even care what's for lunch anymore, you two just need to sit by me."

At that moment, Rex knew he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 01:01 PM

After an extended visit to the facilities, Lindy Loo walked back into the main cabin where folks were lining up for the midday meal. She quickly scanned the room, saw Mz. Red with the big fellah and some new guy. Her antennae almost went up with surprise, but she managed to keep them down and covered. Tuning into her Inner Module ScapeScope & Missive Receptacle Tablet or IMSSMRT, she uploaded his photo and read the Identifier. Hmmm...an Operative. Well, there's another one she'd have to keep her eyes on. She wondered, idly, why he hadn't dropped the clothing as everyone else in the room had done, including her. Thankfully, after eons of working at it, the Intergalatic Morphing Lab had got it right so she looked just like a real human, breasts and all. She actually was beginning to identify with her "body". In an aside, she mentally posted a note on her IMSSMRT to perform a routine detachment scan on herself as soon as she had a few free moments. It wouldn't do if she became so enamoured with her human self and the 'Catters that she actually wanted to become one and stay there forever!

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 04:34 PM

Argent watched solemnly from the doorway as "Rex" hopped around and got into line behind Red and started a conversation with her. He whistled for Bannock and headed up the hill to his Land Rover, figuring the dog would want some food and water, and not feeling especially hungry himself. As he approached the camp site, he felt a chill down his neck as though a Newfoundland fog had suddenly nestled under his hairline, and a faint whistling in the distance, a low, distinct soughing sound, too clean and regular to be wind, caught his ear.

He turned and looked around. Beyond the rocks on thehillside, out over the lake, a silver blur was rising out of the noon-day glare, shimmering and whistling in a quiet, shrill tone. He blinked, and stared. For an instant he thought he'd seen a canoe flying throguh the air, but the image vanished in the blur of silver, a blob of spatial glitter and distortion that quickly ascended high above the treelines and with a blink of silver light, took on the form of a grayish-white cumulus cloud, except that it seemed to keep a subtle cirrostratus hazy glow around it.

As he watched the cloud settled and hung, not moving. The dozen other clouds, wooly cumulii, were strolling slowly across the azure sky following a light low-altitude breeze. This one just hung there.

Argent scratched his head, and put some food out for Bannock. He checked the cloud every few minutes, but it hadn't moved.

He rummaged around in the back of the Land Rover and pulled out an old Pentax, a telescopic lens and abox of light filtering lenses.

He stood there, leaning against the bonnet of the old truck, for over an hour, focusing, switching lenses, and clicking the shutter. Bannock, fat with lunch, curled up in the shade under the truck and snoozed patiently, with one ear cocked, in case he was needed.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 06:00 PM

Li Su washed the lunch dishes as quickly as possible. She had seen the Dropa in the sky and saw Argent taking the lenses from his truck. She knew also that the man named Dundee had given Argent the jade slab that he had stolen from her. Only she knew their real power, and that was that the rock was an updated version of the disks left at Baian-Kara-Ula. When the Dropa had first visited her people generations ago, they found that the jade was a much better conductor for their musings and left the disks in favor of the new material. Now, their many secrets may be discovered, and Li Su didn't like the thought of that one bit.

Ivan, on the other hand, was lost in the thoughts of earthlings. He began serving the lunch meal while singing Red Elvises pop songs at the top of his very large lungs. He had seen them at a boardwalk concert once in Santa Clara and had since committed every song to memory.
One Monday morning, sitting at the bar
I saw a girl who looked like movie star
I took a seat and give her wink
Hey honey-pie, can I get you drink?
She looked at me and I read her lips
A keg of beer and potato chips
However, it only took a moment for his mood to sour. He saw Red enter the line and he also saw the man who entered the line behind her. His brow furrowed and he watched the young man clumsily flirt with Red. He felt his blood burn when Red flirted back. When she reached the head of the line and reached for a plate, Ivan shot her a look of disgust. She looked back blankly and continued on to one of the picnic tables with the two men. Ivan smoldered as he finished dishing up the heaping plates of food. She was just like her mother that way. You push, she pulls, you say be careful, she smiles at strangers. He had had enough and when he had served the food and slid the final pan to Li Su at the sink, he took off his apron and left the kitchen.

Rex sat at a sunny picnic table, across from Murray and beside Red. The big man talked and told stories, but Rex didn't hear a thing. He had to keep reminding himself that Red might be the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on, yes, but she also might be the cold-blooded murderer of a special agent.

As they sat there, two little girls ran up to the table and began to tug at Red saying "you said last night that you'd show us.." Red smiled at the girls and she began to softly juggle two oranges and an apple that were in a bowl on the table. The little girls laughed and tried to mimic her with no success. At this, Murray boomed: "Damn, girl. You ever think about giving up this glorious life of folk music and joining the circus?" Murray excused himself from the table, laughing at his own joke.

Red quickly caught the fruit, gave it to the girls and haltingly told them to run off and go practice. She then turned around and slowly began to finish her lunch. Rex noticed the change like a cloud had gone over the sun and said: "Aw, c'mon. You like the circus. Everybody likes the circus."

Red laughed a humorless laugh and leaned towards Rex. All he felt was the warmth of her shoulder against his arm and his heart skipped a beat. Red said softly: "What if I told you that I ran away from the circus to join the real world?"

The cloud that had gone over Rex's sun was in fact, Ivan Turgenev. He walked up behind the pair as Red leaned into the young man. As she backed away, Ivan spoke softly but forcefully: "Lida, I need to talk to you."

Rex watched as the two walked a short distance away. He recognized Turgenev immediately and his previously fluttering heart fell straight into his shoes. He couldn't hear what they were saying because at a few tables over, a kazoo chorus appeared to be warming up with Stevie Wonder's "You Can Feel It All Over".   He saw that Turgenev shook his finger at Red and pointed towards the kitchen. She paled and looked to be offering up apologies or excuses, he couldn't tell. All at once, Turgenev let out a growl and spun back towards the kitchen. Red returned to the table and hastily grabbed her plate and cup.

"What's the matter?" asked Rex.

"Nothing. I just have to move a dead body." she muttered half-jokingly, hoping that false truths would get her off the hook with this guy.

"Oh." replied Rex, picking up his dishes also. "I'll help."

Red could no nothing but stand there in astonishment as Rex took the dishes from her hands and whistled along with the kazoo players as he walked towards the kitchen.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 08:01 PM

She had come back from CostCo with the BMW station wagon loaded with supplies, enough for a month if Argent didn't come back. She had just closed the frige door on the last of the fresh celery when the chime -- three tones in fourths -- sounded from the polished oak box in the library. She frowned and loped into the study to answer the silvery handpiece.

"Terry, it's Wallace. Where the hell did you get those 'glyphs you sent in? "
"Wallace, I told you where I got them. Jade tablet, remember? Frank? Treehuggers? Dead folkie? C'mon!!"

"It's just a bit incredible Terry. No folkie I ever met would have had any means of acquiring those traces."

"Why? What are they?"

"Does the name Baian-Kara-Ula mean anything to you?"

"No. It sounds like some piss-poor charcter from STartrek NG."

"Well I would have thought so too, until the IT crew came back from that wild chase you sent them on...or Frank did. Let me tell ya..."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 10 Apr 07 - 08:31 PM

"These stone disks were found in a series of geometrically formed caves in the Tibetan borderlands...they have spiral grooves, and the grooves are composed of tiny hieroglyphics. The disks are some kind of ceramic, with traces of cobalt bonded to tritium. You know where tritium comes from, Terry?"

"Nuclear fusion, Wallace. Don't play with me."

"That's right, Terry. But no-one on this planet knows how to bond it to cobalt in a lattice structure. The goddamn disks are nearly indestructible, and they are electronically charged in some mysterious way that resonates when you stimulate the disk with the right frequency. Don't ask me. Anyway, the only trace of these 'glyphs is from these disks, and the only known trace of these disks was from the Peking Museum of Pre-Histpory, back in the 1930s."

"Well, so what? What do the hieroglyphs mean?"

"I'm not finished. The scientists date these damn disks -- there were over 100 of them originally -- to about 216,000 years ago. They're associated with a race of very short people, about three feet tall with large braincases fore their height, who were found in that region."

"Wallace, you're talking nonsense. 216,000 years ago, nobody was writing things down on stone disks."

"I hear ya, but that what the carbon says. And that's what the legends about the Drxopas people's origins says, except they make it a bit more."

"What? Well, where were these origins?"

"Somewhere the other side of Sirius."

Theresa Argent, for the first time in he rlife, was out of words.

"Oh, and Terry? One other thing...you know anyone about three feet tall with an Eastern descent? I do. That gal from the circus. Tell Frank we'll get him the translations as soon as we can get someone to figgure the damn alphabet out...gotta run..."

She sat there ignoring the handpiece. staring at the paneling and the bookshelves, until the rage and tears subsided. Then she went to the wall, raised an oak panel, and poured herself a double of MacAulay single malt.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 11 Apr 07 - 04:16 AM

Blake Madison awoke from a deep dreamless sleep with a powerful urge to visit the gentleman's room. As he sat up on what was apparently a plastic tanning bed, he banged his forehead sharply on a clear plastic cover that encapsulated it. "What the f...!" Madison said. He glanced around and his first impression was that he had just caught 40 winks at Tomorrowland in the entry lobby for Space Mountain. And he was the only one at Space Mountain. Except for a dim figure across the cavernous, dimly luminescent room. This figure lay in a similar tanning bed to his.

Madison banged on the plastic coccoon. "Hey! Gotta pee! Somebody!" There was no answer. Near the other tanning bed lay a long silver shape. It looked like a canoe. "Sheee-it", whispered Madison. The whole memory of the alien abduction struck him like a rabbit punch. He glanced down, noticed he was clad only in his Fruit-of-the-Looms. "Shee-it," he said again. He took a quick inventory of body parts, and everything seemed to check out ok. Then, as his fingers passed across his face, he felt an odd sensation...yes, a patch the size of a tennis ball had been shaved out of the mop of hair on his forehead. He tenderly touched the flesh there, felt no pain, no horrific scar or stitching. "God I need a drink," he said aloud.
It was then that a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

The lid of the other coccoon was slowly lifting. A dark figure sat up, and rose from its bed. With a strange, stiff, and stumbling gait, this figure made its way to the canoe, removed something from inside. Then it stood erect, turning slowly toward him, peering at him from across the vast space. It paused momentarily, then shambled in his direction. Madison pushed with all his strength on the lid. It wouldn't budge. The shambling figure drew nearer, something about the square jaw, touseled hair and flattened nose made him catch his breath. The figure came to a stop, 3 feet from him. Then it slowly raised a bottle of Four Roses and took a long slow tug. Madison stared at a slightly less good-looking replica of himself, and the figure stared back, opened its mouth, and spoke.
"Sheee-it," it said.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 12 Apr 07 - 07:47 PM

While Blake Madison was trying to come to grips with staring into his own--albeit cloned—eyes, somewhat closer to camp Curtis York was huddled in a cave entrance staring at the sky. There was no way possible that the stories Dundee had told him about the little Chinese woman being descended from a race of space creatures were true, but when he showed him the jade tablet that Dundee had stolen from her while he was mucking cages in circus employ? Well it was slightly less incredulous. And when he heard the woman in the hot springs speak the name Madison, just as Argent said she would? It short-circuited what was left of his grip on reality and left him staring up towards the sky in wonderment.

The whole thing could be filed under un-fecking-believable as far as he was concerned. In his few short months of working with the circus, Dundee had managed to gather scraps of stories that when put together would make Spielberg salivate into his socks. The circus as a cultivating ground for some of the world's most successful spies and cat burglars—well, that was a lead that two generations of intelligence operatives would spend their lives trying to prove—but the fact that Les Serrures had in fact harbored extraterrestrial life in his circus in exchange for eternal life? And the fact that he kept it from the Portuguese mafia for as long as he had? It was nothing short of miraculous.

Curtis York needed some time to come to grips, but it didn't look like he was going to get it. He heard people walking up the trail and talking. It looked like he was going to get some visitors.




Red Locks gathered herself in a self-hug and tried to rub her arms and calm herself before Rex got back from the garbage cans. She had jokingly referred to the corpse in the freezer, but hadn't expected the new guy to take her up on it. This was turning out to be a really shitty day.

When he returned and looked at her expectantly, Red panicked again. "Listen, you know that guy I was talking about earlier? I really need to find him. Maybe later we can.."

But Rex Edgewater cut her off by simply putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes: "Hey," he said "Whatever that big guy was yelling about, it's cool. I can give you a hand."

Red's subconscious grasped onto Rex's and mimicked his slow deep breathing, and for a moment she actually felt like they could sort this crazy mess out.



Nearly an hour later, sitting on a bunk across from Red in the dormer of the cabin, Rex Edgewater felt glad he was sitting down. Red still had no clue who he really was, or why he was here, but she told him just enough that he was pretty sure he could get a new office in headquarters—one with a window—if there was even a fraction of truth to it. Her old friends, the Russian and the Chinese woman had invited her here for a family reunion of sorts. She had no idea that Madison was coming, apparently he'd been hired by a jealous wife to spy on a wayward husband, but in the process a man had been killed and she felt Blake may have an idea of motive/murderer. They had stowed the stiff in the freezer, and now the Russian was having fits because if the cops were to connect him with the killing, he'd be in deep doo-doo. She didn't want to move the body without getting the go-ahead from Madison, just to avoid messing up any evidence, but now Madison had disappeared. The last place she'd seen him was in this cabin, but there was no sign that he'd been here or had ever returned.

He could see that Red was getting frustrated, and to this point he had gracefully avoided all talk about his employment with the government. Even though he knew the answers to many of his own questions, he asked just to see if she would lie to him.

"So you and this Madison guy? You are…" he wiggled all sorts of implications from his eyebrows.

"No," she smiled wanly. "I'm not his type."

"So you work together?"

"No," she replied. "It's just a long story." She looked to the ceiling and tried to think. This was a red flag for Rex. Liars look for things to say in the oddest places. Then again, maybe she was beginning to trust him and was just looking for a way to impart some knowledge about herself that she felt wasn't so great. She continued: "Have you ever heard of the Fechamento crime family?"

"Who hasn't?" he answered.

"Well. Papa is my grandfather. His sons are all my uncles." Rex faked a look of shock and concern as she continued: "A few years back, when they were picked up for trafficking, a rival family wanted to kidnap me and get a ransom. Only, I knew better than anyone that Papa would have me dead rather than pay a cent, so a friend hired Madison to look into it. Not only did he save my life from kidnappers, the information he learned on his investigation cleared me in the trial against Papa. I owe the guy a lot."

"Okay. That's good enough for me." Said Rex. "But we've looked everywhere. Maybe the guy went for help? Maybe he went home? What else can we do?"

Red sat for a moment before springing from the bunk. "Holy shit," she barked. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner." She went on to tell him about the strange man that came out of the trees when she was in the hot springs. Rex had to keep reminding himself to pay attention as the little detail of Red skinny-dipping in a hotspring kept tugging at his mind. She said the weird guy had flipped out when she mentioned Madison's name. Then he had gone back into the trees. She knew that guy would know where Madison was. They had to find him.

As soon as they hit the trail, Rex was glad he had agreed to come along--the view of Red's backside was worth the price of admission. However, when Red drew his attention to a man she saw sitting in the mouth of a cave above them, Rex Edgewater recognized Agent Curtis York, RCMP and prepared to have his cover blown.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 12 Apr 07 - 08:53 PM

Argent sat with his back against the right front wheel of the Rover, watching the afternoon sun and strumming the well-worn Martin, thinking. He had his feet propped up on Bannock's sleeping belly, and felt the sunlight warming his toes.

...it would make the mountains ring,
If I had you.
If I had you..
In between the rains and the seasons they send,
The pain that a word from you can command,
But I would gladly trade away winter winds that swing
Through all the rites of Spring, if I had you,
If I had wings..."
But I would travel this world,
Richer than a king,
With a million gifts to bring, if I had you,
If I had wings....


The half-forgotten lyrics brought him calm, which he had not felt all day. He kept running the patterns of the jade tablet through his mind, and the strange ghostly outlines revealed in his camera's viewfinder by the colored lenses in certain combinations. He knew what they looked like, but he was seriosuly balking at falling into a Close Encounters frame of mind. HE needed a better explanation.

The microcell in his shirt pocket rang and he answered it, squinting up toward the still unmoving baby cumulus above the lake. As he listened to Theresa's report, his face grew a couple of shades paler, and his feet jerked so hard he woke up the dog.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 12 Apr 07 - 09:54 PM

The real Blake Madison struggled against the grasp of his captors. Somehow he never expected aliens to be this beefy. These guys were ripped. I the pictures he had seen of Aliens...the Roswell casualties, ET, and others...they always looked so willowly. But these guys had fingers that could rip the bumper off of a 59 Cadillac. As two held him, another alien guided his stumbling cyborg clone into the canoe, and dragged it back in place over the hatch doors.
At this moment, Madison noticed a figure he hadn't yet seen, a short stocky figure in a hooded cloak. "Hey! Yoda! Tell your henchmen to let me go!" This figure turned, looked at him momentarily, and clearly said "No, I cannot." The figure then pressed its hand against a glowing plate on the wall, and the hatch doors opened, leaving the canoe bobbing gently over thin air. Then, slowly, the canoe began to descend. "Hey, now what the hell!" said Blake. "Where's he going with my clothes?" The short figure approached him. "He must borrow your things for a short time. They will be given back. He has a job to do."
Madison guffawed. "Him? He can't even walk straight!"
The short figure issued its own grim attempt at a guffaw. "And neither do you, most of the time, Mr Madison. Besides, he is but newborn and learning quickly. Soon he will execute his tasks flawlessly. No one will suspect him...until it is too late."
The figures guided Madison toward the open hatch, and for a second he thought they meant to toss him out. Below him, but at a point still one hundred feet above the lake, he saw the figure pull something shiny from the coat pocket...the 38 revolver. "Aw Christ," said Blake, "now what the heck do you guys have him up to?" Without a sound or an answer, Madison was pulled away from the hatch, and it closed.
The short figure laughed again and said "I can't believe you get paid to figure things out, Mr Madison. Isn't it obvious? We have certain..secrets...that must be maintained at all costs. We don't like to meddle in human affairs, but there are those who are coming close to solving our little riddles, and they must be eliminated. The other Madison is your double in every way, down even to his fingerprints, even to his DNA. When he completes his work, we will not be implicated. It will appear to be a series of random killings. If he is caught, those who know you will marvel that you could do such things."
"But I couldn't do them," said Madison. "And if he's my double, neither will he!"
"What," the figure asked "would keep you from killing?"
"I have no motive."
"The other Madison does, though. A very good one."
"Well...my soul then."
"And that is just the point. The other Madison is merely your physical double. Even we can not manufacture a soul. He is a machine."


Dundee was distracted from his reading of a Thomas Wolfe novel by a light plash from the lake. He stretched in the sun, and stood up on the bank. He saw a man in the boat who was looking fixedly at him. "Ahoy!" said Dundee, and waved. The figure in the boat waved back, then, pulling at the paddle, clumsily made its way toward the shore.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 12 Apr 07 - 10:20 PM

(Oj, Jumpin Jaysus!!!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Apr 07 - 10:55 PM

(I am chuffed, well chuffed that you all have kept this going and in such stupendous fashion. Almost like old times! Thanks, dear friends! Love it!)

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 13 Apr 07 - 02:03 AM

Agent Rex Edgewater felt all the blood drain from his body down into his boots in an instant and the sensation left him lightheaded. It was only through sheer coincidence that he caught Curtis York's eyes before Red did. They had scrambled up to the cave after Red spotted York and growled: "There's the sonofabitch". She took off up the rock face and scraped her knee in the climb. In the brief instant that she looked down to examine the scratch, Rex gave York the look—the universal secret agent sign for 'undercover shut-uppa you-face'—but York gave no notice that he'd understood. In fact, the guy looked darn near drugged.

He wasn't answering any of her questions, and Red was getting angrier by the second. She gave York's shoulders a shove and sent him stumbling back into the cave. When she went to follow him, she looked down into the dirt on the floor of the cave and stopped dead in her tracks. Covering the floor on the mouth of the cave were thousands of scratches in the dirt. Weird symbols and glyphs that Edgewater didn't recognize, but if he was any judge of character he knew that Red did. If York was responsible for the markings, and by the looks of the dirt on his knees and under his fingernails he was, then he must have been at this for hours--if not days.

Red didn't follow York back into the cave. She stood where she was and began to tremble slightly. She turned around to face the world and covered her face with her hands. When Rex moved beside her, she dropped her hands and said flatly: "Madison's not here."

She didn't speak on the walk back to the camp and frankly he had no idea of what to ask. When they got back to the main camp, Red went directly to the back door of the kitchen. She turned around and almost seemed surprised to see him there. "Get away from this," she said. But he told her that he'd offered to help her, and he meant it. He lied and told her that if Ivan was her friend, then he was his friend too. His words came out in a rush, but it had no effect on Red. She just shrugged her shoulders and went into the kitchen.

The commercial-grade freezer door stood imbedded in the far wall. It wasn't guarded, and it wasn't locked. The pair walked towards it and Red showed no hesitation in throwing open the door. The cold air hit Rex's sweat-dampened skin and sent a shiver through him. There, on the floor next to a flat of orange juice concentrate, was Scrump. If not for the neat bullet hole in his forehead, looking all the world like a napping elf. Red seemed uneasy about just where to grab the body, and muttered something about going to get a blanket. She walked past Rex and out the door of the freezer like she didn't see him.

Rex Edgewater squatted down on his heels next to his fallen comrade. Funny how the life of an agent can slip away so unnoticed. The guy probably saved the free world a half-dozen times and now this. In his reverie he whispered: "Jesus, Jake. You wall-eyed jackass. How'd you end up like this?"

The freezer suddenly darkened and Rex spun around to see a furious Red. Behind her, filling the door and blocking all possible escape, was Ivan Turgenev. The giant menacingly pulled a cleaver from his apron string. Red walked slowly towards him, and said in a hissing whisper: "I know the wall-eyed jackass, Jake Scrump, because he tried to put me in prison for life. How do you know him?"

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: JenEllen
Date: 04 Jun 07 - 03:45 PM

"Enough," Red said softly.

Agent Rex Edgewater hit the wall of the freezer with a less-than-satisfying thud, and slid to the floor. The Russian had worked him over pretty well, but Rex knew from the previous photos and crime scene evidence that he had committed to memory that he'd gotten off lightly.

Red walked over to him and squatted down. She looked at him intently and then gave a deep sigh. Edgewater managed to open an eye when he heard her stand back up, and the look she gave him sent a wave of nausea through his battered body. He'd seen that look before. It was the look his mom had given him after the family vet had said 'there's nothing more we can do' and put the dog to sleep. It was over.

Thankfully the Russian followed her out of the freezer, and Rex heard the door slam and the lock catch. He sat catching his breath for a minute then tried to stand. He held his arms tightly around what he was sure was more than one broken rib, and walked to the door. Through the tiny window he could see Red and Ivan arguing. The Russian had his blood up after the beating and spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled at Red.

The commotion must have been something, because in an instant the little Chinese woman was at the door of the kitchen. Rex could see the look of shock on her face, but then she was gone. She had moved into the kitchen and was too short to see from his vantage point. He did see Red throw up her hands in disgust and surrender. She fished an mp3 player out of her pocket and left the room. When she did, Ivan Turgenev spun around and looked at the freezer. Rex jumped and skittered back towards the wall, but the Russian only looked into the window with one red eye, and then disappeared. Rex's energy was spent and he sat down to wait.




Outside in the sunshine the day was like any other, but inside Red's head there was a storm brewing. It wasn't as if the scene was a novel one:   She had seen people hiding things before, and she had seen Ivan do his work in extracting information before, but something about the past few minutes didn't ring true for her and she saw the same was true for Li Su when she'd told her what Rex had said. AGENT Rex, as it turned out.   Bloody hell.

She looped the headphones over her ears and looked to any casual observer like she was stretching for another run. She saw Argent at his campsite, watching the kitchen door, and quickly hit 'play' on her player. She jogged off to the opening powerpop chords of OKGO's "Invincible" like a woman with places to go.
When they finally come to destroy the earth
They'll have to go through you first
I'll bet they won't be expecting that




Curtis York sat placidly in his cave. The wait was over. His initial shock and confusion had passed and now the universe had opened itself up to him in a small jade tablet and he could hear every molecule in his body humming along with him in delight. He grinned with his new-found happiness. What is the meaning of life? He knew it now. What came first, the chicken or the egg? Knew that too. Why do fools fall in love? Bingo, knew that one too. The one thing he didn't know was that a scruffy man with a handgun had seen him in his cave and was slowly and deliberately coming up to kill him.   



Red did her best to look nonchalant, she'd had loads of practice considering her upbringing, but still couldn't help but be puzzled when she couldn't find the man with the mermaid tattoo. The pictures on his camera of the crime scene were one thing that could save her provided Madison had skipped camp. However, the man appeared to have left too. Confusing, and it made her just a bit edgy. She wasn't in control of the situation and didn't like it one bit. Where was he?



A few hundred yards from the dead Dundee, another body crumpled to the ground. Madison's clone nudged the fleshy man over with the toe of his wingtip and crouched down to poke at the drawing of the mermaid that was inked into the man's skin. He then grabbed the camera from the dead man's grasp and proceeded to smash it with a rock. He could hear the crackling of plastics as the pictures of the crime scene were dashed to oblivion, as well as the pictures the man had taken of flashes in the night sky. The clone then stood and heard faint happy humming. He scanned the area and saw a man in a cave in the rocks above him. He began to climb.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 21 Aug 07 - 10:59 PM

"I don't believe this!!!!" Argent muttered loudly into the little communicator. "These records are hundreds--thousands of years old, the people even older, and you're saying they have some connection with the weird light show I'm picking up over the lake here? What is this, "E.T. Gets Even"??? He was feeling upset, and he knew she could tell it from his voice.

As always, Teresa knew what to say, and as always, listening to her made him calmer and saner, and even smarter. She spoke for almost a whole minute.

"OK, honey. You're right. Listen, send me those histograms and the lab's data parsing on the possible combinations of segments. We'll just play the damn thing as it lies, even if it lies in la-la land."

He smiled at her retort, and folded up the communicator. His face had cleared, and he looked around at the late afternoon pastoral scene -- the single lenticular baby cumulus cloud over the lake, the gently rolling hill down to the cookhouse, and the apparently furious redhead who burst out of the galley and stormed into the woods. She was shaking and trying to look nonchalant at the same time, which perplexed him. He shrugged. He had a good twenty minutes before Terry would get him the analysis files.

He reached in the back of the truck, took out his Wesson, and checked it, shoved it into his back pocket and strode quietly down the hill toward the galley door, keeping one eye on the direction the girl was taking into the woods beyond.

Things were getting interesting, he had to admit that much. He wondered what Blake Madison was doing. The thought worried him for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, and he brushed it to one side.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 21 Aug 07 - 11:51 PM

"HUH?" He shouted, sitting up in the plastic comfy plastic cot he had been sleeping in. How long had he been asleep? "What is Blake Madison doing?" he suddenly inquired aloud, to his own surprise. "Why," he thought, "just catching up on some well-deserved shut-eye in a vinyl coccoon on a f#cking alien space craft is all!!" He rubbed his eyes vigorously. The dull glowing interior of the extraterrestrial fusilage refused to disappear. Blake wondered about the guy in his dream. The big red-headed lumberjack guy from the folkie camp. He remembered the big good-natured grin, then the eyes filled with shock and fear, and then Blake had shot him, and...Madison touched the fingers of his right hand to his lips, smelled and tasted cordite from the gun flash residue there. "It's not a dream," he whispered, then said again loudly "what am I doing?!"
Stiffly, he rose from the cot, placed both feet on the eerily vibrating deck of the alien craft, and muttered "I've got to stop me."

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 08 Sep 07 - 02:58 AM

Just out of sight, in the bushes, naked except for his empty holster, Madison prowled through the underbrush. As he rested, panting in the clover, he thought back on how unbelievably easy his escape from the craft had been. When he had uttered the words "I've got to stop me", he had unwittingly spoken the sacred words of the third prayer to Cthulu. The aliens fell to their knees with a single shout. Suddenly the ship had flooded with light, a light of such clarity and brilliance that the aliens had been sent scuttling for cover. With this, the image of a huge deus ex machina had appeared in the doorway, and Madison had merely stepped on to its broad feathered back, fearlessly. No, it wasn't the first time that one of the fantastic creatures had appeared just in time to save Bake's blacon.
But Madison knew the caper was far from finished. As he stole through the thick underbrush, stealthy as a wraith, or at least the wraith of some large horned grazer, he came upon crime scene after crime scene.
The bodies of the slain lay just off the trail that lead from the lake to the main folkie cabin. He was shocked to find the mountie, as well as the bodies of other characters mentioned in earlier postings. Then, he heard voices from a clearing ahead. Blake squatted behind a chokecherry and focussed his trained ears, ears sharpened by the many years of having carefully avoided Yoko Ono recordings. He parted the branches and beheld a scene of suspense: There stood Red having a conversation with Argent. What they didn't see was the figure in the woods behind them, a figure whose shadowed hand clearly held a revolver. Madison nearly cried out, but he feared it would serve only to provoke the clone to quicker action. Then he saw the clone pause, stowe the revolver in his coat, and greet the pair. Finally Madison knew he would have to risk it, cry a warning before it was too late. It was at that moment that a pair of brass knuckles caught him squarely in the side of the temple, sending the temple bell resonating like the mission bells at the end of Vertigo. Only Kim Novak wasn't there as he went to black. The last thing he remembered was the gruesome mug of Smorch.
Then darkness.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: Amos
Date: 08 Sep 07 - 12:45 PM

The sound of a crumpling Madison prime was like a banjo thrown among pigeons. The Madison clone whirled, his hand reaching into his pocket. Argent's left arm whipped out, throwing Red to the ground, and his right had the Smith and Wesson up before the clock-eyed clone could clear his raincoat. When the clone's gun appeared, a single slug from the blue-steel barrel of Argent's weapon tore a neat hole between his eyes and a much larger one out the back of his synthetic skull. Some sort of smoke rose gently towards York's cave from the back of the fallen clone's corpse By the time the shot's echoes had faded into the pines, Argent had Smorch frog-marched into the clearing with the blue-steel barrel trained just below his fattish skull, and his thick right arm deftly hoisted into the small of his back.

"Go take care of Madison, Red", Argent muttered, and she scrambled to her feet and strode back into the shrubbery.

"Seems to me we have a discussion to have, fella.", Argent said quietly to his captive.

"But I don't have a lot of time, as there's a download coming in that is due to complete in the next twenty minutes. So I think you need to talk real fast."

The captive did not look happy; but after a nasty poke in the back of his skull with the Smith and Wesson's evil end, he seemed inclined to cooperate.

Subject: RE: BS: Once a Mudcat, always a ? (Story thread)
From: katlaughing
Date: 08 Sep 07 - 01:12 PM

Lindy Loo finally cleared the fog she'd been walking in and came out to see a glorious bright, shining, stupendous Light in front of her. Off to the side, she saw the redheaded woman and others in some sort of conflict. She turned towards them, but decided they had things under control. She walked on, her eyes glued to the light, almost like the super glue which held certain things together which she would not mention in polite company. Suddenly, she remember just what she was, her antennae went up, her neck elongated, her form became wraith-like and she skimmed above the ground seemingly without any support of feet or legs; it looked as though she was in a diaphonous gown, an angel almost. She felt free, free at last of the earth-bound humanoid form she'd been prisoned within, free of the constraints of gravity, free to be herself, ready to go home at last to Elmorphrador.

Nearly reaching her spaceship, she was brought to a screeching, well a softly screeching, halt by an invisible force. She heard a strange plucking and a wallering like a cat, perhaps? No a voice, that was it, one of those strange human voices raised up in pain? No, it sounded more joyful and the plucking? Its fingernails being ripped out? No, she felt it then, in the region of a human heart in her alien form...a plucking of what should have been heartstrings. She heard the strumming now, of an instrument, yes, the hourglass-shaped one and the scraping across the cat-like one, then she heard the mighty bellows of the artificial lung instrument, wheezing a cacophony of melodious tones all bunched together and the voices. She heard the voices and turned around. Something was happening to her. She was morphing back into her chosen human form! The last thing she remembered was hearing the voices singing...

Once you're a Mudcat
You're always a Mudcat,
You can't go back,
But you can come back
'cause once you're a Mudcat,
A Mudcat you'll always be!