IT'S ROUND TWELVE FOR YOU BLOKES!

[Tricia]

Okay mates,
Round twelve is on.

Listen to this 'ere blokes!
Angela, that dodgey lass, has buggered us all!
Don't get your knickers in a wad.
I'm plottin a right good knackerin' fer 'er dodgy arse ;D



Here's the word list... !

Kerfuffle (it's a British term meaning: disturbance, fuss -- ex. "What's all this kerfuffle about?" Mom asked, looking at the boys fighting over the remote control in the living room.)

Serene

Bittersweet

Demure

Invoke

Knowledge

Mutilate

Mesmerize


Really Angela... Kerfuffle?
Ker frickin fuffle?
I beg to differ old chap.

Okay, in honor of Miss 'my bra cut off circulation to my brain' we will stick with her British brain kerfuffle.

The setting will be... England

So all stories must be set in England...
you must use all eight of the list words
and... yes, you must use the word kerfuffle.... ugggghhhh!

[Jenn]

It is me I am lazy and don't feel like logging in

When do we have to have the stories in me luv?

[Chaos]

Just for the record, kids, my bra DID NOT cut off circulation to my brain, either...I just really, really, really like that word! ;D

If it's good enough for Harry Potter, it's good enough for us! So, THERE, Tricia!

Oh, and Tricia, honey...your English is soundin' a bit "pirate-ish," if you know what I mean...I thought for one crazy second I'd have to rework my (fabulous, of course) story idea into a Caribbean scene with a crazy guy sporting an eyepatch and a pegleg! Whew...glad it's only England I've gotta work into it, instead!

One more thing, then I'll go away for a little while and leave ya'll alone...do any of you remember Mystix(Brandy)? She joined our board a while back...she was going to post for this last round, but her 'puter broke & now she's fallen down - Go BOOM! - and has possibly broken her ankle. Think good thoughts her way, will ya...my poor girl needs all the help she can get these days! Love ya, Brandy!!!!

[dknight818]

I'm gonna post a story. I have it all written and everything. I know that you all chalked me up as MIA, but I'm back in the fold. I'm just gonna sit on the story for a wee little bit.

[Tricia]

I said mates... not mateys!
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Sure Derek... yeah right... we believe you ... sure we do...
Tease!



*in high voice mimicking Derek
OOH... I have my story blah blah blah

Put up or shut up girlie!



*mutters
suckalanche

[Tricia]

Brandy,

good thoughts
good thoughts
good thoughts

[smalls]

Kerfuffle.. england.. are you kidding me?

sigh.. tis going to be a tough one.. maybe ill sit this round out

[Chaos]

Uh-uh, no way...Smalls...this means you! No sitting out, ok? We need stories...lots and lots of stories! I think I like Tricia's version of "kerfuffle" even better..."ker frickin fuffle." Yeah, that usage would also be acceptable, me thinks.

Derek...what's wrong, big boy...scared to go ahead and post your story? Awww...don't be afraid of lil ol' us...we're HARMLESS!!!

Seriously, though..ya'll need to quit hatin' on me for kerfuffle...you have to admit, right, it's a unique word. And the other words on the list don't suck, do they?

Just because I love you guys, here's a little help. (This is ok, right?) englishclub.8m.com/usuk1.htm It's a little American to British dictionary to make your dialogue woes a bit easier to bear.

[RedneckDiva]

It's not that I'm scared of the outlandish English words or even the crazy English setting, but I think it's time for the Diva to holler "uncle". I'm bowing out this round, folks. I know, I know...how will you go on without me? You've only just gotten used to my shining face and suddenly I'm gone... *sniff sniff* Fear not, loves, your Diva will be back next week, albeit a tad more bruised, but she will return. Have faith!

Not only do I have a derby that I'm incredibly nervous about, but now I also have a sick kid and another threatening to get sick (that sounds like he's saying "Everyone stand back or the trashcan gets it! I mean it - I'll puke all over it!" lol) The school is under serious viral attack right now, the kids are dropping like freakin' flies! One of the Kindergarten teachers sent home 7 puking kids yesterday! Ack! So I'm keeping the non-sick one (as of yet) home for a lonnnnnng weekend to see if the germs go away while he's gone.

Miss me while I'm on mommy sabbatical!!

[Tricia]

Go diva win for us!

Of course we get bragging rights

Derek S:
poor boy...

he is in a kerfuffle me thinks
for the word he must use...
he swears that it stinks

so he sits on his chops
and his head it just flops

*thwap
now write you butt...
she winks

[ThatWickedWench]

OKay, y'all, here goes. *Deep Breath*

Wench1

"Ah, the dingy streets of Ye Merry Olde London," I think to me self whilst hurrying along the cobblestones to do the shoppin’ like me good old mum ordered me do. Here and there dirty faced lil lads scampering about and it's damned impossible to tell the thievin' buggers from the ones just out having a game with their mates. Occasionally I spot a bloke me own age sneakin a fag around a corner or havin' a pint and a laugh at a loud corner pub, but I mainly stick to me own business.

I am a serious sort, ye see, and have no time to be involving me self with the light-hearted ruffians pushing past me in the alleyways. In maybe a year or two I will be done with secondary schooling, then the A-levels, and I'd be off to one university or the other... ah to dream of what that will be like! I intend to study medicine, like me dear mum wishes, but me heart bleeds ink from the quill. Writing is in me blood! But alas, no time to dream, as I must get me chores done before me Pop gets home from the grindstone as he favors call it. He has no patience for frivolousness.

I check the list again: Dzn Fresh Eggs, 3 Fat Potato., 1 Rnd Lard and Chick Livers. I feel my throat tighten as the stomach acids swirl at the thought of the livers. Me, I am a vegetarian and cannot fathom why one would mutilate a simple chick’n merely for its liver. Nevertheless, I gather the items as I was told and collect the change in me pouch. It is time to turn for home.. bangers and mash for dinner again. Me belly churned.

I saw her then, at the corner of Durst Street and Pickaninny Lane. If she had not looked so sad, I might have passed her by as one of the local Market Square trollops. However, when I met her gaze it was one of mesmerizing melancholy. I wanted to take her in me arms and comfort her forever. And no London-bred lass has ever invoked those feelings in me chest before!

That very moment, a bevy of older upmarket ladies bustled past me and in the blur of excitement and movement around me, I lost her. She no longer stood under that lamppost in her off-white frock and stringy blonde-red hair. I spun around in a panic, not fully understanding why I was so taken with this blasted unknown female, yet even more flustered that I appeared to have lost her.

Back at home, I unloaded the wares in the pantry and headed up to me dusty attic flat. Sitting down at me desk, I pulled out a quill and attempted to clear me mind for a blank slate on which to start... it bloody wouldn’t do it! Me head was all in a kerfuffle over this nameless bird from the market. I just had to see her again.

Morning came earlier than the rooster crows. I dressed with more care than usual, taking pains to don me best pair of trousers and I about fell over me self in me closet searching for the correct mates to me smartest wellies. I was off to the market, the only agenda to see me mysterious lass again. What I was to do or say (perish the thought!) should I encounter her, I was utterly awash of. That would come in due time, I hoped.

The cool spring breeze cast a chill over the otherwise serene atmosphere about the market square. I passed the inn of a busty wench who I believed to be offering passers-by a bit more than just the usual breakfast tart and juice. And then I saw her! She was on a different corner than the past day, in the same forlorn off-white frock. But today was different, her hair frolicked about her face in the breeze and I was close enough to her now to notice her eyes, a pale green offset by her sandy red hair. She took notice of me then and I was granted a slow smile that played on her lips as an angel on a harp. Perfection achieved, on an easel of gold; that was she.

Panic I did, and swept by her without a backward glance. Me heart had leapt into me throat blocking any chance of having a say with her. Blast me and me bloody shyness! She's certain to think me a full out nutter! The entire morning I spent in the refectory on a lane near that special corner. Me quill never left the paper as words poured out describing the everything/nothing feelings I was experiencing. I pondered briefly the surreal worldly knowledge that appeared in her eyes, then dismissed it. She had to be mine! Me love, me life. I knew nothing at all about this waif of a girl, except that I wanted her for me wife.

And home again I went, forgoing all chores to sit in me room and ponder me love. I did not take tea, nor dinner and when the time came, nor did I sleep.

Restless at dawn, I trotted to the market again with new determination. The sun was peeking its first timid glance over the rooftops so shadows were beginning to dance in the alleys. I searched the streets, the lanes and the corners with no luck. Me heart slammed in me chest knowing I could come across her at any moment.

Suddenly I stumbled into a bloke, reeking of gin in the shadows of the alley. As I straightened me self and offered a humble apology, he grunted angrily and I discovered he had good reason. I had unknowingly sauntered into the intriguing, albeit forbidden scene of a john getting pleasured in the most illicit of positions by a local prostitute. Not intending to take a second glance, I backed away and as I turned to exit the alley, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the sandy red hair that frolicked as it intertwined the man’s legs.

She pulled back from him, sliding an alabaster skinned hand across her delicate mouth and gazed up at me, almost mournfully as she licked her lips. The man again grunted in anger and jerked his trousers back up, hastily buttoning them. “You’ll get no shilling from me, tramp! Some bed ‘n’ breakfast that stupid wench is running!” he slurred. And to me, "Better luck to ye mate, that one's a right dead flop she is!" He stormed off, stench and all.

Me broken angel rose from her kneeling position on the pavement. Her come-hither gaze was one of bittersweet longing, or was it just plain bitter? Me heart had stopped, silent as death and me eyes hazed with tears as her demure voice purred, “have you a shilling, me love?”

Me hands fumbled hastily with me belt buckle.

[dknight818]

DK1

As Sergei stepped out of the jetway into the terminal, he scanned the seats for a familiar face, any face that could bring him some sort of comfort. It had been a rough flight in every sense of the word and, making matters worse for him, his thoughts had been anything but serene. She had told him when he left that she'd be right here, waiting for him. She had spoken her promise, but her eyes, he thought, told a different tale. He was fearful that, not only would she not be at the airport, but that he'd never have the pleasure of her company again. It seemed that they'd grown apart during the last few months and his having to return to Chelyabinsk to tend to the death of his mother only strained their relationship further. Certainly, it had been a bittersweet relationship at best, but he knew that he loved her. He loved her more than he could say, perhaps it was the language barrier between the two of them or perhaps it was merely Sergei's own insecurities, but he never felt that he was expressing his feelings effectively, nor was she offering him the opportunity to do so...

Standing at the baggage carousel, Sergei allowed himself to reflect on the first time that he saw her in the restaurant, so quiet, so demure. The fact that she was absolutely mutilating her lunch while she ate belied her petite stature and was instantly endearing to him. He recalled how he had offered to lay down a tarp for her and how she had smiled wryly back at him and asked him, politely, to kiss her ass. This led to their first conversation and, of course, their first date. It was no wonder why he insisted upon invoking her wrath every time he got the opportunity to do so. Seeing her get all kerfuffle, as she was apt to say that he made her, gave his heart a flutter. Simply put, she was mesmerizingly beautiful in his eyes, even when she was at her worst.

As Sergei emerged from his daydream and collected his baggage, he scanned the faces around him one more time, desperately searching for her, hoping against hope that she would, indeed, be there to comfort him and to take him home where she would rub the tension from his shoulders and listen to him ramble on about his homeland and all of the people he had seen during his trip. How strange, he thought, that he hardly missed his own mother, whom he had just buried, but that the girl who has been on his mind so much over the last few days seemed to consume his whole being, even though now it was clear that she didn't even care for him enough to keep a simple promise. Forlorn and defeated, carrying his heavy luggage and an even heavier heart, Sergei hailed a taxi and headed for his flat.

As the driver negotiated the streets of Manchester, heading toward Sergei's home in Macintosh Village, Sergei came to the realization that had never felt more alone in his life than at that moment. Like a crushing weight, the knowledge that he'd no longer have the pleasure of dancing with her, or dining with her or drifting off to sleep with her securely in his arms, made it increasingly harder to breathe. Sergei now felt trapped in a dark world, filled with despair. He had to find a way out, he thought to himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sedan pulled up to the curb outside his home. Sergei emerged and handed the driver the fare, augmented by whatever else he had on him. Cash, jewelry, credit cards, it didn't matter anymore. He'd have no need for those things where he was going anyway, he thought. On the ride up to his flat in the elevator, he planned out the whole scene. His handgun was in his top desk drawer, the bullets for that gun were in the second drawer in the kitchen and the tarp...Yes, the tarp that he'd lay out as a courtesy to whomever found him was underneath his bed. He'd enjoy his last glass of wine and pull the trigger in front of the far window, he thought, so that he could enjoy the view that she had loved so much one last time.

About this same time, a lovely young woman who had been napping at the airport rose from her seat and looked around. She had drifted off to sleep while waiting for a friend and was suddenly aware that it was well past time for his arrival. Strolling over to check the arrival screen, she saw that his plane, indeed, had arrived as scheduled but at gate 12, not at gate 4 as she had originally expected. Scurrying around the baggage claim and the taxi stand, but not finding him in either location, she decided that he had simply gone home on his own and that she should depart too. She was eager to meet up with him so she could comfort him and share the special dinner that she had prepared for the both of them. It surely would be a special night tonight, she thought to herself as she buckled herself in for the ride home...

A very special night indeed.

[RedneckDiva]

WHY do I keep getting email notification of a new post on here and there aren't any new posts?? I realize I'm going on little sleep, but I don't think these are hallucinations...

[ThatWickedWench]

I don't know for sure Diva, but maybe every time a post is modified/edited a new post email is sent out... cause I know I modified mine several times after I posted it... sorry!!

[Tricia]

Damn modifying wench...
got me allexcited for nothing!