Aquarionics

For those who are new to this, there is a meet this weekend (Saturday) in London, England, Sol. People will be there. (well, I will. Other people will as well, and about a dozen people have expressed interest) The plan is loose and fluid, and works like this:

At 2pm we will meet in Regents Park. Regent’s park being a rather large place, we wil be meeting on the south side of the stream just to the west of York Bridge, by the bench. Roughly about here [Map>] in fact. Though more around the island than on it.

We will then sit, and do stuff, and celebrate birthdays, and scare the passers by, and be in the pub by sixish.

The pub, in this instance, is the infamous Green Man of which so much has been written and said. Look for a group of people sitting, talking and drinking. Oh, they’ll probably have some kind of idenitfying book and a fluffy toy on the table to signify who they are. The GM does Food and Real Ale.

If it’s raining, we shall skip the park in favour of the pub.

If you have any confusion in your mind about this, email me (nicholas@aquarionics.com) and I’ll answer peoples worries and problems. If you’re teetering on the brink of coming, but are scared of strange people, don’t be. Not only do we not bite, but you will not be the only new person there for us to feast o… er… meat.

meet

So be there, or regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.

But soon.

And until you watch Casablanca.

It was a sunny day.

All the days had been sunny so far, a study in metiorlogical consistancy, Bright, sunny, beach weather. Which was a coincidence, what with the beach.

And everything.

They ran along the beach, hands interlocking. A single entity, forever in lov…

A car drove passed his window, and shattered Jason’s concentration.

The most terrible thing for a writer is the dreaded granite stone wall of Block. And for the last four weeks, he had suffered from it in abundance. The last of his candles flickering around him, Jason tried to write a story he could sell, so he could buy things.

Important things, like food. And Rent.

Bathed in the light of the cathode ray tube, the endless white screen filled his mind. He needed to write a story, something nice, upbeat, Sellable. The idea of going back to the agency for another temporary job filled him with horror, and for a moment, an instant, a flash of mental lightening gave him a story, of love, of betrayal, and of… something. There must be more to fiction than love and betrayal. Depressive, angsty stories did not, said the editors, sell magazines. Love stories are supposed to have happy endings, they said, write them.

Jason Wood looked at the scattered remains of his life and disagreed.

He closed his eyes, and let the stories take him. A flash, a scene a…

…a dark alleyway, the gun pointing at his head.
“Your money” said the voice,
“And my life?” he asked naievly
“I doubt it” said the mugger. There was a gunshot, and Jason felt his live flash before his eyes. But he wasn’t dead, he heard the thump of the mugger’s corpse hit the floor! He was saved!
“Thankyou, Oh Thank…” he babbled at the newcomer, a dark figure outlined against the streetlights.
“Shut up” said the man. “And give me your money or I kill you”.

And he felt his spirit sink, until he realised that…

…the boat was sinking. He almost laughed, Somebody had finally managed to sink Bloodbeard! ha. They should know it wasn’t that easy. Bloodbeard leaped into the fight, decapitating with a swift blow of his curved sword, Lopping off the sword-arm of a kingsman, and relegating all in his way to either an early grave, or eternal memory of his razor sharp blade. As he reached Hamlinson, he sliced the man in front of him down with a swipe to the neck. Blood fountianed over him, and although he was already splattered with the blood of a thousand men, this affected him as no other had done, for the randomness of physics had placed the ultimate target of this blood to be his eyes. Bloodbeard wiped his face with the back of his hand, and was just in time to see the sun glisten off Hamlinson’s blade before his neck was seperated from his shoulders, and Bloodbeard the pirate was no more…

…would we ever be alone. As our eyes met across the room, it was love at first sight, a future made together. As quickly as she could she disentangled herself from my foppish elder brother and headed for me.
“Do you dance?” I asked the vision before me
“My prince” she bowed, and offered her hand. I took this for an affermitive, and for the remainder of the evening we waltzed, arm in arm, together.
Towards the midnight hour, my brother summoned me. With great regret I left the vision behind me, and cursed by siblings timing.
“I have made my choice” he said, as I arrived.
“You have chosen a wife?” I replied, incredulous.
“Indeed. That was the purpose of this ball, was it not?” It was indeed, and I had a terrible forboding for the next sentance. Completely justified, as it turned out. The clock struck midnight, and the musictions stopped, as my brother raised his voice for the benifit of the entite audience. “I have chosen my wife. The next queen shall be” He left a dramatic pause I could have hit him for. “Cinderella”
There was a pause as the final toll of the bell marked the entrance of the new day. Cinderella glanced into my eyes, and at that moment I felt all her pain. Then she acted.
“NO!” she cried, and ran out of the hall, while the guards were too stunned to stop her. She got away so quickly I feared she would trip over her dress. But she escaped cleanly, although she left behind a slipper. My brother would take the kingdom apart to look for her, I knew. I hoped he discuise was good…

…”grief. Get ahold of yourself”, Jason thought aloud. Pirates? Cinderella? He needed reality.
Jason sighed, got himself another drink, and tried to break though writers block