Jane Talking

There are some performances in the Gibbelins’ Tower that you don’t see.

Sometimes we’re afraid that they’ll give people the wrong idea. Sometimes we like to tell stories of how Mylitta beat up the monster. Or won his heart. But we can’t show those. Or sometimes we like to tell stories about dharma. But we haven’t figured out how to explain dharma yet. If we had, I guess, then maybe this story would be over.

Sometimes I just go out and I tell the empty chairs what the monster actually did to me. Then I get awkward and go hide.

Sometimes I tell bad pirate jokes. Like, “Knock knock? Who’s there? A pirate!”

Martin sometimes tries to get me to finish that one, but I think it’s complete in itself.

There’s a performance going on tonight that you can’t see. It’s about how the nefarious hunter William Show shoots Bambi’s Mom, but instead of dying, she spends four years in a coma and then wakes up to hunt William and his lieutenants down. It’s too violent for tender minds like yours! Also, Tarantino might be upset.

*This* stage is empty, though, so feel free to come down and play out scenes if you would like.

10 thoughts on “Jane Talking

  1. For some reason, it occurs to me that Jane could use a hug. Regrettably, the science of hugging fictional characters is as yet in its infancy.


  2. Once there was a castle built on top of a knee. Yes, a knee!

    A girl made of cloth struggled up the lonely slope.

    At the top was a handsome Clamp boy, also made of cloth, and his fairy companion.

    It was love at first sight! However, the fairy was jealous and pushed the castle down! Oh no! Now what will happen?

  3. Don’t worry, Eric! The Four have felt your pain and are hard at work bringing fictional character’s into the real world. However, their first experiment in this endeavor hit…a few snags. However, we’re well on our way and already have a working prototype out there. Somewhere. It’s presumably killing people, but it’s still a start!

  4. Hmm. While I recognize the wisdom of not using human subjects for the first transfers from fiction to reality, on the reasoning that the process might injure them, I think that the alternate approach used was less than ideal.

    Yes, everyone now admits that practicing on horrible monsters was perhaps not the best method, but I think that these problems could have been predicted ahead of time.

  5. Darn, I was looking forward to the Kill William movie… *stows popcorn away*

    And I’d like to give Jane a hug as well. And a cookie.

  6. The pirate knock-knock is complete.

    I am not telling it to the minx beside me.

    And yes, hugs…

  7. Reading through the archive, I find myself driven to comment on some of the old entries, even though no one may ever read or respond to these post-facto comments.

    Regarding BrandonQ’s comment…the idea of a Planetary/Hitherby crossover makes me feel all warm and tingly and brainhurty. How did Jakita Wagner become a god? What would the Drummer make of the information flows in the Gibbelins’ Tower? What show would be performed the night the Planetary team showed up to keep the Four from capturing the monster, and what message would Cason Snow take from it?

  8. I think that Ar Tonelico is more consonant with the source. But then, you might be able to say that about any RPG, and it’s true that I don’t even know what Planetary is.

    When I figure out how to explain dharma, it will be my pleasure to let Jane know. More likely, though, I will be off in some Chancel being judged, for one unforgivable crime or another. Tonight will have to decide it.

    PS: If anyone knows how that story ends, please don’t tell me. I kind of lack a PS3, so even though I bought the third game on release, the actual story is pending.

  9. It is late in the reign of Solomon, King in Israel, and evening finds him at his desk, deep in thought. Evenings, and nights, and occasionally daybreaks, have this audience as a special privilege. His subjects generally find him upon his throne, his servants and wives at table and in his chambers. But at his desk, he is alone save for his wisdom and the passage of time, free – if you can call it free – to ponder the riddle that is the world.

    He’s sitting in front of a map, with little gold and silver figurines on it. Some of them are shaped like farmers, some like soldiers, some like priests, some like spirits or djinni. A few are even shaped like kings. The map has holes in it, mainly because he’s been spending the evening cutting parts out of it with a knife.

    He cuts around a merchant made of silver. The merchant vanishes.

    He sets down some gold and silver soldiers near each other. That part of the map’s already in tatters, and there’s barely enough room for them. But he cuts the air between the two armies, and then moves the gold soldiers across the line, and somehow they don’t get in each others’ way.

    He picks up a silver king and puts it in with the gold soldiers. It barely fits, but he manages it somehow.

    But as much as he tries to return it to its silver troops, it always seems to end up among the gold.

    So he takes his knife and cuts around the king, and it vanishes.


    It’s hours later – almost midnight – and Solomon, King in Israel, enters the dining hall.

    “My apologies, your majesty,” cringes a servant, “but supper has grown cold.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” answers Solomon, as he often does.

    “How goes your struggle,” inquires a wife, “with your dilemma?”
    “All in vain,” answers Solomon, as he does increasingly often.

    And after partaking of the food, he retires to his bed.

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