In the S & M section?
lol
Seth is going to have to post an update to the story just to keep us on target, lol.
lol
Seth is going to have to post an update to the story just to keep us on target, lol.
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The Surly Bonds
- Thread starter citizen-seth
- Start date
ell, there IS that, I suppose, lol.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Well, well, well, . . . the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated! I do appologize for the annoying delay in updates, but life had/has taken a turn for the complex recently that I really wasn't quite ready for.
That being said, I think I'm finally at a point where I can devote some much needed TLC to this story. I must say, that I have absolutely loved getting the messages about the story that people have sent. It let me know just who and how many people were reading this, even though many never commented in the thread.
The next chapter is almost ready to be sent to Dom to be proof read, though I honestly doubt it will be up before the this coming Friday. To tide you over, I thought I would answer a few questions that I have been asked about the story most frequently. Consider this an FAQ, if you will:
1) Do I need to know anything about pop culture/art/history to understand this story?
2) Is Cameron an alien?
3) What period of time does the story cover?
4) Will all characters have flashbacks like Locke/Catherine?
5) Are you planning a squeal?
6) Is this going to end like LOST with everyone dead?
Hope that cleared up some things to those of you that wrote. If anyone else has any questions I'll be happy answer them (or not) as best I can. Check back soon for an update, and sorry for keeping you all waiting.
That being said, I think I'm finally at a point where I can devote some much needed TLC to this story. I must say, that I have absolutely loved getting the messages about the story that people have sent. It let me know just who and how many people were reading this, even though many never commented in the thread.
The next chapter is almost ready to be sent to Dom to be proof read, though I honestly doubt it will be up before the this coming Friday. To tide you over, I thought I would answer a few questions that I have been asked about the story most frequently. Consider this an FAQ, if you will:
1) Do I need to know anything about pop culture/art/history to understand this story?
No! The hidden references are just to add a deeper level to what is written.
2) Is Cameron an alien?
Of course. This is established in the first chapter. Cameron is Canadian.
3) What period of time does the story cover?
A span of roughly 11 million years.
4) Will all characters have flashbacks like Locke/Catherine?
Yes.
5) Are you planning a squeal?
No. I am planning three.
6) Is this going to end like LOST with everyone dead?
Well, I can tell you that not everyone dies. But maybe the more prudent question is 'what does it mean to be alive?' Or, even better is 'where do lost objects go?' The answer of course being 'into no-being, that is to say, everything."
Hope that cleared up some things to those of you that wrote. If anyone else has any questions I'll be happy answer them (or not) as best I can. Check back soon for an update, and sorry for keeping you all waiting.
- Joined
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Very happy to hear that you're still "of this earth", Seth! I hope that as things shake out you'll be going about with a big Smile on your face! And, yeah!, looking forward to More story when you can find the time. THANKS! for still thinking about "Us"!!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Here we go . . . it's a little bit later than I had promised, but it's finally here. Hope you enjoy it!
Catherine woke up. Her eyelids gave way to the great white space of the ceiling above her. She had fallen asleep with her script in her hands, her thumb resting on her three highlighted lines. She did not want to move. She tried to soak up every second the stillness of the morning offered her. A feathered golden light barely hung in the air by the window; the tree outside doing its job of providing morning shade. In the stillness, the only perceptible sound was that of her own body’s endless drone of life. The cyclical ebb and flow of her breath marched in time with the tiny percussive beat of her heart.
Finally she swung her feet onto the floor and, stretching, stood out of bed. Her long, flowing hair fell into her face and she brushed it away absentmindedly. She quickly made her way down the hall to the kitchen, passing he mother’s sleeping frame on the living room couch. From a cupboard she took two glasses - she filled one with orange juice and the other with ice water. She took a banana from a bowl on the counter and began to peel it. Into the silver shining toaster she slid two pieces of bread. From where she stood she could see the door that connected the kitchen to the garage: locked as usual.
She finished off her own glass and set in on the counter. Opening up the silverware drawer, she reached to its back and felt around for a small brass key. Finally her fingers closed around it and she was able to withdraw her hand. She reach up and opened a cabinet door above her. On the uppermost shelf sat a small, light grey safe, a keyhole located on its bottom right corner. She inserted the key into its manufactured hole, and twisted until a soft click could be heard. Her hand retreated, holding six orange prescription pill bottles. Setting them on the counter, she retrieved from each vile, a single pill and placed them on an adjacent napkin.
The slices of bread popped up from their silver sheath, and she gingerly placed them on a plate. She spooned dollops of jelly onto each and set the plate gingerly on floor in front of the garage door. Standing back up, she took the pill-covered napkin in one hand and grabbed for the glass of ice with the other. Walking quietly, she strode into the living room and placed them both on the coffee table in front of her mother’s sleeping shell.
Logan van Maaren walked back from his last class of the day. It had only been two days since classes had resumed after the Thanksgiving holiday, but already he was piled beneath a heavy workload. He bounded up the Keep’s grand stairs and was soon unloading the contents of his backpack onto his bed. His roommate had another class left, biology he remembered, and would not be back for over an hour.
He quickly shucked his heavy coat, shirt, and boots. Reaching into his closet he pulled out a black suit, tiny white pinstripes running the length of the garment. He quickly redressed, tying his blue and green striped tie around the collar of his shirt. He sat briefly at his desk, pulling out a printed sheet of paper. The top of the paper read clearly: Cole Caffey Group: Apalansett, Boston, Washington, New York, Miami. Below was the job description for an internship position, and in the page’s margin Logan had written “Interview - Wednesday, 3:00 pm.”
Logan folded the paper and slid it into his pants pocket. He stood up and put on his suit jacket, and then put on his coat. He grabbed his phone and keys and was soon out the door. He walked across the quadrangle to the front of the admissions hall where he could catch the 235 bus into town.
The bus trembled as it crept along the brown slush road. It creaked to a halt on the corner of 13th of Florence, and Logan hopped off, being careful not to slip as he stepped onto the icy sidewalk. He pulled out his phone to check its GPS, and started walking south. He followed the piping blue dot on the device’s screen as it went down the street, turned left onto Polonius Avenue, and then another left onto Horatio. Finally, at 4317 Horatio Avenue, Logan stopped in front of a grey stone building. The plaque near the door read: Cole Caffey - God and Country - 1723.
-----------------
August Springs, Arkansas
October 27, 2007
The morning was unusually warm for late October. Waylon stepped out of the front door of the church behind his mother. The sun’s harsh glare made him squint his eyes, tears being pushed down his cheeks. He looked down at the touch he felt on the back of his left hand. His mother’s hand had now clasped itself firmly around his own as they made their way slowly down the front steps of the church. They passed through the crowd of mourners on the short path to the cemetery. There a lawn green tent stood waiting for them, the long berth of a fresh grave set forth with a row of folding chairs.
Wordlessly, he took the seat next to his mother. His grandmother taking the seat next to him. He didn’t notice who sat next to her. Tears swam in the teen’s eyes. A bead of sweat dripped off of his face and onto the lapel of navy blue suit. Slowly, at a glacial pace, the pallbearers came. Between them, hung low, was the blue metal bullet that held his father’s body. Waylon felt nauseous. As the casket approached the gaping maw of the earth, the crowd of onlookers grew closer, their shadows falling onto his shoulders.
Two sharply dressed Marines slowly slid the draped flag from its resting place upon the blue steel. From somewhere Waylon couldn’t see, a lone trumpet player began to play, and the Marines carefully knelt down to hand the now folded flag to his mother. Her now makeup stained eyes clinched shut as she clutched it to her chest. Someone said words that Waylon didn’t hear and everyone bowed their ends.
Amanda Adams shut the car door. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, alcohol still coursing through her system. “Come on,” she said to the man behind her. “Weee’re going to be laaate.” She didn’t look back as she walked out of the parking lot and towards the high school auditorium. She clutched at her hand bag, the bright silver glint of a flask just visible above the bag’s lip.
Behind her walked a man, his trench coat cinched around his waist. The coat’s collar was turned up obscuring his face, but his shaggy grey hair hung in loose strands around it. He shuffled behind his wife in the direction of the school. They walked along the sidewalk to the doors marked AUDITORIUM, where a small, pimple faced boy stood, handing out play bills.
“This way,” Amanda said, winding her way through the crowd to find a pair of empty seats in the back of the theatre. Her husband shuffled behind her, his long coat drawing the eyes of others. As they sat, Amanda reached into her purse and pulled out a small flask. In a deft move she opened it and raised it to her mouth. Finishing her gulp, her eyes shifted to her right. Allan Adams sat hunched, rocking; his eyes darting wildly about the room. “They’re coming,” he whispered. “It's an ambush.”
“All right, just a few more questions for you,” the interviewer said. The nameplate on her desk identified her as Ilana M. Brickmund, and she had a long mane of red hair cascading over her right shoulder. A lot of the accounts we work with are extremely sensitive in nature. Do you think that you’d be able to handle working with classified information?”
“Yes ma’am. Absolutely,” Logan said.
He had been in her office for almost thirty minutes. He had not expected the internship interview to be so stringent, but he felt like he was presenting himself well.
“That’s good to hear,” the woman said. She had green eyes, like emeralds, Logan thought, but it was like they had hidden flames behind them. Logan thought she was beautiful. Logan wished he found her attractive. “I’m going to ask you a few more questions,” she said. “There’s no wrong or right answer, just tell me what first comes to your mind. Don’t think about the answer.”
“Okay,” Logan said.
“Complete the sequence: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . . .”
“13, 21, 32.”
“Good. Who are you most afraid of?”
“My dad.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t love me.”
“What’s my name?”
“Green eyes.”
“Close,” she smirked. She then began to show him pictures, again only asking for his immediate thoughts. Pictures of goats and bees, rockets and stars. She considered him for a moment. The phone on her desk buzzed at the alert of an incoming message. She opened the phone and read the message. “You can wait outside.”
Catherine steadied herself with a deep breath. She recited her lines for a final time behind the cover of the curtain. She counted down to when she knew her cue would come. She inched into place and waited for the exact instant in which fog would billow and her ghostly figure would appear to the audience.
Two things happened at once. A small flash came from the stage as smoke billowed forth. Catherine tried to look waif-like and ghostly as she opened her mouth to utter her lines. In the audience, a man stood up. Under the bright lights of the stage, Catherine could not see him, but she recognized the hollowness of his voice.
First he yelled. Catherine’s eyes opened wide. “It’s a trap! They’re here,” he called! Amanda’s eyes shot up to her husband, now standing in the silent theater. Heads snapped in his direction, and Catherine could feel the audience’s collective stare shift off of her. He flailed his arm wildly and began shuffling down the row of seats towards the isle. “Not my other daughter,” he cried. “Don’t go into the light.”
Catherine felt him come closer before she saw him emerging from the audience. He leapt up onto the stage, knocking the other actors out of the way. “Don’t take her! We won't go back!” He shielded Catherine behind his body, but from what, no one could see. Beneath her white makeup, Catherine’s face burned scarlet. Tears began to well in her eyes and Catherine whispered: “Daddy, no.”
Logan aimlessly pushed buttons on his phone. He already tried and failed at beating his high score on his favourite game, and none of the text messages he sent had yet been returned. He sat silently in the firm’s lobby. Leather bound books lined the walls interspersed with knick knacks and vases of fake ivy. Logan didn’t hear the door open. It wasn’t until she spoke that Logan looked up and saw Miss Brickmund in front of him. “Mr. van Maaren,” she said. “Can you start tomorrow?”
Chapter 18
The Upper Hand
The Upper Hand
Catherine woke up. Her eyelids gave way to the great white space of the ceiling above her. She had fallen asleep with her script in her hands, her thumb resting on her three highlighted lines. She did not want to move. She tried to soak up every second the stillness of the morning offered her. A feathered golden light barely hung in the air by the window; the tree outside doing its job of providing morning shade. In the stillness, the only perceptible sound was that of her own body’s endless drone of life. The cyclical ebb and flow of her breath marched in time with the tiny percussive beat of her heart.
Finally she swung her feet onto the floor and, stretching, stood out of bed. Her long, flowing hair fell into her face and she brushed it away absentmindedly. She quickly made her way down the hall to the kitchen, passing he mother’s sleeping frame on the living room couch. From a cupboard she took two glasses - she filled one with orange juice and the other with ice water. She took a banana from a bowl on the counter and began to peel it. Into the silver shining toaster she slid two pieces of bread. From where she stood she could see the door that connected the kitchen to the garage: locked as usual.
She finished off her own glass and set in on the counter. Opening up the silverware drawer, she reached to its back and felt around for a small brass key. Finally her fingers closed around it and she was able to withdraw her hand. She reach up and opened a cabinet door above her. On the uppermost shelf sat a small, light grey safe, a keyhole located on its bottom right corner. She inserted the key into its manufactured hole, and twisted until a soft click could be heard. Her hand retreated, holding six orange prescription pill bottles. Setting them on the counter, she retrieved from each vile, a single pill and placed them on an adjacent napkin.
The slices of bread popped up from their silver sheath, and she gingerly placed them on a plate. She spooned dollops of jelly onto each and set the plate gingerly on floor in front of the garage door. Standing back up, she took the pill-covered napkin in one hand and grabbed for the glass of ice with the other. Walking quietly, she strode into the living room and placed them both on the coffee table in front of her mother’s sleeping shell.
----------------
Logan van Maaren walked back from his last class of the day. It had only been two days since classes had resumed after the Thanksgiving holiday, but already he was piled beneath a heavy workload. He bounded up the Keep’s grand stairs and was soon unloading the contents of his backpack onto his bed. His roommate had another class left, biology he remembered, and would not be back for over an hour.
He quickly shucked his heavy coat, shirt, and boots. Reaching into his closet he pulled out a black suit, tiny white pinstripes running the length of the garment. He quickly redressed, tying his blue and green striped tie around the collar of his shirt. He sat briefly at his desk, pulling out a printed sheet of paper. The top of the paper read clearly: Cole Caffey Group: Apalansett, Boston, Washington, New York, Miami. Below was the job description for an internship position, and in the page’s margin Logan had written “Interview - Wednesday, 3:00 pm.”
Logan folded the paper and slid it into his pants pocket. He stood up and put on his suit jacket, and then put on his coat. He grabbed his phone and keys and was soon out the door. He walked across the quadrangle to the front of the admissions hall where he could catch the 235 bus into town.
The bus trembled as it crept along the brown slush road. It creaked to a halt on the corner of 13th of Florence, and Logan hopped off, being careful not to slip as he stepped onto the icy sidewalk. He pulled out his phone to check its GPS, and started walking south. He followed the piping blue dot on the device’s screen as it went down the street, turned left onto Polonius Avenue, and then another left onto Horatio. Finally, at 4317 Horatio Avenue, Logan stopped in front of a grey stone building. The plaque near the door read: Cole Caffey - God and Country - 1723.
-----------------
August Springs, Arkansas
October 27, 2007
The morning was unusually warm for late October. Waylon stepped out of the front door of the church behind his mother. The sun’s harsh glare made him squint his eyes, tears being pushed down his cheeks. He looked down at the touch he felt on the back of his left hand. His mother’s hand had now clasped itself firmly around his own as they made their way slowly down the front steps of the church. They passed through the crowd of mourners on the short path to the cemetery. There a lawn green tent stood waiting for them, the long berth of a fresh grave set forth with a row of folding chairs.
Wordlessly, he took the seat next to his mother. His grandmother taking the seat next to him. He didn’t notice who sat next to her. Tears swam in the teen’s eyes. A bead of sweat dripped off of his face and onto the lapel of navy blue suit. Slowly, at a glacial pace, the pallbearers came. Between them, hung low, was the blue metal bullet that held his father’s body. Waylon felt nauseous. As the casket approached the gaping maw of the earth, the crowd of onlookers grew closer, their shadows falling onto his shoulders.
Two sharply dressed Marines slowly slid the draped flag from its resting place upon the blue steel. From somewhere Waylon couldn’t see, a lone trumpet player began to play, and the Marines carefully knelt down to hand the now folded flag to his mother. Her now makeup stained eyes clinched shut as she clutched it to her chest. Someone said words that Waylon didn’t hear and everyone bowed their ends.
-----------------
Amanda Adams shut the car door. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, alcohol still coursing through her system. “Come on,” she said to the man behind her. “Weee’re going to be laaate.” She didn’t look back as she walked out of the parking lot and towards the high school auditorium. She clutched at her hand bag, the bright silver glint of a flask just visible above the bag’s lip.
Behind her walked a man, his trench coat cinched around his waist. The coat’s collar was turned up obscuring his face, but his shaggy grey hair hung in loose strands around it. He shuffled behind his wife in the direction of the school. They walked along the sidewalk to the doors marked AUDITORIUM, where a small, pimple faced boy stood, handing out play bills.
“This way,” Amanda said, winding her way through the crowd to find a pair of empty seats in the back of the theatre. Her husband shuffled behind her, his long coat drawing the eyes of others. As they sat, Amanda reached into her purse and pulled out a small flask. In a deft move she opened it and raised it to her mouth. Finishing her gulp, her eyes shifted to her right. Allan Adams sat hunched, rocking; his eyes darting wildly about the room. “They’re coming,” he whispered. “It's an ambush.”
-----------------
“All right, just a few more questions for you,” the interviewer said. The nameplate on her desk identified her as Ilana M. Brickmund, and she had a long mane of red hair cascading over her right shoulder. A lot of the accounts we work with are extremely sensitive in nature. Do you think that you’d be able to handle working with classified information?”
“Yes ma’am. Absolutely,” Logan said.
He had been in her office for almost thirty minutes. He had not expected the internship interview to be so stringent, but he felt like he was presenting himself well.
“That’s good to hear,” the woman said. She had green eyes, like emeralds, Logan thought, but it was like they had hidden flames behind them. Logan thought she was beautiful. Logan wished he found her attractive. “I’m going to ask you a few more questions,” she said. “There’s no wrong or right answer, just tell me what first comes to your mind. Don’t think about the answer.”
“Okay,” Logan said.
“Complete the sequence: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . . .”
“13, 21, 32.”
“Good. Who are you most afraid of?”
“My dad.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t love me.”
“What’s my name?”
“Green eyes.”
“Close,” she smirked. She then began to show him pictures, again only asking for his immediate thoughts. Pictures of goats and bees, rockets and stars. She considered him for a moment. The phone on her desk buzzed at the alert of an incoming message. She opened the phone and read the message. “You can wait outside.”
------------------
Catherine steadied herself with a deep breath. She recited her lines for a final time behind the cover of the curtain. She counted down to when she knew her cue would come. She inched into place and waited for the exact instant in which fog would billow and her ghostly figure would appear to the audience.
Two things happened at once. A small flash came from the stage as smoke billowed forth. Catherine tried to look waif-like and ghostly as she opened her mouth to utter her lines. In the audience, a man stood up. Under the bright lights of the stage, Catherine could not see him, but she recognized the hollowness of his voice.
First he yelled. Catherine’s eyes opened wide. “It’s a trap! They’re here,” he called! Amanda’s eyes shot up to her husband, now standing in the silent theater. Heads snapped in his direction, and Catherine could feel the audience’s collective stare shift off of her. He flailed his arm wildly and began shuffling down the row of seats towards the isle. “Not my other daughter,” he cried. “Don’t go into the light.”
Catherine felt him come closer before she saw him emerging from the audience. He leapt up onto the stage, knocking the other actors out of the way. “Don’t take her! We won't go back!” He shielded Catherine behind his body, but from what, no one could see. Beneath her white makeup, Catherine’s face burned scarlet. Tears began to well in her eyes and Catherine whispered: “Daddy, no.”
------------------
Logan aimlessly pushed buttons on his phone. He already tried and failed at beating his high score on his favourite game, and none of the text messages he sent had yet been returned. He sat silently in the firm’s lobby. Leather bound books lined the walls interspersed with knick knacks and vases of fake ivy. Logan didn’t hear the door open. It wasn’t until she spoke that Logan looked up and saw Miss Brickmund in front of him. “Mr. van Maaren,” she said. “Can you start tomorrow?”
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Maybe I should post a character list?
And remember (or maybe not), Logan is the guy that didn't even know his own last name was Dutch . . . maybe he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Yeah, or a "Previously on..."
Well, if he's that dim, he wouldn't have recognized the Fibonacci Sequence. If he knew the principle of it he could probably do the math.
But it's your story.
Críostóir, LOL.
I knew it was the Fibonacci sequence, too, and what it was/how to calculate it, but when I reviewed that segment, it was around 5:45AM and I missed that particular correction. Then again, one can never be certain whether it was supposed to be correct or not. As Seth said, Logan isn't the sharpest tack in the sack.
Seth,
The title of the chapter starts out a bit foreboding.
Catherine's homelife, partially revealed, is depressing from the get go. We'd already been privy to her mom being passed out dead drunk when her Girl Friend (Gina?) with Attitude invited herself over to get Catherine ready for the party, awhile back in the story. The hauntingly quiet morning routine - her mom laid out drunk on the couch, Locke having to get the key to unlock the Rx's for her mom, making sure everything is taken care of, and the garage door is locked, before she headed off to school with her toast for breakfast.
Later, to see the paranoid psychotic her dad had become since their haunting teleportation years earlier - "Not my other daughter" - was locke the child in the car seat all those years ago? Or was she the yet to be announced fetus? Or did the aliens extract the fetus from Amanda, leaving them less their unborn child?
Then, to see Logan get dressed up and go off to an internship interview with a Law? firm. And to be asked about handling sensitive/confidential files? This scuzz bucket, mealy mouthed, WORM?! Just thinking about him makes my skin crawl.
Finally, your recount of Way's Dad's funeral was heartbreaking. It brought back memories of the funerals of different friends and family I have attended at different stages in my life. Grandparents, in-laws, Uncles, a nephew at the tender age of 9. The realism you brought forth, was palpable.
It's great to have you back.
I knew it was the Fibonacci sequence, too, and what it was/how to calculate it, but when I reviewed that segment, it was around 5:45AM and I missed that particular correction. Then again, one can never be certain whether it was supposed to be correct or not. As Seth said, Logan isn't the sharpest tack in the sack.
Seth,
The title of the chapter starts out a bit foreboding.
Catherine's homelife, partially revealed, is depressing from the get go. We'd already been privy to her mom being passed out dead drunk when her Girl Friend (Gina?) with Attitude invited herself over to get Catherine ready for the party, awhile back in the story. The hauntingly quiet morning routine - her mom laid out drunk on the couch, Locke having to get the key to unlock the Rx's for her mom, making sure everything is taken care of, and the garage door is locked, before she headed off to school with her toast for breakfast.
Later, to see the paranoid psychotic her dad had become since their haunting teleportation years earlier - "Not my other daughter" - was locke the child in the car seat all those years ago? Or was she the yet to be announced fetus? Or did the aliens extract the fetus from Amanda, leaving them less their unborn child?
Then, to see Logan get dressed up and go off to an internship interview with a Law? firm. And to be asked about handling sensitive/confidential files? This scuzz bucket, mealy mouthed, WORM?! Just thinking about him makes my skin crawl.
Finally, your recount of Way's Dad's funeral was heartbreaking. It brought back memories of the funerals of different friends and family I have attended at different stages in my life. Grandparents, in-laws, Uncles, a nephew at the tender age of 9. The realism you brought forth, was palpable.
It's great to have you back.
ThreeCrows
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Oh hey, it's the number 235 again! I've missed you!
Chapter 18
He walked across the quadrangle to the front of the admissions hall where he could catch the 235 bus into town.
And then a little bit later, surprisingly tied to Logan is:
Chapter 18
He followed the piping blue dot on the device’s screen as it went down the street, turned left onto Polonius Avenue, and then another left onto Horatio. Finally, at 4317 Horatio Avenue, Logan stopped in front of a grey stone building. The plaque near the door read: Cole Caffey - God and Country - 1723.
Oh Seth, you cheeky lad! Horatio and Polonius are characters in Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Chapter 3
As the car slowly pulled away from the curb the sun caught the light of its license plate; the numbers 43170 glinted red in the sun.
So just to review some of the reoccuring numbers:
4317 (address)
43170 (license plate)
43172351 (my looney tunes number combo theory, post #94)
421702351 (SS/ID for James and Way)
1723 (date?)
Lining up the 1723:
4317 (address)
43170 (license plate)
421702351 (SS/ID)
**17*23** (date?)
To me, this makes the zero stand out a lot. I wonder what the Shakespeare reference and the zero mean. Also the two numbers left at the end of the number sequence are 5 and 1. "Area 51," alien theory fans?
Great job as always, Seth.
Chapter 18
He walked across the quadrangle to the front of the admissions hall where he could catch the 235 bus into town.
And then a little bit later, surprisingly tied to Logan is:
Chapter 18
He followed the piping blue dot on the device’s screen as it went down the street, turned left onto Polonius Avenue, and then another left onto Horatio. Finally, at 4317 Horatio Avenue, Logan stopped in front of a grey stone building. The plaque near the door read: Cole Caffey - God and Country - 1723.
Oh Seth, you cheeky lad! Horatio and Polonius are characters in Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Chapter 3
As the car slowly pulled away from the curb the sun caught the light of its license plate; the numbers 43170 glinted red in the sun.
So just to review some of the reoccuring numbers:
4317 (address)
43170 (license plate)
43172351 (my looney tunes number combo theory, post #94)
421702351 (SS/ID for James and Way)
1723 (date?)
Lining up the 1723:
4317 (address)
43170 (license plate)
421702351 (SS/ID)
**17*23** (date?)
To me, this makes the zero stand out a lot. I wonder what the Shakespeare reference and the zero mean. Also the two numbers left at the end of the number sequence are 5 and 1. "Area 51," alien theory fans?
Great job as always, Seth.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
I wonder what the Shakespeare reference and the zero mean.
Great job as always, Seth.
Look in Chapter 15 for the Shakespeare tie ins.
ThreeCrows
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Catherine/Locke performing in Macbeth?
Do the numbers have anything to do with sonnets?
Do the numbers have anything to do with sonnets?
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Correct on both accounts.
There's only 1 sonnet tie in, though. Something about day and night . . . maybe a bit about dreams?
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Considering it has been some time since I updated this story, and the general fact that those who've been reading this story have been doing so since June, I think it best that I upload a brief list of characters. Very short bios here, don't want to give anything away; just sort of a refresher, if you will.
Waylon Oliver Wood - Student, boyfriend of Cameron, roommate of James, team mate of Locke.
James Maurice Ravel - best friend of Waylon
Catherine Locke Adams - team mate of Waylon, friend of James'
Cameron Daniel Cole - Boyfriend of Waylon, orphan raised in foster care, generally weird
Oktyabrina Ahkmontova - Waylon's Russian teacher
Jeremy Bentham - James', Locke's, and Waylon's comparative politics professor
Logan van Maaren - general douche, mad that Waylon spurned his advances, interns at a law firm
Charles Sloan - military guy
Madison Brickmund - Charles Sloan's right hand girl
Noel Gable - local farmer, with unique cows
Nathan Wood - Waylon's father who died when he was 16
Karen Wood - Waylon's mother
Timothy Ravel - James' brother
Amanda Adams - Locke's mother, has issues
Allan Adams - Locke's father, has even bigger issues
Karl Sargasso - Waylon's father's best friend, Waylon's godfather, has a very old telescope
Guy Or - team mate of Locke and Waylon, has feelings for Locke, Cameron's best friend
Michelle Or - Guy's mother, coach of the equestrian team
I think that's the main characters, though there are still a few more to add in the coming chapters.
Waylon Oliver Wood - Student, boyfriend of Cameron, roommate of James, team mate of Locke.
James Maurice Ravel - best friend of Waylon
Catherine Locke Adams - team mate of Waylon, friend of James'
Cameron Daniel Cole - Boyfriend of Waylon, orphan raised in foster care, generally weird
Oktyabrina Ahkmontova - Waylon's Russian teacher
Jeremy Bentham - James', Locke's, and Waylon's comparative politics professor
Logan van Maaren - general douche, mad that Waylon spurned his advances, interns at a law firm
Charles Sloan - military guy
Madison Brickmund - Charles Sloan's right hand girl
Noel Gable - local farmer, with unique cows
Nathan Wood - Waylon's father who died when he was 16
Karen Wood - Waylon's mother
Timothy Ravel - James' brother
Amanda Adams - Locke's mother, has issues
Allan Adams - Locke's father, has even bigger issues
Karl Sargasso - Waylon's father's best friend, Waylon's godfather, has a very old telescope
Guy Or - team mate of Locke and Waylon, has feelings for Locke, Cameron's best friend
Michelle Or - Guy's mother, coach of the equestrian team
I think that's the main characters, though there are still a few more to add in the coming chapters.
Hmmm, no mention of Dr. Ahkmontova and the Siberian reportings of the 70's?
Brief bios, indeed, Perchance!
Yes, I did notice the reference to the character names from the era of The Bard.
I forgot to mention them - my post was already long-winded enough, lol.
Initials that work: Cameron Daniel Cole - he's not from Canada, he's from Atlanta - CDC - Centers for Disease Control?!
I keep wanting to rearrange at least one letter in Dr Ahkmontova's name - moving/adding the/an "n" between the "A" and the "h", so we have a tie in to ancient Egyptian religious symbols - Is this really a tie in to Stargate SG-1?!
OK, so much for the comic section of our program.
Chaz & Sheep, The Names are officially "Or" - no more confusion over fish eggs!
ThreeCrows
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Correct on both accounts.
There's only 1 sonnet tie in, though. Something about day and night . . . maybe a bit about dreams?
Sonnet 43?
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form from happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
And bingo was his name-o!
Also, there is another famous sonnet 43 that makes for a good read, though I'll admit to EBB having no connection to the story
Also, there is another famous sonnet 43 that makes for a good read, though I'll admit to EBB having no connection to the story
ThreeCrows
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I love that sonnet, it's very dark and beautiful. It's also about everything that is unseen and in plain sight, just like your whole story. Well played!
I think it might apply to a few characters in particular, is it ok to discuss/theory out that stuff?
Totally unrelated to the above... The SS/ID thing, and my curiosity about the number 0 in the number sequence. It's dead in the middle of two sets of four numbers.
421702351 (SS/ID)
4217 0 2351
if we swap a 2 on the right with a 7 on the left we would get:
4212 0 7351
so everything on the right side would be a prime number. Is that going anywhere or just barking up the wrong tree? Good with me either way, thanks Seth!
Edit: scratch the prime number angle, maybe? maybe focus on 1723?
I think it might apply to a few characters in particular, is it ok to discuss/theory out that stuff?
Totally unrelated to the above... The SS/ID thing, and my curiosity about the number 0 in the number sequence. It's dead in the middle of two sets of four numbers.
421702351 (SS/ID)
4217 0 2351
if we swap a 2 on the right with a 7 on the left we would get:
4212 0 7351
so everything on the right side would be a prime number. Is that going anywhere or just barking up the wrong tree? Good with me either way, thanks Seth!
Edit: scratch the prime number angle, maybe? maybe focus on 1723?
