Duchy of Darkmere

It's teh sexxors. Cale always turns lazy after.

Cale blanched as she realized how her statement could be misinterpreted, then color blossomed in her cheeks as sudden desire flashed through her. The slight widening of Beebo's eyes indicated that she, too, noticed her discomfort. "This is all wrong!" she wailed internally. She was used to command, to control, to precision. How had this encounter gone so terribly awry?

Beebo's hand slowly moved across the white field of Cale's evening, gliding over her digits, positive integers, and sequences, lingering softly on her Lychrel numbers before coming to a stop on Cale's tool. Her slender fingers wrapped around the long, hardness of Cale's pencil and drew it across the table, the wood hissing across papers stained with graphite effluent. Cale could not resist watching as Beebo twirled it in her fingers and then, incredibly, tapped the soft, pink nub of the eraser thoughtfully on her lips! This could not stand.

Cale struggled in outrage. "How dare you!" she cried, squirming in Beebo's grasp. Beebo gazed at her in surprise, the pencil stilled as she strove to keep Cale under her control, her other hand tightening around Cale's wrists. Beebo knelt on the floor beside Cale's chair, moving her lips, her lovely, enticing lips, farther away. Cale pushed the thought aside as she held tight to her anger. "That's mine!" She wanted to elaborate, to explain how the pencil was her conduit of truth, faithfully bleeding her thoughts, her calculations, her soul, onto page after page in her pursuit of meaning and understanding, but she hesitated, afraid to reveal too much to this woman who already held so much sway over her.

"My poor dear," Beebo started, reaching out to caress Cale's face with the end of the pencil. "I didn't mean to upset you." She brushed the cool wand around the edge of Cale's ear, eliciting an uncontrolled shudder. She placed a hand on Cale's knee to reassure her. "Perhaps I've started things badly." Beebo gave Cale's knee a squeeze. "Eep!" "I really want what's best for both of us. But I see, I understand that you need to be shown." While she spoke, Beebo reached out with Cale's pencil, caressing her face, outlining her figure and clothing. "I think that you'll be my special project. Yes, indeed. I think that we'll both benefit. The possibilities...are endless." With that, Beebo reached up and carefully tucked the pencil behind Cale's ear, gently patting her hair in place.

For once, Cale was speechless. "2, 4, 8, 16...16...16...Oh, hell." Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She felt like a gasping fish, flopping out of water. By endless, was Beebo implying infinite? And if so, did she mean countably infinite or uncountably infinite? Had she found a refutation for Hilbert's paradox of the Grand Hotel? Surely not. Surely Beebo was mistaken. Cale felt a strengthening of her foundations. While she floundered and fought for footing, Beebo sidled up closer, draping her arm over Cale's lap and kneeling upright to bring her face even. Beebo leaned in close and murmured, "First, we should do something about those lips."

Cale is too busy forming temperance committees to bother debating anything

No no, Cale is currently occupied on her very important work "Teh History of Forum Dramahz" I think she has almost completed Vol LXXVII.

(I can't wait to see how it turns out!)

Cale blanched as she realized how her statement could be misinterpreted, then color blossomed in her cheeks as sudden desire flashed through her. The slight widening of Beebo's eyes indicated that she, too, noticed her discomfort. "This is all wrong!" she wailed internally. She was used to command, to control, to precision. How had this encounter gone so terribly awry?

Beebo's hand slowly moved across the white field of Cale's evening, gliding over her digits, positive integers, and sequences, lingering softly on her Lychrel numbers before coming to a stop on Cale's tool. Her slender fingers wrapped around the long, hardness of Cale's pencil and drew it across the table, the wood hissing across papers stained with graphite effluent. Cale could not resist watching as Beebo twirled it in her fingers and then, incredibly, tapped the soft, pink nub of the eraser thoughtfully on her lips! This could not stand.

Cale struggled in outrage. "How dare you!" she cried, squirming in Beebo's grasp. Beebo gazed at her in surprise, the pencil stilled as she strove to keep Cale under her control, her other hand tightening around Cale's wrists. Beebo knelt on the floor beside Cale's chair, moving her lips, her lovely, enticing lips, farther away. Cale pushed the thought aside as she held tight to her anger. "That's mine!" She wanted to elaborate, to explain how the pencil was her conduit of truth, faithfully bleeding her thoughts, her calculations, her soul, onto page after page in her pursuit of meaning and understanding, but she hesitated, afraid to reveal too much to this woman who already held so much sway over her.

"My poor dear," Beebo started, reaching out to caress Cale's face with the end of the pencil. "I didn't mean to upset you." She brushed the cool wand around the edge of Cale's ear, eliciting an uncontrolled shudder. She placed a hand on Cale's knee to reassure her. "Perhaps I've started things badly." Beebo gave Cale's knee a squeeze. "Eep!" "I really want what's best for both of us. But I see, I understand that you need to be shown." While she spoke, Beebo reached out with Cale's pencil, caressing her face, outlining her figure and clothing. "I think that you'll be my special project. Yes, indeed. I think that we'll both benefit. The possibilities...are endless." With that, Beebo reached up and carefully tucked the pencil behind Cale's ear, gently patting her hair in place.

For once, Cale was speechless. "2, 4, 8, 16...16...16...Oh, hell." Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She felt like a gasping fish, flopping out of water. By endless, was Beebo implying infinite? And if so, did she mean countably infinite or uncountably infinite? Had she found a refutation for Hilbert's paradox of the Grand Hotel? Surely not. Surely Beebo was mistaken. Cale felt a strengthening of her foundations. While she floundered and fought for footing, Beebo sidled up closer, draping her arm over Cale's lap and kneeling upright to bring her face even. Beebo leaned in close and murmured, "First, we should do something about those lips."

Which reminds me, glorious Troika Leader, we need to meet soon to discuss important matters. At the top of the Eiffel Tower perhaps, just before closing? Yes, yes, I know they haven't finished work on the replacement railings there yet, but we shan't dally there for long I assure you.

I can assure you Jen that neither Beebo or I have ever forgotten the pencil:

/packs parachute before the meeting

(/me shakes her fist!)

Cale! What have you done with Margaret?

Wait...how did that fist get free from Beebo's grasp? You'll have to fill us in on everything we missed!

Will there be maps in the history book? I like maps.