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From: [email protected] (Sweet Poly)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: sucking up to Sweet Poly
Date: 13 Dec 1995 14:34:42 GMT
Organization: The Rancho Deluxe
Lines: 96
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
References:
NNTP-Posting-Host: stripe.colorado.edu

In article ,
Julia Witwer wrote:
>
>The cold breeze makes a little noise.
>
>From this side the Rancho Deluxe is quiet, but not like a dead building.
>Maybe it's the way the daemons shift around up on the roof, sometimes
>peering over, sometimes moving swiftly on unknown missions, sometimes
>sitting on their haunches, rather like ancient gargoyles, with a flash of
>text for the gleam of limestone.



>There is a rustle and one of the shrubs begins to move. It edges out a
>little closer to the Rancho Deluxe.

Looking out from an upstairs window at the wintry day, Poly nearly falls
out from her suprise and astonishment and delight. The moving bush is a
sight gag with a long history, and a personal favorite of hers.
Laughing, remembering the Stooges hiding from "General Custard" that way,
she hurriese downstairs.

>Silence. The daemons pace.
>
>The shrub shuffles another yard or two and then stops.
>
>There's no sound but the little sound from the wind.

The presence of somebody in the yard is *felt*, however, and the place
becomes alert.

>Finally the shrub moves forward again and then tips over onto its side.
>Now you can see that the shrub was on wheels, sort of like a shopping
>cart. A little person gets up out of the debris of broken tree branches
>and leaves. She's wearing a plastic raincoat and carrying a dark green
>garbage bag that is full and heavy. She drags it behind her as she walks,
>crunching over the gravel to the gate. It's probably not good for the bag,
>which is flimsy plastic, but she doesn't seem to notice.
>
>Because she is so new to the place, and such a _very_ little girl, she
>can't quite see if there is a doorbell or a knocker attached to the gate,
>which itself keeps shifting around before her eyes. Sometimes it's a
>wooden gate with weathered redwood slats. Then it's made of bars and she's
>standing on a cattletrap, shifting from foot to foot. Through the gate
>she thinks she can see people up on the front porch.
>
>"Hello?" she says faintly. "Can I be here? I don't know how to make
>daemons, but I've got some toys that are nice."
>
>The little girl sits down in the gravel and begins to rummage around in
>the garbage bag, looking for something good to give to Sweet Poly.

Now wrought iron, the gate swings inward with the sound of rubbing metal.
A walk leads up though a 'lawn' that would make a landscaper weep, towards
a big white-frame rambling house, with a huge front porch across its
front. Bored, and alert for diversion *always*, there are a few punks and
pets clustered on the porch, watching the visitor approach. A short
grrrl, with short dark curly hair and big brown eyes, wearing black jeans
and a pink turtleneck, steps out from the crowd:

"Instead of just *standing* there, would one of you please help that
little girl with her bag! Oh, never mind..." and Poly hurries down to
the little girl sitting in the dirt, her lips blue with the cold. "Here,
dearie, let me help you with that. You don't by
any chance have some jacks in there, do you?... or an etch-a-sketch.

The little girl is not sure how it was done, but before she can say "Jack
Frost", she's sitting in a big stuffed chair in front of a roaring fire,
with a cup of tea in her hand.

"Just rest for a bit. You *poor thing*! You must be half-frozen after
hiding in that bush! How long were you out there, honey? Don't worry
about a thing. We can arrange something for rent later. To be quite
honest, I've been admiring your clothes, and wonder if you could whip
something up for me for the Christmas party? -- call it even?" Poly's
clothing situation has been getting very grim for awhile, and she's sick
of everything she has...

The place quiets down again after the excitement of receiving a visiter, a
*grrrl*, too -- very rare. In the half-light of winter twilight, snow
begins to fall, building up quickly, covering the lawn and flamethrower
turrets, and any gargoyles sitting still too long on the roof...

Inside, all is warm and bright.


Practicing Controlled Folly,

T---A
C---G
A-T Sweet Poly
C
T-A Sit you down amid the fire, Will the fire not burn you?
C---G Come to Pavia, will you Just as chaste return you?
C---G The Archpoet

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