#shimshoy

[shimshoycapsula]

#shimshoy, #magic, #serialfolktales, #modernfairytales, #ebleskiever, #ableskeever, #bones https://www.instagram.com/p/BzAg3L4BsH8/?igshid=14d8n9qs2luxt

[shimshoycapsula]

Some Shim Shoy tuneage for Shim Shoy funeage! It's my Birthday so I'm indulging a little! Thanks for the likes lately on my stories, Tumblrs! Here's to another year of tootling tunes and telling stories! Love, Your Friend in all things Shim And Shoy, Pat P.s. I know it's hopefully humorously imperfect, I can't get over stage nerves even when alone with the camera yet! Love ya!

[shimshoycapsula]

Stanley Squantro 1- or The Boy Who Talked To Walls (Spor)

Stanley Squantro, like many humans in the modern world, spent a lot of time in rooms. Rooms, of course, are made primarily of walls, which is to say a room can lack a proper floor or ceiling, but there is no such thing as a room without walls, as that would simply be outside. Commonly referred as the “Out of Doors”, roomless environments would more accurately be labeled the “Out of Walls”. As a matter of fact and coincidence, this is exactly how Stanley Squantro referred to being outside.

"Where are you going, Stanley?"

"For a stroll out of walls."

You get the idea. It’s simply that the reality and importance of walls was very clear in Stanley Squantro’s unusual mind, and it sometimes influenced him in the way of little eccentricities like that. To Stanley, “Out of Doors” was a problem experienced by housebuilding crews.

For your consideration, nobody can tell you how or why, but when Stanley Squantro talked to walls, the walls talked back.

By way of an explanation, he offers this;

"I can see the faces of walls. Not always right away, sometimes it takes me a while, or maybe it’s a shy wall and doesn’t want to show me it’s face right away, but sooner or later I see it, and it sees me, and when that happens I can talk to it, and it talks back to me."

Of all the people that ever shared space in a room with Stanley while he conversed with the walls, no one could ever hear the walls talking to Stanley except Stanley, and what’s more, no one ever heard him talking to them, either. To their senses, it appeared that Stanley simply stared silently at a wall or walls for a while, not exactly in a trance, just quiet, then he would “snap out of it” and report his findings, if appropriate. Not that the walls care if their secrets get spread around. Accordingly to Stanely, walls are dispassionate entities for whom such concepts as “secrets” are simply nonexistent.

"After all it’s people’s reputations that are at stake, not the wall’s." Stanley has often said in rebuke to the gossip hounds, or the overly curious, to be polite about it. You can hardly blame such types for bothering Stanley Squantro, who has peeled back the concealing paint from the walls of so many historical mysteries. But that’s for later.

Thank You for reading shimshoycapsula!

[shimshoycapsula]

Seventeen awesome Tumblrs are following shimshoycapsula! Thank You! I strive to validate your support!

[shimshoycapsula]

Rooster The Man, A Shim Shoy Folktale

There’s a song the children of the town sometimes sing as they play about; Rooster didn’t have a tongue The Good Lord didn’t give him one Or someone cut his tongue away It’s just impossible to say Rooster was born in an asylum, where his little tongue was taken out by a crazy person. Still, he turned out okay. He was big and strong and smart and skillful, though his whole life there were people who considered him a grunting misborn idiot, and a certain percentage of these always treated him with a cruelty. Still he learned patience and the fine art of listening and learning, and so he turned out okay. At the orphanage, no one adopted Rooster, nor would they, this big strong boy gesticulating strangely with his hands and grunting. So the Friar educated Rooster himself, in scholarly fashion and criminal. Something of an artist of open minded living, the Friar fashioned an ingenious little lockbox that fit snugly in Rooster’s vacant jaw and started a smuggling venture and secret message service, all very ingenious and clandestine. Thus did young Rooster range daily all about the town, subtly delivering secret things, often stopping to lend his strength to tasks and people in need of it along the way. In this way Rooster gained a small reputation of strength and good-naturedness. A kindly Farmer would send for Rooster occasionally, sometime for weeks at a time during the harvest. When the Farmer wanted to build, Rooster showed a talent for carpentry, and his education provided him with the knowledge of architecture, and he designed and built for the Farmer a barn, grain silo, and windmill. These structures were impressive, and people came to know about them and Rooster’s skills. The Farmer had a sweet natured daughter, and Rooster loved her more than anyone or anything else in the world, and passionately, too. He knew he could never have her if he remained silent, so he wrote her a love letter of exquisite beauty that woke her to the true depths of his heartmind, and she found herself deeper in love than she could say. Rooster wrote another letter of stunning elegance, this one to the farmer, asking for his daughter’s hand in marriage, to which the stunned Farmer and his Wife agreed, for they were folk who prized nature of character over the circumstances of the material world. Riches would come to Rooster, however, and thusly to the Farmer and his Wife and the Friar, too. There was a man who had always kept a curious eye on Rooster, since the first time the silent little boy delivered a secret message to him from the ingenious little box in his hollow mouth, and he would always send for Rooster when he needed someone he could trust to make a delivery. To this man, it was not Rooster’s naturally enforced silence that made him trustworthy, it was just something he knew to be so. This man was a criminal, and by the time of Rooster’s wedding had become the biggest Boss in town. He paid Rooster a huge sum to design and build for him a great mansion, riddled with concealed passageways, secret doors, and hidden vaults to store his fortune in ill-gotten gains. Here was another who could see Rooster’s value where others did not. Rooster designed and built many such houses for the Boss’s associates, and was well paid by them, as well. Rooster bought the farm neighboring his In-Laws, and built a new little house for his blushing bride, and life was just as wonderful as it can be. Some time went on by, and the Boss died. His son took over. The Boss’s Son was cruel and always had been. As a boy there was no greater tormentor of poor misunderstood Rooster as this vile little thug. As a man he was no better, and life in the town became a grim and nervous affair for many. He had learned some things from his father however. One of these things was the secret value of Rooster. The New Boss went to the little house and told Rooster he needed him to show him all the secret ways of the house he had built for his father, as they two were the only ones who knew them all. The New Boss was rude about it, reminiscing on the torments he would inflict on Rooster when they were boys. He did not bring them up to apologize, he only laughed at them again. Rooster went with him and and showed him the secret vaults and and entrances and escape doors. By the time they were done, Sonny Boy was five times wealthier than he had dreamed, and drunk with a great greed temporarily fulfilled, he shoved a box flowing over with gold coins into Rooster’s arms and sent him away, but Rooster left the gold in the vault when he left. The New Boss came by again a little later, with the box of gold coins, angrily insulted that Rooster had not accepted it. Rooster still did not want it, however. The New Boss tried to elicit some greed from Roster’s wife, but, being a fulfilled person, she was unreachable in this fashion. Sonny Boy had not seen this quality in a woman in his whole life, because his was a world of crime and criminals and greed. He didn’t believe it, and it made him even angrier. He demanded that Rooster show him the secret entrances of his late Father’s associates, which only Rooster knew. Rooster refused, and enraged, the New Boss pulled a knife and swiped menacingly at Rooster’s Wife. In his love letters to her and in his heartmind, Rooster refers to his Wife’s cheeks as his own apples of immortality, a god’s delight. As his eyes beheld the short, thin red line emerge glistening from his Wife’s cheek, his golden apple’s perfect flesh wounded, a stout locked door deep deep and deep within Rooster fell open without a sound, and an all consuming storm burst forth, filling Rooster. He grabbed the New Boss by the arms, pinning them to his sides, and squeezed mightily. Sonny Boy tried to scream over the sound of his cracking ribs, but his inner mechanisms for such activity were already crushed. When the knife fell from his hand, Rooster crunch-folded him over one knee and hurled him through the front door, which was closed, smashing it into pieces. Sonny Boy’s bodyguards, his most vicious thugs, were waiting outside for him. They tried to avenge him, but Rooster smashed their heads in with a splintered plank of wood from the shattered door. He loaded their bodies into their ride, and, setting the the whole thing on blazing fire, sent it down the road to town. Rooster went back inside and tended to his beloved Wife. Strong as an iron ox, she had never known his touch to be anything other than gentle and loving, and this moment, in the aftermath of bloody carnage, is no exception. Many people in the town were grateful to Rooster for ridding them of such a vile group of gangsters, even though they knew he did not do it for them, and Rooster became something of a living legend. That’s why the children in the town sometimes sing a song when playing about, that always begins, Rooster didn’t have a tongue The Good Lord didn’t give him one Or someone cut his tongue away It’s just impossible to say Shim Shoy!

[shimshoycapsula]

Hidden Cities 14.2: Strange Sleepings

As Benjamin B. was lying in his bed, he writhed in the hypnagogic state. That is, when you start dreaming before you fall fully asleep. Trees and vines were growing in his bedroom, flowering and twining about. Greene Vardim Black, however, was sound asleep. Sound asleep and walking about the city. This was the first time he left the house on one of his sonambulic strolls. This of course despite extra precautions taken by Grissom Black to contain his sleepwalking nephew. The entities that lived in the house would tolerate no impediment to their new guest, who they loved, and the same goes for the entities in the empty head, who were the guests of Greene Vardim Black, and compared to them, Grissom Black's magic was small. Benjamin B. finally broke free of the waking dream, and his bedroom was just a bedroom again. He went to the window and looked down on the backyard. The skies had cleared, and Mother's flower boxes were bursting with blooms, and the grass and dandelions were shaggy in the moonlight. Then Greene Vardim Black walked by, and stopped by the fence for a moment, and raised his hands, and the flowers and grass grew even higher. Then he walked on. Ben got dressed and went out after him. He didn't wake up his folks with creaking floorboards because he was light again. Thank You This Chapter To Be Continued Read Shimshoycapsula For Shim Shoy

[shimshoycapsula]

Vehn Rous and The Strange Visitor

Tinkers: The Traveling Folk Auslangie: The Medicine Men and historians of the Tinkers. An Auslangie often travels apart from their Tinker Tribe, as their duty is to help all the people of the wider world. In the time of the fallen cities they came to be called Scavengers, due their habit of frequenting spent battlefields. It was always thus with the Auslangie, but in the time of the fallen cities, there were so many more such fields than ever before or since. Vehn Rous: Known as The Mouse. Son of the Tinker Leigh Fira and the warrior Martaugas Rous, Vehn Rous was barely a young man when dark and dire circumstance marked him the mortal enemy of the Syntian King, an ancient and withered supernatural predator, come back to strength and vitality in these bloody times. He was taken on by a unique kind of Auslangie, who belonged to no tribe, and he changed his name to Mouse, and they stayed hidden together, and he learned the way of the Auslangie. For a while, after he inherited the covered cart and horse-skin coat for his own, he wandered as the Auslangie do, and all sorts of wondrous things happened in his wanderings. Here, we together come upon an example of such wonder. Vehn Rous and The Strange Visitor A Shim Shoy Folktale One day Vehn Rous, who is known as The Mouse, shortly after his inheritance of the scavenger's cart, and some short years before his long imprisonment by his enemy, the Syntian King, was scavenging a spent battlefield when he came upon a soldier who looked dead, was truly all but dead, but was still a little bit alive. Summoning his scavenger's cart to his side, he loaded the poor bastard in and left that place for healthier climes, a grassy spot next to a cold mountain stream, and sunny. Here the soldier's fleeing life was encouraged to return by Vehn Rous, who was skilled in the Auslangie healing arts. Those known as scavengers in Vehn Rous' time were in other times known as Auslangie. The wounded man was nearly back in the pink when he was suddenly gripped by a fierce burning fever, and he told Vehn Rous about a secret Hidden treasure he alone knew about, and with trembling fingers traced a crude map in the dirt. Vehn Rous tied a rope around the two of them and the other end to the cart, and carried him into the cold waters of the stream, which had become quite powerful in it's flow over the recent days. It was a brief battle between heat and cold, but the universal element overcame the human, and the soldier escaped death yet again. That night Vehn Rous built his fire high and bright and hot, for he had been chilled to the bone of the bones. When he had warmed himself enough to feel a moment of Tinker pride in his fire, he saw he was not alone. The strange visitor was sitting next to him, calm and quiet, and said, - It is a warm fire. Auslangie always build the warmest fires. - Have you visited with many? - Many. Eventually all, of course. Always the best fires and the best food and the best conversation. - Are you hungry? - Not at the moment. Then, regarding the sleeping soldier, the visitor said, - I have come twice now for this one! I thought perhaps I was late, but no! It's just that you have beaten me to him. Twice now. - I'm sorry to put you out. - It happens. All completely legitimate. Human beings are fully entitled to save each other's lives. In fact, it is an act highly regarded by all. But I thought I would tell you some things you're not aware of, and normally could never become aware of until it's too late, unless I told you. Vehn Rous was tempted to speak but bit his tongue, as he knew that was best. The visitor went on, - First, as with all things, the third time's the charm. When you save a person's life three times, their life becomes yours. I can be summoned at any time to collect it, or never, but when you die, they die, no matter what. This man, whose life you have saved two times, is a dangerous person. His name is Maravo Murk. He murdered and stole to attain the treasure he drew a map of in the dirt. - The map! I forgot! I built the fire so big I covered it up! - When you sweep the ashes away in the morning, the map will still be drawn in the dirt. - Why are you telling me this? These things I could never normally know? - Because I've always liked you, Vehn Rous, and I always will. And I was already here so why not have a chat for once? it's been a pleasure. I'll see you around. The flicking of long black fingers, the ringing harmonic hum, and the visitor is gone. Vehn Rous fell asleep next to the fire, where in fact the strange visitor had hidden himself. As always the golden porcelain bowl is visible, but hidden among the flames so you can't see it. Maravo Murk woke first, and taking his knife, walked rather unsteadily over to the sleeping Mouse, and raised his knife, it's point aimed for the heart. As the blade plunged, Maravo Murk froze in pain, dropping the knife and clutching at his breast as if he had been stabbed in the heart. The pain passed, and Murk, bloodshot eyes bulging wide in confused fear, backed away from Vehn Rous, who remained undisturbed, deep in the waters of dream. Maravo Murk tried to steal Vehn Rous' cart, but as we here together know, the cart is alive in it's own fashion and does not allow interference. Murk was lucky to have intelligence enough to recognize it. However there were some horses Vehn Rous had taken under his wing from the battlefield and Maravo Murk took them, as well as the only food that lay outside the cart, a big bunch of bananas, and took off quiet as he could. Vehn Rous sussed it all out soon after waking, except of course the attempt on his life and the strange circumstance of it's thwarting. - Nelly Nose! He took the bananas! Ahh! They were perfectly ripe, too! That ungrateful... Well, I guess that it's bacon and biscuits again! Don't even have one egg! After breakfast, and packing up, Vehn Rous brushed the smoldering coals away, and saw the shakily drawn treasure map there in the dirt, frozen in time. He made a quick copy of the map on paper, and climbing into the driver's seat, set off in the cart in the direction indicated by the treasure map. As he rumbled along he rambled on, though no one was around to hear, except the creatures in the cart and we here together of course, as is the habit of Vehn Rous in these times when he is a solo wanderer. He was saying, - He's a fool! I would have given him any help he asked for! Did he think I'd want his hidden treasure? He gave me the location before I saved his life! Again! I could have just let him die and found the treasure on my own if that was what I wanted! I guess it didn't occur to him! What's the matter, not enough treasure to get your own bananas? PERFECTLY RIIIIIIIPE? Maravo Murk, meanwhile, had found his treasure, a fortune in blank, pure gold coins. It was hidden in some ancient ruins, and Maravo Murk sat himself down on a moss covered foundation stone and set to devouring Vehn Rous' bananas. He felt so triumphant, and the bananas were so perfectly ripe and delicious, he was bolting them down, so that when he heard Vehn Rous' rolling up in his cart, he started choking on a chunk. By the time Vehn Rous reached him, he was just about dead, his face blue and puffy, his arms frozen in a pleading gesture. Mouse hopped down from the cart and popped him in the solar plexus just so, and out sailed the banana chunk and in flowed air and color and life. Maravo Murk was a quivering lump of a man at this point, but Vehn Rous finally realized he was trying to say thank you. - So now you're grateful. Let's have a look at this treasure you've found. Pure gold coins, blank. This is scavenger coin. Which means that this is the secret stash of an Auslangie, like me. I know you stole and murdered for it's location, which means you murdered one of my rare and gentle kindred. Third time's the charm, Maravo Murk. I've saved your rotten life three times and your life is mine now. I can summon your death anytime I wish, and also, when I die, you die. Maravo Murk remembered the pain he felt when he tried to do in the sleeping Mouse, and knew he was hearing the truth, and he was afraid of it. There is always one minted coin in an Auslangie's secret stash. The mark on the coin identifies the owner's Tinker tribe. Vehn Rous found it, and a stern look crossed his face as he read the name. He took the singular coin, picked up what remained of his banana bunch, and got back up in the cart. He said to Maravo Murk, - If I see you again I won't hesitate to summon the strange visitor to collect your life! He could not speak, but Maravo Murk gathered up handfuls of gold and, lurching to the cart, shoved the coins at our boy Mouse, who became infuriated and jumped down from the cart and began to throttle Maravo. He stuffed his mouth with gold coins and then belted him good, so that gold coins, white teeth and red blood scattered upon the ground. Maravo just stood there stupidly. Vehn Rous warned him again, - You're really pushing' it, Murk! Maravo Murk could only moan raggedly, pathetically, as Mouse set off once more, leaving him there with his ill gotten gains, minus the bananas, horses, and the single marked coin. Maravo Murk went a little mad after that, holeing up in one of the lost kingdoms, becoming addicted to harmful, deleterious substances that dulled the pain brought on by his villainous life. Filthy and half conscious in a dank alley, his wretchedness caught the eye of a Grandma Tinker passing by. She offered to help him, but all he could do was place in her hands a dirty sack filled with blank gold coins, and breathe his last, gathered finally into the golden porcelain bowl of the strange visitor. Thank You Epilogue, Or, What Happened Later The minted coin from the stash told what Tinker Tribe the murdered Auslangie was from, and one day, Vehn Rous happened to cross paths with their caravan, as is the only way you can find a Tinker a tribe, of course. They were a small group, The Foxtail Tribe, having been reduced some years ago in a marauder attack. Their Chief was a woman of great and fiery beauty and bosom who, although he was the bearer of sad tidings, welcomed Vehn Rous with great joy, and that night around the great fire all the Tinkers listened to Vehn Rous tell his story of Maravo Murk and the Auslangie gold and the strange, all knowing visitor to his fire. There was a silence following the story, that particular silence so sweet to the successful teller. In this sweet silence Margaret, the Chief, stood tall and asked Vehn Rous, so that all could hear, - Mouse, what is your tribe? - Turtle Root. Fira is my Grandfather. Excited murmurs raced through the Foxtail Tinkers, silenced by Margaret's raised hand. - Then you are cousin to many of us Foxtail, including myself. - This I am honored to already know, Chief. - Of course. Are you the Turtle Root Tribe's Auslangie, then? Vehn Rous hesitated a moment, then, - No. They have their own Auslangie. I was separated from my Tribe long before I took on the coat and the cart. - So you are an Auslangie without a Tribe, and we are a Tribe without an Auslangie. Will you be ours, Mouse? Can we be yours? Will you tell us the stories lost to us when we lost our Elders? Will you instruct us in the healing ways? Will you consider our caravan your wandering home? He didn't take half a moment to stand tall and say, - I will! And the Foxtail Tribe assembled gave a collective shout for joy that swelled Vehn Rous' heart so that tears of joy fell from his glistening firelit eyes. That night Margaret took him into her cart and into her bed, and the Fira flames burned hot in flesh and bright in eyes. And he shared with her his real name of Vehn Rous, as is the way of Auslangie and Chief. And he told her the danger of knowing it, which she accepted without hesitation, there in his arms. So Vehn Rous took his place at the end of the caravan and rambled with his new Tribe, and told the old stories and secrets, and taught them the Auslangie healing arts, and he considered the Foxtail Caravan his wandering home. As the Auslangie do, Vehn Rous left his Tribe to be about his business. But he would return to them, when their paths happened to cross, which is the only way you can ever find a Tinker Tribe, or an Auslangie, and most particularly Vehn Rous, known as The Mouse. Thank You