Dreamcatcher
Honorable Pirate
Ahoy guys,
This is a story that began on the .COM, but when the storm came on February 12th, and the servers went down, I never managed to post the final chapter. Difficulties are slowing down getting it back online, and we hope it will be back up soon.
Leaving unfinished business has never sat very well with me. I know a good deal of the .COM people check out the .CO, so maybe they will run into it in their travels, and we can finally put this near 5 month cliff hanger to bed. Unless of course they were happy that I was cut off, then it is more a case of, I finally tracked you people down. Sorry, but you know me, you don't get off that easily.
It is called "The Iger Sanction", and it was written last Fall, after many nights of dealing with Potco withdrawal, which really should be classified as an official disease, given how some of us felt. Involving as many Forum members as I could fit in, it was simply a blast writing. The original forward explains it more.
I'll post it in the format I did on the .COM, one chapter per week, which was fun doing that way, sort of like a serial. Well, fun for me, anyway. It is nine chapters, and it's a mix of older members and newer ones, so some names may be familiar to the .CO-ers, as a good deal of all of us jump around so much.
I figured the beginning of July would be a good start date, as that will cover the entire summer, and if there's a few who enjoy it, it will be something to read. If not, then it might be a looooong summer. But there's always reruns of "The Big Bang Theory" if this goes horribly wrong, I hope it doesn't come to that though.
The Iger Sanction
Forward
The closing of Potco, especially with the haste used on the part of the Mouse, affected all of us in very different ways. Some of us were devastated by the news, others seemed to care very little, and every emotion under the sun seemed to be between those two. Some have refused to accept it, some try to recreate it, and others, like myself, will barely speak of Disney anymore. We all deal with things in different ways, which is fine, whatever works.
The first week was incredibly hard for me, it was like an alcoholic who was cut off after 5 years of drinking daily. It was just a lousy September after a difficult summer. I found another game, but there was still a mad pirate in me that would not remain silent. Her two cents would be added, in the form of dreams, whether I liked it or not. For the record, I didn’t.
I hated the dreams, they were not nightmares, but waking up at 3am crying and thinking of friends stinks. The dreams are where the idea for the story began, I thought that maybe writing something would exorcize them. I had no idea where the story was going when I started, I thought maybe throwing a pie in Iger's face or something. It was starting to look like a bad detective novel with baked goods. Then I read something Matthew had said about a new Xmen movie coming out, and thought, hmm, Interesting.
The name Iger Sanction came from the Clint Eastwood movie, The Eiger Sanction, where he was sent to "Sanction", or kill, persons. However, there is no killing in this story, except for undead things, and no Mice were harmed in the making of this story, even if they deserved to be. We are mutants, but we are polite mutants. Well, most of us, anyway.
I was never too into the Xmen, I do like them, but I didn’t know a great deal about them. Again, I attempted to add as many of us as I could to the story, to make it sort of fun, and again, the ones I interact with most got bigger roles, simply because I know them better. I struggled a bit with some of the mutant powers, who to give what, and even figuring out some of the powers seemed difficult at times, so please give me a break on that. I had to give Matthew the coolest one, as he unknowingly gave me a direction to go in, so thank you, Matt.
Anyhow, to keep this intro from being longer than the story itself... please sit back and hopefully enjoy sitting in on my daily psychotherapy session. “The Doctor is in: 5 cents”, as Lucy Van Pelt would say. Oh yeah, and if anyone tries to make me dance like a chicken while I'm under, there will be plucking trouble. Just saying.
The Iger Sanction
Chapter 1
I awoke screaming and in a cold sweat, thinking for a moment the tangled sheets were a hangman's rope, tightening on my neck. The half drank bottle of rum, which had not silenced that same damm dream that came now every night, was still staring at me from the nightstand, like a silent witness. The pounding chest and the clammy, shaking body upon waking was becoming unbearable. It seemed hard to believe it had only begun a few months ago, it felt like much longer. More like a lifetime.
I knew that I was not alone in experiencing these dreams, there were scores of fellow pirates, or ex pirates I should say, going through the same night terrors as I. Schmisney had added something "special" to their software in the closing days of the game, something they hadn't covered in their TOS files. There were thousands of us now fighting against their attempts to control us, like the mindless zombies in expensive suits that lurched through the dark corridors of their corporate offices.
The dream felt almost like a message from them, but the kind that was tied to a rock and thrown through the window. It played like a bad movie in your head, showing the beatings, tortures, and mutilations of those pirates that refused to play their new App games. Shocking in its brutality, given the wholesome image they attempt to portray.
Their seeming insatiable lust for power and global domination had sent the once proud company into a tailspin of moral depravity, caring not who, nor what, they destroyed along the way. I lifted the bottle of rum to my lips, downed about half of it, and fell back on the bed and tried to pass out.
The sun pouring through the window seemed to be reflecting off everything in the room, making my hangover even worse. But I had slept in peace for a few hours, the giant rat must be slipping, I thought. I made coffee and sat out on the porch in the crisp morning air, the dew on the deck felt good against my bare feet, and helped wake me up.
One way or another, this had to end, we had to break this hold Schmisney had gotten over us, or we would all become their pets. We all had seen how they had treated their pets in the waning days of the game too, and it wasn't pretty. I had no desire to spend eternity standing on a beach saying "Cluck" while pecking at pixelated sand.
I took a long, hot shower to clear my head, and wash away the smell of rum that seemed to cling to me like death. The near scalding water cascading down my body felt like arms wrapping around me, as the steam began filling up the room.
Reaching for the soap, I stared at it for a moment, and remembered that dumb ad, filled with wool sweaters and bad Irish accents. I raised it to my nose and breathed deeply. "Irish Spring! Ahh, manly yes, but I like it too!" I heard myself saying, and unconsciously began to whistle a sea shanty. Lack of sleep makes people very strange I thought, as I worked myself into a green, frothy, fresh scented lather. I turned off the water and stepped out to grab a towel, thinking I actually felt clean for a while.
Getting in my Jeep, I headed to Forum Headquarters, which was located about 10 miles south of me, in the heart of Gotham City. No, not that Gotham, it was about as close to that one as Paris Texas is to Paris France, which is light years. But I'll take a good Texas steak over a French snail any day.
I parked in front, between the Dunkin Donuts and the other Dunkin Donuts, and glanced at the Starbucks and Honeydew Donuts across the street. I shook my head and wondered who the genius was who had Ok'd that idea, maybe the same one who thought up selling sushi at a ball game. My head hurt thinking about it, and I wondered which of the 3 Walgreens on the block I should get some aspirin from.
Walking up the front stairs, I glanced at the flower bucket on my left, and saw an upended bottle of rum inside, with the neck buried in the dirt. I imagined someone had a long night sitting awake on the steps, under the watchful eye of the full moon. Next to the bucket was a half-eaten container of lo mein, with a broken pair of chop sticks on the ground, and a fork stuck in it. I could never use those darn things either.
I recall the incident in the Sum Yung Gai buffet with the Peking Ravioli, which ended with the near impalement of the waiter bringing more hot mustard. I stuck with forks from then on, I would rather not try explaining to a judge how the waiter ended up blowing bubbles in my wonton soup. My luck I would get Ito, too.
The front of the building was a facade, it looked like a normal city brownstone to the outside world, but it was not. Inside was not only the forum headquarters, but it was also our quasi-military base. We were the Savvy Cadre Harboring Mutantlike Unbridled Cataclysmic Kickassery. Yes, we were the members of S.C.H.M.U.C.K. And yes, I know the Xmen got the better name, and I'd rather not talk about it, if it's alright with you. Thank you.
Opening the door cautiously, I scanned the area for any movement as I entered. For weeks now, there has been a friendly war going on between Tom and Jason, and a few unlucky ones among us had been catching shrapnel. I always felt like Inspector Clueseu, on alert for an attacking Kato these days. The place looked quiet as I made my way to the kitchen area to grab some coffee, and check the fridge for anything without a name tag on it. Once a pirate, always a pirate, I suppose.
Unfortunately, the only thing recognizable that was not bearing green fuzz was a glob of tofu, which I think I would eat at some point after I ate the green fuzz. Turning to the coffee pot and grabbing my Cheech and Chong mug from the rack, I poured what was left in, and made another pot for the next person. Even a filthy-scurvy-smelling-pirate-turned-fresh-scented-mutant/assassin can have manners. I took a big gulp of the coffee and immediately spit it into the sink. Ugh, someone had made pumpkin coffee again. There should be laws on keeping the dang fruit out of the grog, and the vegetables out of the coffee. Yuck.
Hearing a noise in the plushly decorated living room/meeting area, I wandered down to investigate. The TV was on what looked to be the adult channel, but on closer inspection, it turned out to be Miley Cyrus, on stage and obviously making her parents quite proud. She really should have a warning label stamped on her forehead, the girl is a train wreck waiting to happen.
Over at the table in the corner was Griffin and Captain Patch playing Stratego, the exciting game of world domination. Both of their armies looked formidable, and it seemed like whoever took France would control the world. Dang that just sounds so wrong. Carlene was standing watch and looking for cheating, much like a more attractive NATO. Mark kept trying to steal Bulgaria, and Jade kept slapping it out of his hand. Some things never change around here.
I sat down on the couch and picked up the remote to turn Cyrus off, I already had enough bad dreams in my head without her twerking around in my REM's. I found an old John Wayne movie, "Stagecoach", and I settled in for a while to enjoy the splendor of a ten gallon hat in glorious black and white. Not sure that I even made it past the opening credits before I was sound asleep on the couch.
End Chapter 1
This is a story that began on the .COM, but when the storm came on February 12th, and the servers went down, I never managed to post the final chapter. Difficulties are slowing down getting it back online, and we hope it will be back up soon.
Leaving unfinished business has never sat very well with me. I know a good deal of the .COM people check out the .CO, so maybe they will run into it in their travels, and we can finally put this near 5 month cliff hanger to bed. Unless of course they were happy that I was cut off, then it is more a case of, I finally tracked you people down. Sorry, but you know me, you don't get off that easily.
It is called "The Iger Sanction", and it was written last Fall, after many nights of dealing with Potco withdrawal, which really should be classified as an official disease, given how some of us felt. Involving as many Forum members as I could fit in, it was simply a blast writing. The original forward explains it more.
I'll post it in the format I did on the .COM, one chapter per week, which was fun doing that way, sort of like a serial. Well, fun for me, anyway. It is nine chapters, and it's a mix of older members and newer ones, so some names may be familiar to the .CO-ers, as a good deal of all of us jump around so much.
I figured the beginning of July would be a good start date, as that will cover the entire summer, and if there's a few who enjoy it, it will be something to read. If not, then it might be a looooong summer. But there's always reruns of "The Big Bang Theory" if this goes horribly wrong, I hope it doesn't come to that though.
The Iger Sanction
Forward
The closing of Potco, especially with the haste used on the part of the Mouse, affected all of us in very different ways. Some of us were devastated by the news, others seemed to care very little, and every emotion under the sun seemed to be between those two. Some have refused to accept it, some try to recreate it, and others, like myself, will barely speak of Disney anymore. We all deal with things in different ways, which is fine, whatever works.
The first week was incredibly hard for me, it was like an alcoholic who was cut off after 5 years of drinking daily. It was just a lousy September after a difficult summer. I found another game, but there was still a mad pirate in me that would not remain silent. Her two cents would be added, in the form of dreams, whether I liked it or not. For the record, I didn’t.
I hated the dreams, they were not nightmares, but waking up at 3am crying and thinking of friends stinks. The dreams are where the idea for the story began, I thought that maybe writing something would exorcize them. I had no idea where the story was going when I started, I thought maybe throwing a pie in Iger's face or something. It was starting to look like a bad detective novel with baked goods. Then I read something Matthew had said about a new Xmen movie coming out, and thought, hmm, Interesting.
The name Iger Sanction came from the Clint Eastwood movie, The Eiger Sanction, where he was sent to "Sanction", or kill, persons. However, there is no killing in this story, except for undead things, and no Mice were harmed in the making of this story, even if they deserved to be. We are mutants, but we are polite mutants. Well, most of us, anyway.
I was never too into the Xmen, I do like them, but I didn’t know a great deal about them. Again, I attempted to add as many of us as I could to the story, to make it sort of fun, and again, the ones I interact with most got bigger roles, simply because I know them better. I struggled a bit with some of the mutant powers, who to give what, and even figuring out some of the powers seemed difficult at times, so please give me a break on that. I had to give Matthew the coolest one, as he unknowingly gave me a direction to go in, so thank you, Matt.
Anyhow, to keep this intro from being longer than the story itself... please sit back and hopefully enjoy sitting in on my daily psychotherapy session. “The Doctor is in: 5 cents”, as Lucy Van Pelt would say. Oh yeah, and if anyone tries to make me dance like a chicken while I'm under, there will be plucking trouble. Just saying.
The Iger Sanction
Chapter 1
I awoke screaming and in a cold sweat, thinking for a moment the tangled sheets were a hangman's rope, tightening on my neck. The half drank bottle of rum, which had not silenced that same damm dream that came now every night, was still staring at me from the nightstand, like a silent witness. The pounding chest and the clammy, shaking body upon waking was becoming unbearable. It seemed hard to believe it had only begun a few months ago, it felt like much longer. More like a lifetime.
I knew that I was not alone in experiencing these dreams, there were scores of fellow pirates, or ex pirates I should say, going through the same night terrors as I. Schmisney had added something "special" to their software in the closing days of the game, something they hadn't covered in their TOS files. There were thousands of us now fighting against their attempts to control us, like the mindless zombies in expensive suits that lurched through the dark corridors of their corporate offices.
The dream felt almost like a message from them, but the kind that was tied to a rock and thrown through the window. It played like a bad movie in your head, showing the beatings, tortures, and mutilations of those pirates that refused to play their new App games. Shocking in its brutality, given the wholesome image they attempt to portray.
Their seeming insatiable lust for power and global domination had sent the once proud company into a tailspin of moral depravity, caring not who, nor what, they destroyed along the way. I lifted the bottle of rum to my lips, downed about half of it, and fell back on the bed and tried to pass out.
The sun pouring through the window seemed to be reflecting off everything in the room, making my hangover even worse. But I had slept in peace for a few hours, the giant rat must be slipping, I thought. I made coffee and sat out on the porch in the crisp morning air, the dew on the deck felt good against my bare feet, and helped wake me up.
One way or another, this had to end, we had to break this hold Schmisney had gotten over us, or we would all become their pets. We all had seen how they had treated their pets in the waning days of the game too, and it wasn't pretty. I had no desire to spend eternity standing on a beach saying "Cluck" while pecking at pixelated sand.
I took a long, hot shower to clear my head, and wash away the smell of rum that seemed to cling to me like death. The near scalding water cascading down my body felt like arms wrapping around me, as the steam began filling up the room.
Reaching for the soap, I stared at it for a moment, and remembered that dumb ad, filled with wool sweaters and bad Irish accents. I raised it to my nose and breathed deeply. "Irish Spring! Ahh, manly yes, but I like it too!" I heard myself saying, and unconsciously began to whistle a sea shanty. Lack of sleep makes people very strange I thought, as I worked myself into a green, frothy, fresh scented lather. I turned off the water and stepped out to grab a towel, thinking I actually felt clean for a while.
Getting in my Jeep, I headed to Forum Headquarters, which was located about 10 miles south of me, in the heart of Gotham City. No, not that Gotham, it was about as close to that one as Paris Texas is to Paris France, which is light years. But I'll take a good Texas steak over a French snail any day.
I parked in front, between the Dunkin Donuts and the other Dunkin Donuts, and glanced at the Starbucks and Honeydew Donuts across the street. I shook my head and wondered who the genius was who had Ok'd that idea, maybe the same one who thought up selling sushi at a ball game. My head hurt thinking about it, and I wondered which of the 3 Walgreens on the block I should get some aspirin from.
Walking up the front stairs, I glanced at the flower bucket on my left, and saw an upended bottle of rum inside, with the neck buried in the dirt. I imagined someone had a long night sitting awake on the steps, under the watchful eye of the full moon. Next to the bucket was a half-eaten container of lo mein, with a broken pair of chop sticks on the ground, and a fork stuck in it. I could never use those darn things either.
I recall the incident in the Sum Yung Gai buffet with the Peking Ravioli, which ended with the near impalement of the waiter bringing more hot mustard. I stuck with forks from then on, I would rather not try explaining to a judge how the waiter ended up blowing bubbles in my wonton soup. My luck I would get Ito, too.
The front of the building was a facade, it looked like a normal city brownstone to the outside world, but it was not. Inside was not only the forum headquarters, but it was also our quasi-military base. We were the Savvy Cadre Harboring Mutantlike Unbridled Cataclysmic Kickassery. Yes, we were the members of S.C.H.M.U.C.K. And yes, I know the Xmen got the better name, and I'd rather not talk about it, if it's alright with you. Thank you.
Opening the door cautiously, I scanned the area for any movement as I entered. For weeks now, there has been a friendly war going on between Tom and Jason, and a few unlucky ones among us had been catching shrapnel. I always felt like Inspector Clueseu, on alert for an attacking Kato these days. The place looked quiet as I made my way to the kitchen area to grab some coffee, and check the fridge for anything without a name tag on it. Once a pirate, always a pirate, I suppose.
Unfortunately, the only thing recognizable that was not bearing green fuzz was a glob of tofu, which I think I would eat at some point after I ate the green fuzz. Turning to the coffee pot and grabbing my Cheech and Chong mug from the rack, I poured what was left in, and made another pot for the next person. Even a filthy-scurvy-smelling-pirate-turned-fresh-scented-mutant/assassin can have manners. I took a big gulp of the coffee and immediately spit it into the sink. Ugh, someone had made pumpkin coffee again. There should be laws on keeping the dang fruit out of the grog, and the vegetables out of the coffee. Yuck.
Hearing a noise in the plushly decorated living room/meeting area, I wandered down to investigate. The TV was on what looked to be the adult channel, but on closer inspection, it turned out to be Miley Cyrus, on stage and obviously making her parents quite proud. She really should have a warning label stamped on her forehead, the girl is a train wreck waiting to happen.
Over at the table in the corner was Griffin and Captain Patch playing Stratego, the exciting game of world domination. Both of their armies looked formidable, and it seemed like whoever took France would control the world. Dang that just sounds so wrong. Carlene was standing watch and looking for cheating, much like a more attractive NATO. Mark kept trying to steal Bulgaria, and Jade kept slapping it out of his hand. Some things never change around here.
I sat down on the couch and picked up the remote to turn Cyrus off, I already had enough bad dreams in my head without her twerking around in my REM's. I found an old John Wayne movie, "Stagecoach", and I settled in for a while to enjoy the splendor of a ten gallon hat in glorious black and white. Not sure that I even made it past the opening credits before I was sound asleep on the couch.
End Chapter 1
Last edited:
from the above story not too long ago and from what I remember, they each were quite enjoyable to me pirate's, good eye. 
