Pictorial Aspects and Semblance of Reality - Norc

One morning, Norc was playing dressups in the not-quite-complete privacy of her backyard...





... she then got dressed up to impersonate a slightly dorky Scotshobbit lass



and went to school, thinking about Petty, a Hebridean Prince ('tis said)...





... wondering if she should ever be lucky enough to land such a good catch.... and if she might in reality be the younger sister of a Fjordianlandian Princess...





and would Petty still marry her even if she wasn't...


probably not.


Norc was suddenly depressed, so instead of going to school she went to the Marine Life Auditorium in Skattykatzenfjord...

There was a talk being given on the Fjordianlandian catfisk...



but Norc was looking for hobbit lads, not interesting marine life...

.. she was temporarily distracted by an artful picture hanging in the foyer... It was clearly a faithful rendition of her friends Azriel and Amarie in a rural setting somewhere on the French Coast in the Summer of '72 (or thereabouts)(apparently)...




Norc moved on quickly...

then (entering the auditorium) Norc saw the hobbit of her dreams.... (no, not Petty this time)...



Odo sensed an intense gaze... he looked across... was Norc too young for him...? Probably not.... mmmm... was Norc's cool Fjordianlandian gaze actually falling upon him --- or wasn't it?


to be continued....

Ere ! I thought I burnt all the negatives ?!!

Think Norc might be practising her kung fu on someone soon.

Norc saw Odo looking at her...



She felt a bit like this.



To save any misunderstandings, she decided to leave...




She sensed someone was in the hall behind her.... and turned...



She decided that it was time to go out into the snow.



She wasn't sure if it was Odo or not.... nevertheless...




to be continued...

I love it !

There was nothing for it - Norc had to reveal her dark secret...



The mysterious hobbit gasped and ran away squealing... "A bitch! A bitch!"

"A witch, you idiot! A witch!"

Whatever the case, Norc hastens to the Bywater Sheriff's office.

Sergeant Mirabella greets her at the door...



"I approve of the new uniform," says Norc. "Not so stuffy."



Norc then reports the incident in the snow outside the Auditorium, breathlessly, her being quite enervated and all by the tawdry event...

"Can you tell me if he's from Forumshire, or is he some foreigner - from Bree or somethin'?" Mirabella asks, looking professional and solicitous...




(Just in case you forgot what she looks like!)

Constables Blythe and Honeysweet come in from the cells.





and Constables Jerry and Jimmy Ponsford - drawn out from the changeroom prematurely - and identical twins...



"He may have been European, Mirabella!" Norc gasps - somewhat distracted by the twins - presumably because she had never seen twin constables before. "All I know is he had Roman hands and Russian fingers!"

"We'll try to do a face-fit. Where's my pens...? Here. Now describe him for me.."

A picture comes to life based on Norc's vivid memory of a hot face, lips puckering, descending on her....



"He looks kind of familiar," Mirabella muses aloud...


to be continued...

"I've got it," Jerry cries suddenly.

"Sure have," coos Norc. "Oooh yeah!"



"I've got it too, Bro," gasps Jimmy. "It's Petty McTyrant!"

Mirabella: "But surely...."

Jerry: "Look at this mugshot..."

Jimmy: "You'll have to send this post and go and get the pic, Jerry."

"Righto, Bro."


to be continued...

"Here it is!"



"That's him alright," Honeysweet coos. "Dashingly handsome. The two pictures, this and Norc's face-fit are pretty much identical -- after a fashion...except one has a Tardis - which no doubt explains how he commits his love crimes...."

"But isn't Petty a Hebridean Prince?" Norc demands to know.

"Yes," Mirabella tells her. "And one with Russian and Roman blood to boot, I'm told... "

"Oh my goodness!" Norc cries feverishly. "And I rejected his advances! I'll never be a Princess now...."





THE END

omg.. orwell.. u are a loony.. (but i love it)

Yeah, you can talk!

That WAS an imaginative slice of much needed humor Orwell !

Mrs Figg was not always a suave Lady... friend of cats...




she was a cat...

named Red Riding Hood...




... but she wanted to get into Art School and using witchcraft changed.... and there she met Norc before her time... an architect...

(sample of Norcan work)



this is Mrs Figg as Student...



Norc soon painted her in a relaxed aspect...



... later she became famous...



... she is still of Norc's circle... this is her nowadays - by Norc....

HOW VERY DARE YOU!!!!!!!


((((( )))))

(((me at school is spookily accurate )))))))

the sample of norcan work = accurate

Not sure how I managed to miss this thread until now.

One day in the future when Norc was no longer an annoying Fjordianlandian teenager, but had turned (by natural means) into a dreadfully dull and boring growed-up in the true Fjordianlandian tradition, she was having a bad architecture day.

This was her first design that fateful day.



That will make the Crapandorfmans feel like canaries.

Then:



Storks?



Chicken hotpots!



Mrs Figg's Feathered Ladies with lipstick!




Seagulls!




Tasmanian Mutton Birds!

Oh dear! The Crapandorfmans plainly said, "We don't mind what kind of design you devise for our new homely home, but, pleeeease Dearie, no fowl motifs or feathered lines!"

I know, says Norc, I'll go out into the fields on this sunny day and contemplate. Maybe the clear air of a Fjordianlandian summer day will clear my foggy head.



After some intensive moronic thinking, she chanced to see something growing amid the grass and wild flowers.



It was exactly the kind of discovery that makes any heterosexual girl smile. She had always wondered where they came from... And then she scraped up some fresh soil and cupped it in her hands.



After which, she started to garden in the field.



And suddenly she felt like this!



Just then a Scotshobbit Prince sauntered by and dropped to the sward and reclined in the only bare patch in that whole field with his kilt hem ruffling in the breeze. He had a lovely sporran.



Norc knew a flash of inspiration.

Barrels! Norc exclaimed. That's what the Crapandorfmans want. Oh those red faced Germans and their Oktoberfests! I should have known sooner.

In a far away place, a young Lore Master was thinking quite similar thoughts, though while Norc's thoughts were now uplifted, his were melancholy.



to be continued...

This was Norc the day after the night before involving the Kilt Scandal.



Norc's Mother was worried - and a bit angry too - which were shared expressions with her (apparently) and very Fjordianlandian (apparently)



"What would your stupid Father think of you Daughter, if he wasn't in fact a Man and knew nothing of what was obviously happening in and about his presence, and he a member of the Skattykatzenfjordian Constabulary? "



I can't bear to think, Norc says, if you'll excuse the pun, Mama.

After Norc's Mother had beaten her appropriately, they went shopping (to make up).



No, Mother, I am a bit over chickens and other fowl. Oh dear - is that someone following us?



"Just ignore him, Daughter. Fjordianlandian men are not like men in other coubtries and we are quite safe. Just pretend he's Ringo Herring and calm your nerves."

then

Oh is that my dear friends Azriel and Amarie, Mother? Over there! On the way to the Coffee Shoppe!



"No, I don't think so - but it's an easy mistake to make. Remember, this is a day in your future, Norc, and definitely NOT a day long in their past - possibly as much as fourty years ago."

then

Oh Mother! Isn't that the King?



"He is very professional looking, what."

And his Daughter!



Mother, I don't suppose...?

"No, Daughter, you are not her younger sister who was thrown (accidentally) into a dumpster shortly after your birth having been confused for a large mishapen potato.. which is not to say you've never been mistaken for a large mishapen potato... that happened when you were six..."

then



"Oh dear Daughter! Don't be sad. You don't look like a large mishapen potato anymore. Please don't walk away from me in such a melancholy aspect... it breaks my heart..."



Oh Eru bless us all! My naive Daughter Norc has armed herself with a fork!"



"Thank goodness you're here, Mirabella."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh my sweet idealistic Daughter has gone funny... I mean, even more funnier than usual... she's armed herself with a fork..."

"Culinery?

"No, a garden fork."

"A large digging fork?"

"No, a little hand digger!"

"Oh my. I will blow my whistle for reinforcements!"



"I have a terrible feeling that I know where this may be going, Shiriff Mirabella!"

"You may yet be surprised, Mother of Norc..."


to be continued...

Interesting...

It was not easy, but after a tight clingy struggle Mirabella and her reinforcements (Constables Blythe, Honeysweet, Jimmy and Jerry), managed to wrest the garden fork off Norc and Norc was placed in a Mental Institution - the Lockholes in fact.*

She was put in with other mad and/or bad people.



She was forced to share a bed due to a bed shortage... and she clearly did not like it much... but she made do.



When she found out, Mrs Figg sent a spy (Tom) to report on how things were going for her young friend...



Her trusty spy (Tom) reported back...



nigh on speechless...

"We must help our Norc," Mrs Figg proclaimed and jumped on her broomstick and was soon hurtling through the Forumshiran skies to Witchville (also known as Amarie's house). It was as if she had all her enemies from the Scotshobbit Preservation Society on her tail...



Amarie had an interesting house which Mrs Figg was rather jealous of actually.



Mrs Figg did the secret knock -- and the door opened silently...

Amarie not only had an interesting house, she had an interesting household....



...and her Meetings were not your average Meetings...

A Meeting was immediately mooted.

As always, the Chair [Amarie, of course!] tried to look her professional best...



as did Ally...





A decision was made quickly and all the witches (basically all the Forumshiran womenfolk) were soon flying down to the Lockholes...




One witch (Azriel) stood out .. and for all the right reasons...




to be continued...


* As it turned out, Mirabella was mistaken and Norc's Mother was not in the leat surprised.

After that whole unfortunate business was sorted out, Norc put in a design for the Sydney Opera House...



but she lost the bid...

Disappointed, she turned to art for art's sake.



She called her new work, "Expressions of Femininity" - or some such introverted twaddle.

The next thing her Mother knew (but not her Father who was smoking his pipe), Norc was coming up with more perfectly useless work:



and this:



"I just wish she'd get well and return to architecture," her Mother worried.

Norc became even more self absorbed. Her mind turned to this kind of thing:



"That kind of thing is fine for girls with no ambition," Norc's Mother told her Therapist, "but Norc needs a career. Indeed, what's wrong with architecture. It's a fine career - and profitable. A respectable hobbit of my secret acquaintance, a fine gentlehobbit by name Odo Banks, agrees totally with me, and he of all people would know. 'Dance!' he scoffed when I told him. 'What kind of career is that for a young girl?' And I, being a good Mother, can but agree.

"Have you thought of getting her lobotomized?" Norc's Mother's Therapist asked Norc's Mother.

"Yes --- twice... It's just -- well -- Norc has powerful friends who won't allow it..."

"Those witch friends of hers."

"The same."

"Then you must find this man.. He is a Witch Hunter in Needlehole."

Norc's Mother's therapist handed her a sombre photo.



Norc's Mother's therapist continued, "You'll find him at the Duck and Muck. Some know him there as Cranberry Dave, but others know him by his true identity: Freddie the Witch Slasher."

"Oooh!" said Norc's Mother happily. Then - as women do in circumstances like that - she broke down in (happy) tearfulness...



"Thank you ever so much," Norc's Mother said. "Thanks ever ever so much."

to be continued...