It was weird. Karoz manifested as a 2nd barman for the lower bar. We had to begin again. Wait! Baker Bloch crashes out of Second Life. Karoz is able to switch from server to served. He checks the picture beside him to make sure it was the correct Rhoda.
It was (blood splatter removed). We can continue.
“A beer for my new friend Wilson-Wheeler, Rhoda. The special one with the, ahem, secret foam.”
“Sure thing Karoz.”
Karoz looks over as Rhoda serves the beer and Wilson drinks. He nods approvingly. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“It’s time to take you out back, Wilson-Wheeler. To see what happens.” Karoz gets up and walks toward the rear of the bar. “We’ll be back in just a moment, Rhoda. Maybe.”
“Okay, take your time. Get me some more snickers while you’re back there.”
“Alright, I’ll try Rhoda,” Karoz responds as he rounds the corner. “Interesting.”
“What is it?” a following Wheeler asks.
“Why are you sitting like that?” Karoz questions when turning toward Wheeler.
“I don’t know. Do you think it will matter?”
“*Probably*,” Karoz answers. Then he thinks this to himself: Starbucarrina Barista was suppose to be standing in this passage, standing in harm’s way and professing her love for Baker Bloch. That’s in the script. He then realizes that Baker Bloch himself has to be in-world for this to take place. A quandry! Can’t – get – off – script; that’s the rules.
“I have a solution to this,” he then says to Wheeler. “I need you to try real hard on this. It’s the first time it’s happened, if so.”
“What?” Wheeler was curious. And getting nervous. She wished she could stand up and run out of the front door of the bar. Run toward the stone again. She wanted freedom! But there was only one way out.
She reaches deep into her mind. Wilson-Wheeler, she thinks. Who came first, what came second, pheh. Nautilus was her home, her native environment. And yet here she was, stuck in Collagesity once more. Trying to turn back into Baker Bloch. But it wasn’t Baker Bloch. But now Karoz wants it to *be* Baker Bloch. That means…
“Anything?” Karoz asks impatiently, tired of watching Wheeler zone out. “Anything at all? We’ve got all day. I don’t have anything else to do. We have all day and then all night and into the day tomorrow and tomorrow night. I have nothing on the schedule. The script is blank.” He wants to fold his arms and tap his left foot impatiently but just ends up having a belly laugh.
“Damn scripts,” he says afterwards while trying to frown.
Then it happened. The impossible thing.