Monthly Archives: May 2017

May 8, 2017 · 8:00 am

Revelations

“Tell me more about this OD… oops, I think I’m making a full transition now.” Chef-inspector Petty was no longer Doogie Martin in any part.

Baker Bloch answered. “Like I said, we contacted him, it, through wegee. He, or she, or it, didn’t identify a sex, but it has male clothing on as it turns out.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Hucka Doobie and I. She’s a member of my avatar family. She’s versed in spiritual matters — why I got her involved.”

“Tell me more about this avatar family of yours. Any criminal records?” His pace was crisp.

“None that I know about. Spongeberg is a destroyer by trade. Does that count?”

Petty became cryptic. “Glad you brought him up. Spongeberg is not a member of your family. He is a member of *our* family.”

Baker Bloch scratched his head at this. “Well,” he began again, “we admittedly don’t know much about him. Are you saying, I don’t know, that he’s from *here*?”

“That is precisely what I’m saying. We also believe there is a link between Spongeberg and OD — know it, in fact. You’re aware of the former property called Pitch Black?”

“Somewhat,” answered Bloch.

“In November of 2016, the property was taken over by the town, with the oft deemed “noxious” or “poisonous” temple derezzed. The FTI gallery expanded into its former space. It was through this incorporation that the town split into two separate realities. Or, better, we became *aware* of this second town overlapping the first. It was always there. But the portal had been opened.” He turned around and looked directly at Baker Bloch. “In the *big* picture, the owner of the FTI is the same as Wheeler. Assimilate *that*.”

To Baker Bloch, Petty was spouting gibberish now. He didn’t think Spongeberg was from VHC City (but he did want to find out more of his background now). Wheeler as the FTI owner? That didn’t make any sense.

“And I’ll give you one more,” Petty continued. “See the innocent looking Musician sitting on the couch between us?”

“Who… me?” uttered The Musician, sitting up a bit and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He had half nodded off during the discussion.

“Yes, you,” Petty answers. “I don’t guess you remember anything at all about creating *VHC City itself?*”

Nope. No he did not.

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May 7, 2017 · 10:31 am

Heart matters

“Jeez, I can’t stop yawning, Hucka Doobie. Ordered that expresso just in time.”

“Thanks for meeting me here again. You never know how long these rented places will last. I wanted to soak up some ambience while it’s around.”

“Lively place, I’ll give it that.” Baker Bloch was looking out the front window when stating this.

“I think that’s what I’ll call it — we’ll call it. Lively. While it’s here.”

“Have you seen the aley out back?”

“That’s my line. But: no. Now keep up.”

“You go ahead, then.”

“It leads to the center of it all. The place Jasper should be but won’t. *Is* this the replacement for a subsequently destroyed Collagesity? Has our town had its run, Baker Bloch? These are questions we must be asking. Jasper predicted it all.”

“The Jasper collage series, you mean. The one hung in SoSo Mall currently.”

“Of course.” Hucka Doobie then looks out the 4th wall of the establishment. “Oh, I see. The reader.”

“Finish your coffee and we’ll take a look. Have you soaked in enough ambience yet?”

Hucka Doobie looks around. “Futuristic coffeehouse. Established in 3025. Dallier’s Hope. Owners/creators may be from Saturn. Yes, I’ve soaked in enough. I’m done.”

—–

“It’s dark, Hucka Doobie. Maybe we should turn on the daytime lights.”

“And some shaders and other stuff. The full ensemble. Downsize your window!”

“A little better,” Baker Bloch proclaims. “What’s the coordinates now?”

Hucka Doobie checks. “87, 156, 103.”

“If we find the spot that *coordinates* with the one in the Rubi Woods, then maybe that will help us make a determination which path to choose. And maybe then go look at the center of the Jasper series. The Great Either/Or as we might start calling it.”

“Let’s name as much as possible tonight,” requests Hucka Doobie. “We have Lively, Aley, Styx — that’s one of Wheeler’s, and then Tool. Where’s Tool?”

“Yes, Tool,” Baker Bloch cryptically answers, still thinking of the central Jasper collages. He has already disposed of The Great Either/Or.

—–

“Let’s do the walking thing again, Baker Bloch.”

“Let’s”

—–

“I don’t think I had the right walk Hucka Doobie,” Baker exclaims afterwards. “Oh well. Here we are.”

Hucka Doobie takes a seat. “I wonder why they say it’s under construction? Looks perfectly finished to me.”

Baker points toward the back left corner. “Let’s go there. I’ll keep tabs of my coordinates.”

“Sho ’nuff.”

—–

“Okay, Hucka Doobie. This is definitely the spot. 97/97. Right in front of ‘Precarious Geisha,’ just as Wheeler and The Musician told us.”

“Let’s head down,” the bee-man requested.

—–

“Nope, Hucka Doobie. There’s no 97/97/97 any longer. Ground’s been raised to 100 meters. No sign of Pitch Black or its poisonous tower, but that’s not unexpected. But you could turn right here, look north, and stare up at the monstrosity.”

“OD still worships the structure. That’s its impossible black hole. A constant, impossible orbit. Just like in ‘(The) Impossible Planet’.”

“More ‘Dr. Who’ references. But jumbled up from the series. The parallel to the black hole here has been destroyed — assimilated. Yet the city remains.”

“OD remembers. There must be a parallel, alternate town.”

“What I was thinking.”

—–

—–

I accidentally teleported right beside the SoSo sign again for the mall, Hucka Doobie. But… so here we are. Tool.”

“One reality has Collagesity standing put and remaining independent of VHC City. The second has all the *energy* of Collagesity streaming into VHC City instead. The blackbird, Hucka Doobie.”

“Spongeberg (the Destroyer),” states Hucka Doobie.

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May 7, 2017 · 12:09 am

Merging tracks

“Ahhh! That face!!”

“We app-re-ci-ate your time in our fair ci-ty,” OD continued in its clipped manner, suddenly detached from the wall and looming larger. The wegee planchette had stopped spinning. “We have ass-im-il-at-ed the bird, zip, the man known as Mar-tin. Sanc-tu-ar-y is with-in reach. You can go ab-out, ping, a-bout your way. Thank you for vis-it-ing and come back again ver-y, zip, fair-ly soon.”

The Musician fled the scene, running upstairs. Wheeler stood her ground. She pulled out a large, futuristic gun from her coat. “Get back on the wall, buster. We’re not finished here.”

—–

Meanwhile… Allen Martin appeared to be dead at the very same spot Renaldo O’Donnell lay early.

But then he stood up. “Just a pose ball,” he muttered. “No murder atall. And my son… all that change and attached grief for nothing, it seems.”

He moves around the corner to the next area, being careful to head *away* from his apartment (unlike Wheeler earlier). A break room?

Maybe the stupid people responsible for this charade. The thought crossed his mind that VHC City is just a giant stage set for some kind of film being made. Horror story?

He then sees something more interesting appearing in the next area: a purple spheriod thingie. No: green; no: blue. He checks the description of the now golden object. Jeez God, he thinks, an “alien egg tree.” This *is* a horror story.

He walks between pipe and chair to take a closer look.

Nothing else really that odd about it except the name. And a dead end in this direction. He’d have to retrace his steps.

But then, a monster bursts forth through the wall in front of him, turns around, then leaves through same. A giant crocodile, it appears!

He may have to go back to the apartment to get his heart medicine before advancing further.

—–

Allen Martin then heard a female voice call his name from the direction of the “break room.” Wheeler.

They met in front of this gate on the far side of the room, the Fate Gate they would later call it. From this point on they would move forward together. Holding hands again, they passed through.

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May 6, 2017 · 3:25 pm

Game on.

Allen Martin had started on his 4th glass of Pinot Noir, by Wheeler’s counting. It was time to lay the cards on the table.

“We know about the underground, Allen.”

“Ooh,” he says, retracting from his wine glass as if he’s suddenly seen a gnat floating in it.

“We know about the murder.” The gnat had turned into a fly. “We know about your *son*.” The fly had phoned up his friends centipede and cockroach to join him for a dip. Martin was sitting back, eyes riveted to Wheeler’s. The 4th glass would not be drunk tonight.

“Do tell!” he said icily.

—–

Meanwhile, The Musician had gotten lost in the labyrinthian streets of VHC City looking for a store selling guitar strings. Surely with all the concerts this place puts on there’s a music shop around here somewhere, he rationalized. He then wandered back into his safe plaza by accident, let’s say. He knew no such shop existed in the immediate area. Yet he couldn’t resist. The Dr. Who pinball machine beckoned.

Two hours later, he sat exhausted on the bar’s couch, seeming to stare out at the red doors while actually thinking about all the moves he could have made to transform from Doctor Who #4 (Tom Baker) to Doctor Who #5 (Peter Davison). He could have hit the target bank more before the time ran out, charging up the Transmat. On and on the deliberations went.

While his head was spinning with dreams of pinball wizardry, Wheeler and Allen Martin walked by the bar heading north, unaware of his presence.

He waited about a half minute, then peeked out the door of the bar in that direction. They were going into [delete name]. Now he’d been in that building a number of times, but only on the ground floor, playing with the computer console there. He’d found valuable information about Muff-Bermingham though the free interwebs feed shortly after their arrival in town, indicating the planet had influence in this particular area. Surprising!

The Musician crossed the plaza, hiding behind a stair post.

No indication they were on the first floor, nor used the stairs to access the 2 upper floors. They couldn’t simply disappear into thin air. Could they? The Musician counted 10 Mississippis and moved forward again. At the center of the ground floor he turned and first thought of the oddity about the Sipvicious advertisement on the floor.

Uberpunk Sid Vicious had famously stayed in the town’s huge hotel. His girlfriend had died there. Yet this ad didn’t seem to have anything to do with the proximity of the hotel. One more mystery to mark down in an ever growing leger of wierdness.

He heard voices: Allen’s and Wheeler’s, seeming to issue up from below. He walked toward the stairs, noticing that they led downward as well as upward. A hitherto unknown about basement, hmm. “A giant ant?”

But that was just the first and mildest surprise.

“He said he had to see for himself,” Wheeler spoke upon noticing The Musician approach with dropped mouth. “And… I suppose we need to catch up. OD, meet The Musician. Musician, well, this is OD.”

“Wel-come,” it said.

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May 6, 2017 · 8:47 am

Warning

“I thought I might find you here.”

“What’s up?” Chuckles Greentop replied while reeling in yet another perch. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Yeah, really sorry to hear about your friend Renaldo O’Donnell.”

“He wasn’t really a friend any more. I gave up clowning a while back. Gave up the underground. Above ground’s for me. Fishing mainly. Maybe you can buy a rod as well and go casting with me sometime — lots of good spots around here.”

“Maybe,” Wheeler replies, half hopeful.

“So you’re staying with Old Man Martin I’ve heard.”

“How…?”

“News travels fast here,” Chuckles interjected. “How’s his poor possessed kid doing? Investigation will continue for a while, you know.”

“Can you *explain* that (Doogie possession)?”

“Petty’s a top notch detective. Along with being a fine chef. He gets privileges. That’s all I can say about the matter.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“Inside job, I’ve heard. Clown vs. clown. My strong suggestion is you close up the portal; don’t go down there any more.”

“I can’t do that,” Wheeler replied. “I have to find the heart of the mystery.”

“Well, I could tell you all *about* your heart, but if you are bound and determined — set on your mission — then you’ll find out soon enough. Hope you like goofy stuff.”

She left it at that.

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May 6, 2017 · 12:16 am

VCHsity

Allen Martin was almost at the point where he turned right to get to his upstairs apartment when he spotted them on the bench ahead. Always curious about visitors to his adopted town, he checked their profiles. Wheeler Wilson and Musician Resident: somehow familiar. Checking further, he also sees groups they are members of that he knows about — Blue Feather Gallery in particular. Although it’s not his typical policy, he decides to introduce himself.

He walks down the steep set of stairs to the road and saunters up. True to his name, Musician Resident (The Musician) was producing music, namely playing what might be a Bob Dylan song to Allen Martin’s admittedly rather untrained ears. He sits down on the curb next to him and listens in, like the other avatar on the bench — this Wheeler Wilson — seems to be doing as well.

The old man starts grooving to the lyrics.

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There’s room at the top they’re telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

Allen Martin dares to applaud at the end. Wilson Wheeler emits a few claps of her own. “That was marvelous,” the old man offered. “Is that a Dylan?”

“Yeah,” replies The Musician acidly. “Thomas. Dylan Thomas. He stayed in that very hotel down this street; wrote some of the best folk lyrics ever penned. Dylan Thomas was the man in his day. Even moreso than Thomas Mann.”

“Oh stop it,” urges Wheeler, hitting him on the shoulder with her hand. “The guy’s just trying to be friendly.” She speaks to the stranger. “That was a Lennon song, um, Martin I see. Allen Martin — interesting name. Seems familiar.”

“I was just thinking the same about your name. We seem to have some groups in common. Blue Feather Gallery in particular. You guys aren’t from Collagesity by chance are you?”

Wheeler doesn’t answer immediately, perhaps disappointed that Allen Martin hadn’t recognize her. “You could say that,” she finally managed.

“Which part? I was from the North. Until the land was sold. Had to pull up stakes again. I’ve stopped here in my travels several times.” He wipes his brow with his hand. “Let’s see I suppose this is about my 5th layover in VHC City. Not Town, mind you. That’s how you spot strangers. That all came from an error in a promotional pamplet about 7 years back. Yes, the printer is dead now. Unusual circumstances. Some say he still haunts the berg, whispering lies into impressionable ears and brains. But I wander…”

“Yes,” The Musician says plainly. He turns to Wheeler. “We should probably go.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Wheeler says. “You use to run the gas station up on Robin Lane. I remember you now. You had a dog.”

“Well, I have a *son* named Doogie. Close to doggie. But less obedient.” He smiles.

“No, I distinctly remember a pet.”

“Oh, you mean *Aspinwall.* Still got the little feller. And I still run a gas station, just here in VHC City. For now.” He looks at their rumpled, rather dirty clothing. “You sure you guys are doing okay here? Do you need some help? Us Collagesity alums should stick together.” He’s guessed their situation.

“We’re fine,” The Musician snaps back.

“What are you offering?” Wheeler follows immediately afterwards. She knew they couldn’t stay here much longer without help. The vampires were moving in.


Vampire moving in.

“Well, if you’re talking about living arrangements, I have not one but three apartments rented in town right now. You could crash in the lower one for a while if you need. I rented three so I would have lots of prims to work with at the station. Seems like every time Doogie walks onto the premises, there goes 7 prims right there.”

“I don’t get it,” The Musician says to him, and turns to Wheeler and states the same.

“He’s got a son who’s composed of 7 prims,” explains Wheeler. “Obvious. Okay, we’ll take a look. Thanks very much!” Wheeler runs up and kisses him on the cheek. “And just so you know,” she then whispers in his ear, “I use to *own* Collagesity. Keep that in mind when dealing with me. I’m a controller.” She takes his hand. “Now let’s look at that apartment.”

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May 5, 2017 · 9:33 am

not clowning around

It was Wheeler’s 3rd trip into VHC *City’s* vast underground that she found Chuckles’ pal Renaldo O’Donnell laying in a pool of his own blood beside the Cursed Washers. “F–k,” she appropriately exclaims, trying to avoid getting her feet red and sticky. Being from the future and all as well, chef/inspector Petty, disguised as gas station attendent Doogie Martin for a spell, had foreseen many elements of the deed and began filling in the missing pieces. Although questioned thoroughly about her relationship with Ms. Greentop, Wheeler was dismissed early on as a suspect. No, this was an inside job, Petty quickly concluded. The people of the underworld who were dead and undead both. This would be a tricky undertaking, he thought, then realized his pun.

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May 5, 2017 · 1:01 am

Passer-throughs

The man from the future known as Fisher pulls into the lone VHC Town gas station and beeps his horn for service. “Two and a 1/2 hours to get here from Farmington,” he complains to his riding companion, also from the future. “This car is a piece of junk, Bendy.”

“It’s not the car,” his robot friend returned. “It’s the world. Physics ain’t good here. Language neither. Equilateral gravity is better for locomotion. This is just loco motion. Get it? Loco… motion.”

“I get it.” Fisher feigned a smile.

“Yeah, my former masters got that right. Squaring the circle and all.”

“Well, you’re here with me now Bendy. I won you fair and square in that chess match, circles be damned.”

“You’re not called Fisher for nothing. But I still think the game was rigged. ‘Winesap’?”

“Cash or credit?” It was Doogie Martin the attendant appearing at their side, with head strangely transmogrified from his Collagesity North days.

“Cash, I suppose.”

“Fill her up?” Doogie returned. “Regular? Premium?”

“Yes to all except the premium, haha. Bendy, why don’t you run in and get those crackers you like. Get me a Mars Bar. Use the quarters I gave you earlier.”

“Vending machine’s broke,” says Doogie plainly while removing the gas cap and inserting the pump nozzle. “We have honey,” he offered.

“Honey, Bendy?” queried Fisher to Bendy without much enthusiasm.

“I’d rather eat the bees themselves.”

“That can possibly be arranged,” Doogie deadpanned back to Bendy. “Father’s trying to downsize. We’ll probably be out of here by the end of the month.”

“Oh. You don’t like, um, what’s this place called?”

“VHC *City*. Not town, like some say.”

“All right. What’s wrong with this *city*?”

Gas tank full, Doogie retracted the nozzle and put it back in its carriage without answering. “Comes to L$18.66. You did say you had money.” Doogie then raises an arm and snaps his fingers without turning. A squat marshmallow man squeezes through the door of the station and wallows up beside him. “Trouble here sire?” he speaks in a doughy voice.

Doogie keeps his eyes fixed on Fisher. “I don’t know, Marshall. Is there trouble Mr…?”

“Fisher. But not a first or last name. Just a name. Give them the money Bendy. Withdraw it out of your chest cavity. No trouble here, Mr… Mr…”

“Martin. Like the bird.” A sweating Bendy hands him a 20 dollar bill, which Doogie hands, in turn, to his muscle bound assistant. “Make yourself useful Marshall and go get change for these people while I keep an eye out here.”

“Sure thing boss.”

Doogie starts to look over the car better as Marshall reenters the station. “MK2, eh? Worth the jump up from the MK1 for the money. 1 second faster in the 0-60. Wider rear windshield; synchromesh gearbox. Exhaust system still leaves something to desire.”

Marshall reappears, hands Fisher a dollar and change. Doogie looks up into the sky. “Sun’s setting soon. You best be where you’re heading before dark. When the vampires are out, everyone else stays in.” He and Marshall walk off without saying goodbye, although he does throw up a hand in parting.

“Get the lead out, old chap,” requests Bendy to Fisher, who complies.

“If the vampires do get them, maybe they’ll sell us back that car,” Doogie says to Marshall as they speed away.

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May 4, 2017 · 6:06 am

Underground 02

“I can’t believe how much taller I am than you, Wheeler. Okay, so show me how this works.”

“Are you coming with me, then?” she asks Baker Bloch, looking up.

“Nah, I’ll stay here and contact you through wegee if you can’t get out. You’ll be dead, you know.”

“Oh I can get out. Up the River Styx if needed. *But*: not the opposite way. One way in and one way out so far. But I’m looking for another.”

“This OD dude or dudette said the Graphic Artist cutout is the safe way in. You have a safe way back. *Bee careful.*”

“I just sit on one of those triangle things sticking out, aaand…

… I’m in.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the underground.

She stood up from her pose position. Walked confidently past the blue passage leading to her River Styx, as she’s named the water flow, Wheeler heads toward an opening in the distance and new territory.

This place is certainly big, she thinks.

Multiple ways to go. She decides to keep going south as much as possible.

More turns…

… and then: a gallery, it appears. Has she already found another exit?

Doors to the left, stairs to the right. She chooses stairs.

She’s out again!

2nd exit found.

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May 3, 2017 · 6:04 am

Meanwhile…

… The Musician was finally up and about after a long and refreshing night’s rest. Barely noticing Wheeler’s absence, he’s suddenly become addicted to this pinball game on the ground floor of his Ear Bar.

The red doors can wait.

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