The gothic house near the lip of Centre Sink or whatever. He sighs and says aloud, “whatever,” then returns his attention to the crosses (knives) in the yard next to it, like little escaped, pixelated birds heckling his lack of knowledge about the whats, wherefores, whys. Like the death of Vainom Kug over in VHC City, who, he vows to his own grave, did not die in Vain (but instead in that city). Maybe he should consult with Vain and Artery Boy on the subject. He scratches his chin again. He’s wearing a cleft out on it with all the pondering, considering, ruminating he’s done lately. Hmm, sir. Hmmm again. Hmmm.
Daily Archives: March 12, 2020
Jeffrie Phillips begins his latest assignment proper back in Instabar, the sim highlighted in section 3. Might as well be Sector R.
Perhaps the last dinner of the late, great Mr. and Mrs. Achilles T. Pippin — The Pippins, he considers, who of course include Mary with her red umbrella we suspiciously see little of, even though at least one character says she carries it around all the time. Better check on that, he thinks…
He finds the red wine stale but acceptable for an Australian. Better start looking around for that umbrella, he ruminates.
Hold on, he ponders. This seems unusual, hmm. Cyan… cyanide. Cy Twomile, one of the two most recent victims in this here photo-novel, even though he’s locally known as Big Black Smoke. Derogatory racial name? He better find a computer somewhere.
But what’s this? In the Peppins’ living room: red, blue, and then a yellow lemon on top. And cyan turns to red in inverted color mode — which he, like Aqua Dude before him, can switch on and off when needed, which he does here.
Yes, something about that coat hanger or whatever it was, he contemplates while sitting in the swing beside the 32 square meter house that caused all the messy Instabar trouble in the first place. Buster Damm, hrmph. Popping in and out of this reality at his convenience to cause harm and mischief, like a little, blood sucking gremlin or something. If only we could trace him back to his Pot-D origins.
He decides to check the “coat hanger’s” description remotely while enjoying his hot coffee the swing graciously provided for him, pretty good for Cambodian.
Ahh. *Cage* stand. Bird cage. But where’s the bird? Or *birds*, even?
He travels further back in time than ever to find out.