Category Archives: 0007

December 22, 2017 · 11:46 am

’round the clock?

Santa God waited patiently for 10:15, when he would allow Baker Bloch to exit the Christmas Chamber. He wanted to be there in person to greet him and see his smiling face as he opened the door. Like a kid opening presents, except in reverse. Humph, he thought while staring across the castle’s open interior at the Christmas Mural — “Snowball” he lovingly calls it. What *does* he want here? The great 3-n-1 is within, as I’ve told Halloween Jack, the scoundrel. We should probably contact Melvin about this. Although rather an idiot, he’d help smooth over our differences. A quite square little fellow, but he has some allies on his sides and makes good points at times. We can meet at the Forest Retreat, a neutral spot. There we can achieve the low-down on this Mr. Baker Bloch’s motives. What’s *really* inside him and makes him tick.

—–

Halloween Jack was the first to arrive, taking a larger seat as per usual. Santa God refused to sit beside him, and squeezed into one of the smaller chairs two down instead. “Where’s Melvin?” he asks the taller deity. “He said he’d bring him right over.” Santa God reconsidered. “But I guess he has to give him equal time in the Nasty Bodiour”.

“He doesn’t have to sleep with Lady Mary,” Halloween Jack clarifies about Melvin’s own castle room. “He just has to lay with her for 15 minutes.”


Awwkwarrd!

“Melvin’s a sickie, if you ask me. And why does he get the highest castle again? First one here?”

“Yes, like I was first to arrive at our meeting and I grabbed a higher chair. I knew you wouldn’t want to sit next to me, and 3 down is too far away. Hence you are forced into a lower chair. That’s us, then… the two ‘Lowies’. I don’t like to make the same mistake twice.”

“I’m still a little higher than you,” Santa God replies about the position of his own castle while readjusting himself in his chair.

“Not here, though. Not now.”

“Hrmph.” Santa God turns his innate loathing back to Melvin. “I guess he’ll start to bedeck the place with his Fourth of Juli stuff soon.”

“Not until I take down my Halloween decor,” offers Jack. “That’s how it works. We don’t have enough prims otherwise. And yours, lets see, is due to come down December 26th? hehe.”

“August,” says Santa God disgustedly. “September till August. That’s the deal.”

“And I get the trees instead of you,” Halloween Jack finishes.

Melvin arrives with the guest to their plane.

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December 22, 2017 · 3:00 am

planes to see

“Approach!”

“Oh, it’s you Halloween Jack. What do you want here? A truce? I told you we can’t do a truce. We are mortal enemies!”

“No, Santa God. I am not here for that today. A stranger is amongst us. At my castle gate and now yours. A Mr. Baker Bloch. Said he understood that he needs to get permission from *us* to pass to higher planes.

Santa God guffawed. “What higher planes, hmph? The blank one without ours and Melvin’s castles? The huge, empty cave? The, let’s see, the one with the several smaller, empty caves and, um, a couple of flying fish I believe? There’s nothing up there! What pray tell does he want with the lot of ’em?”

“He said he’s looking for the great 3-n-1.”

“Maybe he needs to look into his heart, mind, soul. The 3-n-1 is within us and that is that. You’ll know one day.”

Halloween Jack ignores what he considers a more degenerate piece of Santa God’s religious mumbo jumbo. Like rotted fruit. Already they were battling for his soul. “Shall I send him away, then?”

“No, that’s all right. Let’s hear out his story, crazy as it may be. First, let him wait in the Christmas Chamber.


Christmas Chamber.

“That’ll put him in a good mood and help balance out the warped environment he experienced over at your dark castle already. You probably let him wait in your batty Bat Room, didn’t you?”

“N-no,” Halloween Jack lied.

“That’s what I thought.”

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December 20, 2017 · 6:34 pm

can’t wait

The Musician was carefully cleaning his new cyborg body parts in the glimmering cave pool when Wheeler sprinted into the room. “No time for that, punk, we’ve been found out!”

But he didn’t immediately jump into action. “What are you on about *now*?” he asked while continuing to wash his left arm. In truth, he was still pissed at Wheeler for not appreciating Jimmy’s solution to the stigmata problem. True, it was kind of trading one set of stigmata for another. But at least he wouldn’t keep waking up in a blood soaked bed.

Speaking of which: “Pull out our beds!” the now stationary Wheeler called from the bank. “The ones sent by Jacob. Hurry!”

The Musician kept cool and switched cybernetic arms to bathe.  “Jacob? I’m not sure… oh, right, the *collage*. The one with the two beds. Well… he said he’d give it to us but was still searching for the base image, the one with no beds. He warned us not to use the current one, just to study it. Is that the beds you’re talking about, Wheeler?”

“You know they are,” she huffed, folding her arms and impatiently stamping her left foot on the cave floor. “And its in *your* inventory. He gave it to you and not me for some reason.” She anxiously looked toward the room entrace from whence she came. “I think I hear footsteps. Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?” queried The Musician, now washing between his real fingers. “What’s he got to do with all this?”

“Again… *no time.* Pull out the picture. I *demand* it.”

“I’m not going to do that, Wheeler. Jacob said to wait.”

Wheeler huffed some more and looked again toward the cave passage leading to this room. “Oooh, *please* Musician. I’m *sorry* I didn’t like your new, metallic limbs and belly. I’m *sorry* I didn’t appreciate the teeth. New things take time,” She glanced again at the room entrance for emphasis. “Which we have *little of*.”

“Alright,” The Musician finally acquiesced, moving toward her through the shallow water. “Good thing all these new workings are titanium and not steel. We’d be here an additional 15 minutes with me drying!”

As soon as he reached the bank, Wheeler clasped his hand and started running again. While being dragged along to the end of their vacation, in effect, he looked through his inventory and found the collage.

“We’re here, Musician,” Wheeler said, catching her breath again at the doorway to the last room. The final cave room. “Now… *rezz the beds*.”

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December 20, 2017 · 4:55 pm

Revealing

Upon reaching the cave’s upper mouth — leaving The Musician behind in its bowels again while she scouts for additional, useful poses — Wheeler spies Willard and Harriet Miller dancing up a storm in a nearby gazebo.

Then something extraordinary happens. The couple instantly cease their gyrating, then Harriet appears to fall asleep on the spot. Like she’s “away”, as we say in Second Lyfe speak.

Another takes her place. Jimmy. The *bastard*, Wheeler thinks. He’s asleep too, for a moment, then springs awake.

“You can go now,” Wheeler can hear him say faintly from her position. He’s apparently speaking to Willard Miller, for just after this the husband of Harriet Miller vanishes — poofs out of existence.

“It’s time to come out of the closet, er cave,” he then calls in the direction of Wheeler. “It’s time for you guys to remember who you are. The upper 2/3rds of the infamous punk band Story Room, with me completing the trilogy.

Jimmy approaches the cave mouth, still quite red but now much taller. And also a woman.

Tammy Whatammy?

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December 20, 2017 · 9:06 am

Brilliant Twin

The Musician couldn’t help himself at breakfast. He had to show off his new cybernetic arms and torso to The Millers. Artist Harriet Miller was completely taken by the shirtless subject, and insisted he pose as a model for her newest work. Wheeler Wilson reluctantly tagged along to Harriet’s creative getaway tucked in the small woods, along with her husband Willard, an insurance salesman at Barnum and Bailey’s.

Wheeler was thinking: Willard looks *so* familiar.

On a window ledge of the cabin, Dirty, Frosty, and Bluebell wonder what they’re gandering at with the part machine Musician.

The Millers having returned to their primary lodgings, we catch up with Wheeler and The Musician partaking of after-breakfast treats at a nearby frozen pond. He was explaining more about the procedure.

“Same thing happened to Philip. No problems in 10 years. He just keeps his shirt on, like you’ve suggested to me about 10 times now… keeps the eyeglasses on so the vision will always remain slotted — no problem there again, really — and then keeps his mouth shut as much as possible. Because without the teeth, the deal is not sealed. The great 3-n-1.”

He forcefully smiles for Wheeler Wilson again. More metal. More jagged.

I’m going to kill Jimmy the next time I see him, she thinks.

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December 20, 2017 · 6:53 am

Shirtless in Comfrey

Grace Zebriskia gasped when seeing The Musician pass earlier this morning on his way over to Wheeler Wilson’s Japanese house.

“Good morning, Grace.”

“Good *morning*, Mr. Musician. How… how are you?”

“Fine Grace, fine. Never mind all this. I’m fine. Have a good day.”

“You too sir!”

—-

Deep in meditative thought, Jimmy’s bunkmate Rey Wisa did not turn in his seat to look, but only echoed a vacant hello to The Musician’s passing hello. He knew what had happened.

—–

He stops in front of Grace’s twin cousin Jowday and asks if Wheeler is up yet. “Yes sir,” she replied, markedly not as surprised with The Musician’s appearance as her virtual doppleganger. He briefly wonders why before moving on.

—–

“Musician! What have you done to yourself?!”

“I got rid of the stigmata, Wheeler. Jimmy fixed me up. Said he did the same thing for his astronomer friend Philip back in Australia.”

“Can you *undo* it?” she asked with mouth still dropped.

He paused, disappointed in her reaction. Then: “I think not.”

“Well throw a shirt on all that at least, for Christ’s sake. The Millers are waiting for us in the gazebo.”

—–

The Musician then rummaged through his inventory for a suitable breakfast shirt. Not too punk but not too tame. And, obviously, with long sleeves.

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December 17, 2017 · 10:05 am

landscape

“I can’t see *anything*, Pitch thinks. “I can’t hear, can’t speak. My life is over.”

“We’ll get you fixed up,” Mary encourages in his head while continuing to stare at the giant fruit in front of her. “Apple, orange, yellow fruit, lime. There’s nothing to see, hear, speak about. Yet. We’ll get you fixed up.”


Merlin Martin

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December 15, 2017 · 8:03 am

Greenup 12, 13

“There’s no other choice in the matter, Broken Heart,” Jacob called from his chair. “We’re going to have to go to Stonethwaite and that is that.”

“I know,” replied his bone cat friend, positioned in front of the next two collages of the series here. “I’m already packed up (compacted). We’ll have to figure out a way to erase the two beds, though.”

“I’m on it.”

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December 15, 2017 · 7:16 am

“One Pink”

Pitch had always gotten chills when walking past this particular spot on his Grassy Avenue. Tonight he understood why. Two cardboard figures, Derek Jones and Sikul Himakt Mykall Skall, awaited him at the location. Pitch temporarily lost his sight.

“Ahh, my eyes! I can’t see.”

And soon he couldn’t hear or speak either.

—–

Jacob I. was now up on the second floor of House Greenup in Rubi. He had reached Greenup 11 in his examination. Himself.

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December 14, 2017 · 7:48 am

breaker breaker

Marion Harding thinks his world might be breaking down. He had been on Gaeta V going on 2 years now. Sent here by trickery and mistake; eventually caught in a tangled web of power and intrigue woven in Capitol City.

He didn’t like the continent’s largest and most central burg very much, although it had elements he admired. Of course there was the money, the flow being strongest here. But heiress Becky Latrobe wouldn’t even let him into her posh house now that he’d shot Dirk in the head and made him dead. And Madam Wanda Stinoble was going straight and returning to the old continents. For Gaeta V was news at the time of its birth eastward of Corsica. News and dangerous. And those darker elements naturally aggregated and congealed at the depression originally called Pittsboro. Pittsboro evolved to Pittington evolved to Darksity evolved to Capitol City. Over time the sinister aspects were smoothed away like the reformed, flat terrain. Gaeta V would have no natural sinkhole that kind history would remember. The Great Black Swamp which sucked up aboriginal settlers such as Ned Bartlett and Kindsey McTweed into an untimely doom was tiled and drained, and a shopping mall now graces its ironed over land, selling the newest threads and peddling fresh leather attache cases soon to be filled to the breach with lindens and gold and jewelry no doubt. Like his own, bought just a week and a half back. Because Marion liked to ensure that each case of treasure had its own home. He could himself probably build a small house with them even now, only 2 years in. Or, really, only 1 3/4 years in because it took him a little bit to find, then ingratiate himself into the sodded fabric of the city.

—–

“Baker, have I ever told you the story of my nephew Marion and how I mistakenly sent him over to walk the length of the Gaeta V continent 2 years back instead of having him watch the GTA V video Spongeberg actually requested at the time?”

“No. Do tell Cardboard!”

“I haven’t heard from him since. Until yesterday. A short note indeed: ‘I think my world might be breaking down.'”

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