Category Archives: Novels

December 5, 2017 · 4:55 am

Clemscott

Pitch Darkly teleports into the centre of Clemscott. As he knew from previous visits, the owner of the sim had marked the spot with a grassy, oval lozenge. This Clem fellow. Clem Scott maybe. Smart like a Fox.

Merlin’s Mound dead ahead, as Pitch has dubbed it. Grassy green like the central object he stands upon. Extension?

What, if anything, is buried within?

This is a grassy avenue just beyond that interests Pitch greatly for reasons I won’t go into just yet.

The avenue extends along the north side of… well I’m just going to let the pictures basically tell the story.

According to these signs adorning the surrounding square shaped wall in all 4 of its corners, the fenced-in region of approx. 1024 meters (32 x 32 meters) holds what are apparently experimental building projects, with apologies given for the involved dust. You can actually buy the wall and attached signs for 50 lindens. Pitch is tempted…


Walled region.


Viewing platform?


Banana and apple.

Once again, Pitch realizes he’s not going to be able to figure it out tonight. He must move on. But not before noting this 32 meters long “measuring rod” extending well below the surface here. 32 meters is also the length of each side of the walled compound.


Walled region and “Merlin’s Mound”.

Pitch decides to quench his parched throat at a neighboring bar before continuing. “Bucket of blood,” he requests to the familiar bartender. “No nails.”

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December 4, 2017 · 5:31 am

spots

Meanwhile, the upper 2/3rds of *Story Room*, so to speak — Pretty Man and Earie/Chuck — had decided to splurge on an early Christmas present and vacation in luxurious Comfrey on the Gaeta continent, noted for its staged environments. But those names are misnomers at this point, as Wheeler Wilson had fully changed back into a woman now after leaving the role of Pretty Man behind in Gaston, while The Musician had similarly set aside his desire to play female Chuck Cheese in addition to male Earie. So we’ve got a sort of reset for these two back to VHC City days from earlier in 2017. And I suppose that may mean they’re actually not the top 2/3rds of Story Room any longer either. Shoot.

The vacation literally got off on the wrong foot when Wheeler slipped on an icy spot while stepping out of the unicorn drawn carriage which brought them to their lodgings.

But luckily the fall only hurt her pride. New-ish shoulder pet Sidechick Corea was okay too.


“Pheh.”

—–

Baker Bloch — er, Pitch Darkly also had new digs, albeit of a more modest variety. He stares out from his porch across the water toward Clemscott, owned by the creator of his beloved Mary. He’s also decided to return to a prime state. He will not give up on his dolls.

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December 3, 2017 · 9:57 am

middle and upper

She logged in then saw him squarely facing her directly up Old Cannon Road. Baker Blinker and Baker Bloch didn’t meet enough in Our Second Lyfe, I realized. I had them decide to share a perch meal at Perch together and catch up.

—–

“How’s Pitch doing? I heard he’s still trying to decide whether to buy a new Mary or not.”

Baker Bloch took another sip of his strong German beer before answering Baker Blinker, then instead said: “When did Perch get this beer on tap? I don’t remember it.”

“Oh I don’t know. I’m not here (in Collagesity) that much. So about Pitch…”

“Let me have a word with the garson.” He turns toward the center of the restaurant. “Garson!” he called and then snapped his fingers.

So rude, Baker Blinker thought.

—–

15 minutes later, their garson appears.

“He should have been here ages ago,” the male Baker continues complaining to the female Baker.

—–

I’ll just summarize what was discussed at this meeting between the two town owners. Pitch has not given up on getting back together with Mary, but sees her in a very different light now that he keeps visiting her creator’s home over in Clemscott and pokes around more. Such a bizarre place, Baker Bloch tells Baker Blinker. Pitch can’t figure it out. Then, of course, Baker Blinker herself wants to see, which I’ll get to in a little while. Karoz is growing weary of life in Chilbo now that his favorite coffee and sweets shop formerly located in the Stinna Biddle Gallery there has been derezzed. They may be moving back to Collagesity; Baker Bloch gets chills with this news. Rocky Racco has returned from the Gulf War and sealed up the sand castle portal occupying his lower floor by having Caucasian Tommy Brade toss the owl’s head ring into the Ichelus volcano, thereby destroying it and Brade both. He said he got the idea from a popular Middle Earth book. The only proper way into *Middle*town now, Baker Bloch explains to Baker Blinker, is through The Kidd. They both stare over at the upper 2/3rds of the Kidd Tower again with this.

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December 2, 2017 · 8:06 am

Return

The war over, Tronesisia pilots her Pink Baron back to Middletown to begin civilian life again. Her wheels touch down precisely on the 2 yellow rubber lines of Main Street just beyond Treasure Bay. Perfect 3 point landing.

But she hadn’t earned the moniker of flying ace for naught. 20 Frenchmen alone shot down! She returned a war hero, with all the accompanying accolades. She was a baroness now, due to marry Lord Bendington on the 25th (Christmas Day).

What about former lover Peter SoSo you may ask? Left behind in the ashes of battle bombs. Unable to extract himself from the high life in Hana Lei. Tronesisia desired more for her own life than just wobbling around stoned all the time. She desired accomplishments… medals. Badges signifying significance.

She strides powerfully into the skyscraper with her penthouse apartment. Surely soon to be renamed Baroness Towers, she thinks. Or some equivalent. “Hello, Ms. Tronesisia,” Bert the doorman says at the entrance. “Welcome back.” After she passes, he rushes into the work room to tell Timmy, Ben, and Wanisa to fetch her luggage out of the plane posthaste. Word spread fast through town. “Ms. Tronesisia is back, Ms. Tronesisia is back!” She was loved and feared by the citizens of Middletown.

“Ahh, good to be home!” she exclaims on her patio while sipping strong German beer and looking out across the sea. Soon she would be surrounded by royalty. She imagines them sitting all around her now, talking of her war glories and helping her take steps to make sure her celebrity status pays dividends in the marketplace of what surely will be a post-war boom.

Finished with her beer, she heads inside to retrieve another from the top-of-the-line Italian refrigerator. She pauses at a certain point, sensing something different… new.

Tronesisia doesn’t see the bottom 1/3rd of the Kidd Tower just below her this particular night. Billie Jean Kidd had been unsuccessful so far in bringing the remaining 2/3rds to Middletown to make it clearly visible from this window of the penthouse apartment. But soon she would. And then Tronesisia’s dreams of life as a post-war baroness would all melt away.

She would remember who she was, at the core.

“At the core,” Billie Jean Kidd echoes down below.

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November 29, 2017 · 11:19 am

End?

Rocky goes back to Middletown and sets monstrously green Gregg Oden free from his small prison. He immediately becomes red clad Greg Ogden again, planning out his next oil painting of Treasure Hill (*not* a watercolor). Rocky sees an army base nearby and decides to turn in his resignation. Since entering the war 4 days back, Rocky had risen to the rank of lieutenant, soon to be captain in several more hours. It was time to end the insanity before he climbed to the very top of the ranks and was in charge of the whole kit and caboodle. He didn’t want to be trapped in that!

“Wrong side,” he said while looking at the wall behind the central desk within. “Oh well, it’s all games and pretend anyway.” He then saw the name on the typewriter at the desk. He sat down and studied it to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. The brand name: Raccoon.

Rocky found himself typing. And typing and typing. In a matter of hours, he had unfurled his whole story from Olde Lapara Towne, Collagesity, and Middletown. The stack of paper by his side kept growing higher, yet he went on. Future adventures. Collagesity and beyond. Mushroom house in the Adirondacks. Must keep going higher. Higher. To the top.

Two days later he was finally finished. He had risen to the rank of 5 star general, overseeing the whole Gulf engagement. He sent word to his lesser generals. Put down your arms. The insanity is over. There is no war any more. There never was.

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November 29, 2017 · 10:48 am

Rocky’s Ships

Rocky found that when he tried to sit on the destroyer in order to plant the bombs and, er, destroy it, he seemed to *become* the ship. No deployment of explosives possible. Eventually the Japanese ship that Rocky has merged with passes another of the same nationality, and Rocky unsits and tries his luck with that one instead.

Same basic situation: he can’t sit on the ship because it keeps moving and he does not. Several times he tries, but keeps falling to the ocean floor behind it. He gives up, and wanders to the top of a nearby underwater hill, laying his long cooled gun beside him.

He looks around; scans in every direction. Nothing, he thinks. There is nothing here. No war, he realizes. No sides to choose from. It was all a dream. I’ve been living a dream ever since my webbed feet touched mainland and I entered that battle camp. Rocky looked at his gun, which he’d named while practicing target shooting in Olde Lapara Towne down in Grasslands last month, the last time he would do so in that location. “Time to go home, Terry,” he addressed it.

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November 29, 2017 · 9:57 am

Alex and Albert 02

“Let me out of here,” he cried in his high, wispy voice. “I’m Gregg Oden! I drink… I drink Baileys from a shoe.”

“Not until you choose a side,” a gun toting Rocky persists. He didn’t have the heart to shoot Greg Ogden on the spot several days back so he just bought a small freebie jail to hold him in. Then *this* happened shortly afterwards — red to green again. Inexplicable.

Rocky stared west from whence he came. “What else might come through that cursed sand castle portal over on the volcano island?” he asked himself.

“You don’t understand little raccoon man. I haven’t painted a watercolor of myself or Baileys in a week. I’m dying for lack of art. Gregg Oden needs art to live,” he insisted.

“Shut up with your yammering,” Rocky voiced, tired of hearing the poor pitiful creature rant on and on about basically nothing. “I need to think. We’ve been on this perch long enough. There’s a war going on!”

“I know Alex,” Gregg Oden then said more mysteriously after a pause. “And Albert. They could help you with your little war. Could help one side or the other win. I hide them in a special place.” He looked down at his tutu, then back up. “I can help you out raccoon man… if you help me out.”

Just then, Rocky spots a ship passing in front of the Zebrasil-Ichelus island. He employs remote viewing, sees the flag, and decides to go after it.

Lucky for Rocky, because he was about to be manjinaed by Gregg Oden just like poor Terry and others before him.

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November 28, 2017 · 9:07 am

Battle?

Peter Ladd didn’t know whether to take Billy Jean Kidd totally serious or not about a winner-take-all tennis match for Collagesity, but he decided he better practice up anyway. He finds a passable court at TT-Sports. Unfortunately his chosen playing partner Uncle Babyface could even hit the ball back to him most of the time. Not a lot of practice accomplished this day.

Ooff! Another wiff by the uncle.

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November 28, 2017 · 7:27 am

Alex and Albert

“Still no pot here,” complains a peering Chuck Cheese, out on bail for an hour from the Gaston-Berry Police Station. “Where *is* Alex?” She pauses. “Or was it Albert?”

Quickly checking the world map, she sees a green spot moving toward her own green spot. “Someone is coming. Could have been tracked. Bail time’s up anyway. Got to head back.”

—–

“Good. You’re back on time this time I see. But what happened to your hair?” asks Maury “Jiff” Monroe, the police staff psychiatrist.

“I sometimes take it off at night. Bed time, right?”

“Wrong. Interrogation time.”

Chuck blows out air in exasperation, rolls her eyes, and flings herself down on the cell cot. “15 more minutes down-time? Pleeeasse?”

An acquiescing Jiff goes back to his cubicle waiting for 10:15, when the grilling will resume. First off, he needs to find out about this Alex or Albert. Each bail period, Chuck spills a little more of the beans. It’s almost as if she’s doing it on purpose. Is she? he asks himself.

—–

“Why did he steal her color?” asks a studying Billy Jean Kidd over in Middletown.

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November 26, 2017 · 11:01 am

5×5 03


Wizard’s Cube.

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