Category Archives: Jeogeot^^

tables

Axis again worships Lu Ellen Hutchison (or Hutchinson) before entering his NWES coffee shop. Who is now his wife, at least last time he checked (Wednesday).

He enters the coffee shop proper…

… only to see two avatars sitting at his favorite table instead of the one he expected. The conversation already taking place was briefly interrupted.

“There he is,” whispered Man About Time to Tracy Austin. “Behind the column. It’s as if he doesn’t think we can *see*.”

They talked about many things that night, the two of them and then all three together when Axis finally came out of “hiding”. One by one (by one), they began to understand all revolved around Peter — after all, the only Variant at The Table who was never a Variant. Peter and “Lamb”. They vowed, 3 hands clasped together at the center of *this* table (standing, remorseful Axis from the side), that Grandpapa didn’t die in Vain. Because, of course, we already know he died in Kowloon. His “Lamb” will live on.

“I am pleased,” I can hear him say from that Great Elderly Center in the Sky, lost cane back in hand again.

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gynoid too

It was logical to bring Tronesisia next into the current story for more clarification. Tronesisia, after all, was originally created as a pleasure bot for earlier Collagesity, usually seen hanging around The Mission LINK. Later she evolved beyond her initial programming and eventually became married to soulmate Bendy — after she learned she actually had a soul herself. Bendy, however, will not be part of this particular story. We cannot locate his whereabouts and Tronesisia is quite protective of him. But Tronesisia states she is very available for questioning. She has nothing to hide about her past, her present, even her future as she understands it. Which is a lot.

“Tronesisia,” I began. “Thank you for chatting with us a bit.” I found her in Dewey, exactly where we left off her story in, let’s see, well it was the last photo-novel. 16. We decided to talk about that first after reconvening in my NWES coffee shop for, again, logical reasons.

Cut to 3 exchanges later….

“I was asked to be the judge and jury of an art theft, Baker Bloch,” she rattled on. “I originally decided to kill the determined criminal before reversing my decision and bringing him back to life. This would be Herbert Gold, husband of April Mae Flowers. They are both alive, last I checked, and living in Snowlands.” Here Tronesisia tilts her head, her blue eyes gazing over my shoulder into the distance.

She stared back. “I stand corrected. Herbert Gold is again dead, having succumbed in his sleep earlier in photo-novel 17.”

“The current one,” I decided to add.

“Yes.” She tilts her head again; her blue eyes go blank once more. “No, new information has revised the old and found he is still alive. Just as — I — was — receiving…” The eyes go dead now. Tronesisia has shut herself off, perhaps experiencing some kind of overload. We would have to continue our chat another night, pheh.

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sucker no more

“And you’re sure about that?”

*Yes* Marcus Fox *Smart*ville. And put down that silly rose. We’re related (!)”

Marcus Fox Smartville complied. “Sure, sure.” He starts to recite the password but is halted at “z-“.

“Keep it down,” Tracy Austin hissed at him, and then motioned toward the snowman across the cavern coffee shop from them. “Ultima Thule is *everywhere*”

“Eva?” Marcus F. Smartville questioned, then bit his tongue. He knew what Tracy Austin was on about now. End of a world.

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ind

She brought her psychic granddaughter Toddles along with her. Donning the magical belt, she walked straight toward the green man removing his own head within the Red Umbrella. Beckoning…

beckoning…

SHOCK.

In.

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penultimate

“Help Tronesisia. I’m stuck between the floor and ceiling!”

“Get down from there, Duncan,” she pleaded again. “You’re going to hurt one or both of your keyboard playing hands (!).”

Alice Farrowheart walked into the psychedelic records store looking for her husband of 40 years. Ignoring Duncan Avocado doing a one handed stand on a bicycle seat — she’d seen enough of those kind of circus acts this week over at the bot cafe — she spotted the small, grey alien sitting on the opposite side. Oh well, she thought. At least he’s upright. I’ll ask him instead.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Oh, ahem, what’s that?” Ingo pretended to shake himself out a daydream, but he knew full well where he was and what he was doing here.

“I’m looking for Fred. That’s my husband.” She came closer to him. “About yea high; wears a cardigan.”

“Nope,” Ingo exclaimed. “Just us freaks in here today. We *wish* more people would come in and buy stuff. That would allow us to get better instruments, do more gigs. You see, we’re a band.” He pointed around the room, ending with himself. “Her, and him over there, and then me. I’m the drummer. You may have heard of me. Ingor Ratts. I was pretty famous back in the days.”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I have.” But she was more trying to ignore the large red rat that had just emerged from behind the counter. It reminded her of…

—–

“Baumbeer!” she exclaimed while waking up. “Baumbeer was killed by the drummer!” She must get to Black Drake asap. Now where is that confounded belt?

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smarts

“She has received the belt, ma’am, and is testing it out in Marwood.”

“Good, good,” Mid-Hazel returned. “But get her to Black Drake as soon as possible.”

“10-4 on that, Eleanor.”

“Stop doing stuff like that,” she commanded. He never listened. One day Jack Toadswallow would pay for all those non-listenings. The Abyss remembers.

—–

Alice Farrowheart was embarrassed she had to widen and deepen the belt so many times in the options mode. Must go on another diet soon! But she had it on, and she *wasn’t* going to enlarge it any more, despite some of her waist still drooping over the top in the front. So be it! She was what she was (at this point). Not a young woman any longer, although in my day… Alice F. thinks back here to winning Ms. Applewood in ’52. A good year for apples in general, she sighs while looking down her torso toward the belt. She can barely make out the edges. But… it’s on.

Now: to test it out. Think I’ll go to that bot bar on the north side of the sim so’s no one important can see me if things go wrong. Alice F. has studied Mystery Woman’s working of the same. Several options will not be used! Just the one that teleports you to a different place. Shocking, I know.

She imagines the bar very vividly in her mind. And: SHOCK.

She’s there! Initial test complete.

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Afterwards…

… the handsome red-green prince in the picture on the wall turned into a grotesque. She was alone again. And lonely. She’d forgotten who she was. Alice Frame decided, then and there, to open up one and only one present to cheer herself up. Try to make herself jolly and happy and carefree once more. She liked that feeling! She didn’t like what she was feeling now. The Deep Down was lost inside a gaping Abyss. TILE had it right. There is no hole like despair.

She picked the one from Jack. Her lover now that she’d forgotten the entire truth. “Hmm,” she said aloud. “Looks like a belt.” The attached note said, “for when you start missing me.” He later defended the present, stating that he’d heard it was all the rage around Our Second Lyfe. She untied the ribbon, opened the box, and tried it on.

Disappointment. Just a dull, silver belt with no decoration or style to it atall. She’d forgotten to read the attached notecard telling her how to use it to transport people like her to a different place altogether. She tossed it aside in a corner, more melancholy as ever.

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