Category Archives: VHC City

Inside Out

“I don’t see the Castle Tower on here,” he says, peering intently. “*Nor* the Crystal Cottage.”

“No,” Tronesisia replies. “We’ll have to redraw the map soon.” She points.

“And there’s my own cottage. A bit inside the circle apparently. You can’t enter there. You will have to stay in the forest. Beginning just beyond the railroad. Just outside his influence. Realm of Orange. Do you understand?”


“We must leave this place now.”

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Wheeler Wilson, Buster Damm and Pitch Darkly never really got to the meat of their talk from the day before. The next evening Baker Bloch teleported into what should have been the Crystal Cottage to scout out the area further. The house was no longer there. A tower had taken its place. Was this the real Clare Nova’s doing? Was she reading the Sunklands blog? A quite likely scenario.

At the bottom, an altar.

A child’s fort.

Several varieties of mushrooms.

Baker realizes the proper entrance to the tower is on the other side from him. The structure is in ruins. He circles around, but before ascending the proferred spiral staircase, goes out to the cliff above the railroad to check out these little purple fellas.

He goes back to the tower and starts heading upwards.

Nothing at the top except a single golden cube devoid of name or content. Darkness had come quickly. Was the tower some kind of test?

If so, did I pass it just by creating this post?

Hiding outside the Sphere of Influence.

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Drunk talk

“So tell me about this Bennington you are from,” requested Mary to Tronesisia on the porch of the robot lady’s Rose Moondreams Cottage. They had been back for about a day now. Mary wasn’t ready to return to the small house where she and Pitch Darkly lived now beside her favorite fishing hole. Pitch thought they’d be gone for another week. They were hiding out, in effect. Trying to unravel what that kid was doing on the bridge and his cryptic talk about mutable time. Wegee had at least told them his name was not Loki, the orange word printed on his t-shirt. That was a brand.

“Oh, nothing much to tell,” Tronesis answered. “Dangerous town. Moreso than Farmington where you are from, of course. How’s that place doing these days?”

“Same as yours. Nothing’s changed. Peaceful and calm.” Mary thinks back to another part of the wegee session from earlier in the day. “Have I ever told you the story of my last name?”

“Ball, isn’t it?” Tronesisia had heard that from Pitch. “Some relation to Old Martha Ball, I recall.” She takes another swig of her craft beer. Mary does the same with her own. By the way, Mary was not pregnant any longer. She had entered the Realm of Orange again and his influencing sphere. More on that later.

“Yes. My full name is Mary Ball, but not *Chuckles*. Martha was my aunt. Martha Spit Ball. She owned a lot of the Epping Woods. And your killing shack you’re so familiar with now is actually the place I was born. My aunt took care of my mother during the pregnancy. Then we stayed on until I was 3 or 4. Farmington was much more dangerous back then.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” said Tronesisia, surprised at this new twist. And Bennington was peaceful during her own childhood, she thought. Something switched between the two. She swigs again.

“Anyway, I kept coming back and coming back for visits and eventually I just moved here as a teenager. My aunt got me a job as a singer slash dancer slash juggler over in the Blue Angel, which she helped manage. Seedier place in those days.”

“Ahh, love that club,” Tronesisia said. “I use to sing there too. Before your time, however.”

“I didn’t know *that*. We’ll have to compare singing voices sometime. But I was best at juggling, admittedly. That’s how the clowns found me.” Mary gets up from the rocking chair while downing the rest of her beer. “You want another brewsky or are you good?”

“Just bring a whole six pack out here and set it on the floor between us,” Tronesisia requested earnestly.


2 hours later…

“Perhaps the first thing I remember as a child was hearing that awful awful plane crash over at what’s now the Catsocks Crater — sometimes incorrectly called a sinkhole. No, *Sikkima* has a stinking sinkhole. That’s not a sinkhole. That’s just a plain, rotten hole. My mother, at the time see, told me it was the end of the world when it happened. To everyone’s horror, Osborne Well and his monster posse crawled out from the tail piece of the smoldering wreck basically untouched, since, in part, they were already dead, you know. And the fact that they were stored away in those insuladed coffins and crates. Insula-*ted*. Livelies or beaners in the front part, as the monsters were wont to call them — all dead. Plane No. 4. Broke in two. I saw the plane. Everyone in a 1000 meter radius of VHC City came to witness the thing. But it didn’t do its job. Didn’t crash into something.” Mary pointed north beyond Tronesisia with a wobbly hand here.

“But it *did* crash into something,” Tronesisia replied, her own head a bit unsteady as well. “That plain between Tussock and Catpla… Catalp… Catalpa. The plane plain. Fortunately unpopulated at the time. But in former times… prostitutes and jugglers. Elephants and gorillas. Circus, in short. You’d hear, ‘the circus is coming to town,’ and everyone would flock to the same plane… plain, but for a very different reason. Pleasure not plain. Pain!”

“Strange strange world it is, my friend Sissy. My *good* friend Sissy.” Mary takes the last beer from the carton on the floor between them and pops the cap. “Stakes on the big top had just been pulled up the week before, yeah.” She chugs. “But that’s not what I’m talking about, my friend. That’s not what I’m talking about.” She drew herself up from a slouching position while taking another drink. “Pitch Darkly was blamed in part, just because he was about the only monster living in VHC City at the time of the acci-dent. Him and Buster. Even though the vampires and monsters of the plane were victims or potential victims themselves. A line was drawn. You stay across the tracks over there and we good VHC City people will be over here, you see. Pitch was cast out. Buster was cast out, even though he secretly has his coffin still over in town in a hidden nook beneath the Blue Angel. The perv.”

“I know,” replies a hiccuping Tronesisia. “I use to sing there in the’20s!” They both laugh.

“The clowns went underground after that. They thought they were the target because of the presence of the vampires, the monsters. But they weren’t the target. I should know. I lived amongst them for 3 long years. Three long long years.”

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“I can still make this role work out,” Wheeler said to herself while standing before the scrying mirror between representations of the sun and moon at the real Clare Nova’s Crystal Cottage in Hooktip. “I will summon forth a helper from the shadows dark.”

Pitch Darkly suddenly appeared in the yard outside the door, with friend.

“Damm,” she uttered.

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Sissy and Prissy

The Rose Moondreams cottage and grounds in Tussock represented quite the idyllic setup. Tronesisia had been rewarded well down through the months and now years by Pitch Darkly and Buster Damm for her services. Enough to additionally buy the town gas station when the chance arose recently. Enough to purchase Bendy’s inherited mini coop from him and, only today, have it painted pink at a local body shop. Its arrival in the late afternoon had triggered the weight of guilt and longing again.

Everything was kosher according to the ‘Book of Blood,’ Pitch kept reinforcing to her. All was moral and above the law. Yet this particular killing hit home. Bendy was a robot, just like herself. Bonded to Fry through a rigged chess match, yes. Obviously stolen from his rightful masters. But was her situation *that* much different from his? Was *she* with her rightful masters? It mostly felt that way before, but now it kind of didn’t. Seeing Bendy fly off in that Collagesity rocketship changed her, she realized. Freedom. The ability to return home to a loving mother and father figure.

It was getting chilly on the porch. She went inside and sat in front of the fire. She studied the picture above the hearth. Idyllic parents. That’s what she needed.

A thought suddenly crossed her mind. She could hop in her newly hued auto and drive back to Collagesity in the lower part of Heterocera. It hardly took 2 hours before with Bendy, even dealing with the wonky Second Life physics. Tronesisia especially enjoyed driving across the wooden Telea-Rustic Bridge spanning the atoll sea. She thought she might have fell in love with Bendy on the bridge, even, when they stopped at that little Japanese cafe for lunch. She couldn’t quite recall the name of it. Something “Garage”. They briefly held hands; Tronesisia told him to call her Sissy — all her real friends do. Her given name was a mouthful at times, she admitted. But her parents had their reasons.

Her parents. Peter and Lily. Another Lily even, just like the name of Bendy’s adoptive mother. “Maybe it’s fate we get together,” she flirted at the cafe. But Bendy insisted he already had a gal on his Moon of The Moon. Priscilla… Prissy.

Tronesisia remained confused. She decided she had to find out how Bendy truly feels about her, now that he’s returned to his home and this Prissy. How much chance was she taking, really? Physically speaking, since she was a well built robot, there was only a very slim possibility that the flight would damage her, even if she went up into space and then just fell back to earth, target missed. Bendy told her that all you have to do is sit on the rocketship once you’ve touched and lauched it. But you have to be quick. As *soon* as you see it clear the house you must sit, else the ride is missed. “But that’s no problem with us robots, with our super sharp reflexes, eh?” he added. It was almost as if he knew she would follow him.

She paid him for the mini and reluctantly said goodbye, driving back to VHC City and her suddenly lonely cottage. The launch went according to plan, she assumed. One minute he was standing by her side in the small Collagesity green, then, after touching the rocketship and lauching it, he wasn’t. On his way back to The Moon of The Moon. She had learned much of his home in their short time together.

Tomorrow she would phone up Pitch and say she needed a couple of days off. No, a week. “Maybe longer,” she would tack on at the end, making him think about possibilities. Tronesisia didn’t want to lose her job, however. A week would probably be enough. She should get some rest.

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Realm of Orange?

While in the heart of VHC City, Baker decides to redraw his Sphere of Influence map accomplished earlier in the day with a new and hopefully better center in mind: Sister 64/128. 1/4 the way across the sim. 1/2 the way up.

When he subsequently displays the resulting texture in his new Saturn abode, Baker sees something. He revises the map again and adds a line.


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“This Eclipse wine is pretty good, Hucka.”

“Yeah, you’re certainly woofing it down, Baker. Thanks for meeting with me tonight, even if in character — as the Orange King?”

“Still working on it. He’s from Saturnia. But we better start calling that (sim) simply Saturn. Like the place the guys who run this coffee shop are from apparently.”

“Could be a connection, even,” offers Hucka Doobie. “We must explore every angle and then discard mercilessly. Tough going ahead to finish (the novel).”

“Jupiter mentioned in the last (blog) post,” adds Baker/Orange King. “Jupiter and Saturn. Opposites.”

“Greater benefic and greater malefic,” furthers Hucka Doobie. “But back to Clare and Wheeler. She came back to VHC City to play that role. And now it’s snapped away from her?”

“The real Clare Nova seems nice enough. And her spots in Saturn and several other sims around the area are nature and beauty oriented. I think that swayed me into telling her I’m writing fiction about greater VHC City. Just tonight. Just a minute ago.”

“I suppose that’s a good idea.” Hucka Doobie tries to look out the 4th wall again but can’t quite find it.


Wheeler awoke to the smell of familiar dampness. She knew she was back immediately. Tears formed in her eyes. She never thought the Underground would look this good.


The Musician had returned to VHC City via the key shop several hours earlier. Pilot Woody Woodmanson was nowhere to be seen upon “landing”. He soon found his feet walking toward his old haunt, the Safe Plaza, and its Ear Bar. But his beloved Dr. Who pinball machine there seemed to be broken. Malefic Saturn already in action?

He found an old friend to chat with on the bar counter. “I wonder where Wheeler is, Percolator?”

Percolator told him. And about the potential loss of the Clare Nova role. And about the new Orange King of Saturn. The perpetually caffeine filled mutant clown was noted for being quite the gossip machine.

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