Category Archives: VHC City


“Rule 110, pheh.”


His stint as Surrogate George ended, Duncan Avocado returned to the PCH Forest bear cave one last time to do a general cleanup. Afterwards only items directly linked to Abigail’s humble abode remained…

… including this stash of Bearmalade which started the whole East-West spell war, of course. Both sides coveted it. With permission from Ms. Adams, he noms some down to give him needed energy for the return home. This was a magic elixir, part of the next generation of pass-through devices. Mana from heaven. The days of the enslaved portal animals will soon come to an end.

He then discharges his collected garmonbozia into the cave’s central pit, a long held ritual.

A series of transformations follow. First Baker Bloch, then Woody Woodmanson, then Pitch Darkly. Tempted one last time to keep this particular form, he thinks of Mary.

“The right George is with her now,” he speaks aloud. Returning to Duncan Avocado, he turns from the pit toward the bear behind him. “I wish to thank you for this gift again, Abigail Adams. I promise to use it well.”

“No problem Duncan my man,” the bear replies. “You better leave now. The witches will never end their battle.”

“Right you are.” He goes to the sacred fishing hole. Something is tugging at the line — something has always been tugging at the line, unhooked until today.


Leaving the forest.

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Julia and Nancy

The heavily dreaming Musician was finally inside the great hotel, staring up at a painting of Bob Dylan by avatar Phil Strang. He wonders to himself why he doesn’t appreciate this particular musician more. Everyone intimately connected to the Chelsea seems to adore him. He greatly and heavily prefers The Beetles, though. John and George, but Paul and Ringo also. He’s looking for a particular place to sing “Julia” by John to wrap things up. But it won’t be here. “The Blue Angel is probably the better fit,” he says to himself. “John’s already there.” He ventures south out of the hotel, avoiding the Lil Magill room for now who everyone knows as Nancy. Misdirection.


Speaking of Dylan, on his way to the Blue Angel, The Musician passes a gallery rented by Angelina Dickenson, the very same “police woman” who just drove out the last of the vampires from town. The present exhibit involves an artistic reinterpretation of lyrics from Dylan’s song “Hard Rain”. The Musician would have to visit and absorb later. To the Blue Angel next door…


The Musician pretends there is an audience. All the women he has dated and loved are there. Helen, Audrey, Susie, Ethel and Pearl to the left. Bettie, Ginger, Ruth, Edna and May on the right. And missing Julia at the center of it all. “This one’s for you John.”


“We missed him,” Wheeler says to Baker Bloch, staring over at the bloody bed and hovering ghosts from her corner seat in the famed Chelsea room. “The Nancy story will have to wait.”

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Sadly, Baker Bloch indicates to his landlord through the scripted box above the door that he won’t be keeping his basement rental apartment. He’s already done the same with his second VHC City rental at the top of Bemberg Towers. Pulling out completely from the town, he is. Dreams of owning a gallery there called “Something To CHRO About” scuttled. He’s going back to Collagesity with the rest.

He opens the door and crosses the line between sims Bemberg and Sister just outside. An avatar immediately shows up, a dapper male in a black suit with white hair. Kohakt Resident was the name.

“Hey ho Soho hobo,” he exclaims happily. Baker Bloch attempts to be friendly and says hello, then asks if he rents around here. Kohakt mysteriously says, “Well this isn’t awkward, it’s fabulous. I wouldn’t because I am stripped rent wise already.” Baker Bloch was confused. Did he mean “strapped? (rent wise)”? Probably. “But it’s okay,” he quickly added. “I love the area.”

Baker Bloch voiced his suspicion. “You aren’t the *landlord/landlady* are you?” thinking that this may be Summerhill Nova or one of her cohorts in disguise. Why else would they show up just after he indicated he was terminating his lease on the apartment.

“Hey noo, relax lol,” Kohakt said to counter this, though. “Search and enjoy, that’s my motto.” Baker said that he liked the way Kohakt talked. He reminded him of some beatnik poet from the ’60s.

“You heading underground?” he then asked.

“Well, yeah,” Kohakt declares.

“Nice. It’s vast.”

“Let’s do it.”

“You’ve been down I assume.”

“Of course,” Kohakt answered. “Please. After you my friend.” Apparently Kohakt wanted Baker Bloch to be his exploring buddy. Baker mulled this over for a second, then acquiesced.

“Have you been past the crocodile pool?”

“I think so. But it’s been a long time since, well you know.” Baker was thinking again, making Kohakt prompt, “Well go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

And that was about it until the blue door. Baker went down the stairs outside his basement apartment leading to the underground but Kohakt didn’t follow. He looked back and saw him flying around aimlessly above. Was he that clumsy of movement? Baker asked himself. “Down here,” Baker clarified, making eye contact with him again. But when Baker reached the bottom of the stairs and went to the left toward the double doors heading to the heart of the underground, Kohakt was still not behind him. Baker gave up, and im-ed him, saying he’d have to explore the place on his own and hoped he enjoyed the journey. Baker opens the white door and passes from Sister to Bemberg once more. He stares at the blue door leading back to Sister. His own fate door.

Wheeler bursts through the white door. “Can’t act, can’t act, hmmf,” she says with a broad smile. Baker stares at her. “Well, it’s getting cold down here. Lead on! Let’s find The Musician going ’round in circles and make this a wrap.”

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George manifests the planchette again and asks a question. “Will the east and west witches learn to coexist?”


Wheeler was feeling better if still tired. Seeing this, Buster Damm had excused himself, saying he’d heard of trouble in VHC City. Wheeler reinforced that she could certainly fend for herself.

“Attack from the west, eh?” she ruminated while sitting in a raven black Victorian chair at the real Clare Nova’s church. “Well, two can play that game.”

“Or was it the east?”

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Knotted up

Collage 17 returns to Collagesity from Muff. Whole SoSo Gallery along with it. Red-green split fades and disappears.


Woody bids farewell to his “summer home” in Bermingham. *He’s* moving to Collagesity! But I don’t think our story as a whole is quite done with that realm.

George is still there, for one thing.

Maybe Bendy as well. Probably is.


Without Pitch/Baker in tow, Hucka Doobie says goodbye to the News and Views coffee shop across from the great hotel.

Yep, heading back to Collagesity too along with the others. He thinks of Pitch and what went wrong with this town. Or went right, now that the last of the vampires have been vanquished. After years of abuse Pitch has given up on VHC City. He use to be in the center. He became tired of living on the edge, without security, without a role to play. So he unconsciously attracted the end. More on that soon.


Buster Damm came back to VHC City from the PCH Forest to find that his coffin underneath the Blue Angle had been deleted. He was exiled just like Pitch. Dead ball era over, I suppose.


Mary: One last bit of “reeling them in” from her favorite fishing hole across the tracks from the city. Like Buster, she’s following Pitch outta here.

There’s too much at, er, stake, not to. Within the Realm of Orange or overall Sphere of Influence of VHC City, she remains sterile. Outside is another story.


Another nearby red-green dichotomy. The abode of hot, temperamental Angelina Dickenson, a police woman of sorts. We haven’t met her in our story yet, and maybe never will. But she’s the one who drove the nails in the last two vampire coffins of the area. Again — for better or worse. Siren always set to on.  Continuously looking out for the town, especially the Sister side.


But what of the Bemberg part? Still reading Sunklands, landlady Summerhill Nova sits in her office contemplating what to do about Baker and his several rentals there.

Obviously, she thinks, since Baker is the same as Pitch he’ll be leaving too. But should he be forced out? Punished, in a way. Summerhill is hoping he’d just quickly exit of his own volition and she could wash her hands of the matter. Let it just fade away.


Baker himself stands before the blue door, thinking he should never have gone through it and made another dwelling place in Sister. Illegal, yes. Indefensible, correct. But, overall, temporary and harmless, like *everything else*. Like many of us after November’s big bump, Angelina was way under her land impact limit. Had the story been worth it? I think so. Else it would never have been told, I suppose.


And we’re not quite through yet. The Musician is still circling around Clown Central, trying to find a way out for both he and Wheeler. Trapped in a dream. Sikul Himakt. He suddenly realized what had to be done.

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It was a most remarkable coincidence. Wheeler changes into a witch on Wednesday and is taken to a church on the western edge of the PCH forest to recuperate from a nasty accident with a Halloween tree, and the very next day a witch’s cottage appears on the far eastern side of this same woodland. George understood it to be his new temporary home, an upgrade from the Castle Tower. Duncan Avocado had explained to him that there was more than one Orange, and that the second who had assumed control by treachery was even worse than the first (Nova). The boy would have to stay in the holding forest a while longer. Was Mary even going to be his new mother? He’d already chosen a first name appropriate for the situation. There was the whole tentacled cluster of synchronicities surrounding the anticipated event. The Monster some called it. Others: Baby Monster. Whatever, it had many arms and it was large. It might even be tamed down into a dragon symbol in later times. Which could be earlier times. George was already a bit alive and dead at once. Wheeler Wilson moved forwards and backwards together. “Fo fo fo,” chants Malone from the Chasm Deep. Titusville.

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No workout

Baker Bloch knew something he could do to perhaps help immediately. There was one too many of the same color within the sphere. He transformed into King Orange and teleported over to his house in Saturn. Greater Malefic, opposite Tronesisia’s positively charged Rose MoonDream cottage. Realm of Oranges which should be just Realm of Orange.

He takes one last gulp of wine through his forehead and begins the process. The King knew Orange Nova usually woke up about 7 and headed over to Muscle Madness to begin his daily 10 hour workout. It was 5 now. This was a window.

He goes outside. “Eclipse nightclub,” he thinks, staring in its direction. “Damn fine goblets of wine.” He then peers further, just around the corner. White house.

Orange — the *fake* Orange — would be sleeping upstairs in its only furnished room. *Barely* furnished. This should be simple.


Goblet raised, King Orange strikes.

And strikes again. And strikes again and again. And again.


Orange Nova turns from blue to white. At 7 sharp he walks out of his house toward Muscle Madness, chained to a routine even after death.

He can’t pick up weights. He can’t sit on the benches. He can’t do anything.

Morris shows up.

“I’m the last person anyone wants to see in their lives,” he admits. “But it has to be done. Come with me Orange Nova. You’re time has arrived.”

Morris changes into a wolf and leads him through the portal to the Great Beyond.

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