Little Katy Kidd watches from the Northeast Tower of the Southwest Castle at her future self seeing off her future husband Jack Snow (played by actor Jack Toadswallow in seasons one through three) one last time at the docks of the Northeast *Castle*. This would be his last war, his ship sunk at sea by a giant piece of cheddar broken off from the Arctic Cheese Shelf on the way over to the Heterocera continent. How sadly, sadly ironic given the instigation for the conflict. Little Angus Girl, then just plain ol’ Lucy Saffold, accompanied her to the past-future viewing, but ended up staring more southwest than northeast from the Southwest Castle’s Northeast Tower, toward the now deserted Splinterwood Castle just over the border from this here Hilling sim. She even pens a song on the spot about the eventful moment(s), later expanded into Redeye’s first full blown concept side of an album called “Confusing Directions,” derided by early critics for its seeming lack of focus, before the full genius of Redeye’s leader was understood by the confused masses.
Lucy ends up talking her childhood friend into exploring the smaller castle this day, if only to take her mind off the sad, sad future events unfolding in the opposite direction. She’d heard the electricity had been turned off, as in a no scripts area. They’d have to take flashlights, or, else, facelights.
But there was nothing within its dark walls except a bed. Someone had used it recently; it was warm to the touch for them. But who?
On a hunch, Lucy climbed onto the railing at the head of the bed so she could peek out the high window behind it toward the Yuiselle Peaks. Extending her draw distance to the maximum 512 meters, she could barely *barely* make out herself and her future band members below them, playing the greatly expanded version of the very same song she’d just composed. Two past-future viewings in one day, then. Barely.
“I wish you didn’t have to go off to war again, Jack.”
“Me too,” he wanted to say, but instead uttered: “Duty calls. Heterocera needs me — us.”
“So you’ll take Tronesisia with you?”
“Of course. Unless you think you need her more here for your services.”
“No no,” his wife Kate McCoy insisted. “She gives me great pleasure but I can find that elsewhere. There’s a little shop in the village that sells somewhat acceptable alternatives.”
“Good.” He pauses to think of the likely alternatives and shakes his head a bit. The price they pay for war, specifically 680 lindens or so in this particular aspect — last time he checked. “I’m sorry again that I have to do this.”
“Well. Summerhill Nova *stressed* that Heterocera isn’t dead and that VHC City can continue on as a powerful ally for us. *And* as they face a threat from the west I suppose there’s no alternative than to help out a — friend? Can we call Summerhill now a true friend? She tried to kill our mother, brother, and niece and nephew. And that was only in the last year!”
“She’s assured me that’s all in the past,” Jack Snow reinforced, thinking several weeks back to the, hopefully, final attempted assassination of a family member at the hands of Clan Nova. Poisoned ketchup. Luckily, Nephew Jimmy was a mustard guy. “We can put all that behind us. If we–”
“–help them,” Kate McCoy finishes for him. Her makeup applied, she gets up to accompany her husband to the awaiting battle ship. So much more needed to be said. Why the Fries with Cheese Church again, of all the religions Summerhill could have chosen? The one that would obviously lead to conflict.
(to be continued)
Ben Wolf looked over the balcony’s edge and saw a flaw to the sim. The Surreal Gallery here could have extended the Linden pine forest from Ashlet, across this sim they own in toto (Claressa), and over to Derriandros. They still could — but he knew they wouldn’t. Still: a couple more prims for *art*.
With that, he backs up and takes in the 27 prim Egyptian balance sculpture of heart and feather again, the measurement of a soul to enter heaven. The heart of course must weigh less than the feather to properly cross the threshold. Many do not make it, understandably, probably the great majority. He wondered if he was such an unfortunate one. He worries about his soul a lot. Still The Lord seems to be on his side. Wonder where he is today? Ben thinks, waiting for the vivid internal dialog to return.
He then teleports into what he believes *must* be the mind of God, which, to his surprise, starts changing around him at regular intervals. Does God change all the time as well?
“Is this Egg Hill Sink, my Lord?”
“Think about what you just said,” I spoke in Ben Wolf’s head (disguised as his “Lord”). “Egg – Hill – Sink,” I said plainly and calmly.
“Oh.” He turned and looked toward The Yuiselles. “I think I see.”
I explained more clearly. “This is a hill shaped like an egg, true. Kind of,” I added.
“Then it is a pointer.”
I realized he was right. I decided not to talk in his head any more today. He must head back home and discuss his “revelations” with his wife the Irish Lass. Forgot her name right off. Even though I gave it to her.
“I had a vision today Phyllis (*Phyllis*: that was it).”
“Oh yes, dear? Another one? Did this involve The Lord?”
“Well… yes. He said that I was standing on the summit but it wasn’t *the* summit.”
“Moork Summit? Is that what you’re talking about still?” Phyllis was distracted by thoughts of the Small Kowloon House formerly situated on the small island in the middle of Danshire, even though she didn’t know it by that name. Everyone called it [Capitol Hill]. The shack had disappeared overnight, with Red Pepper from the local neighborhood watch sending out an instagram message apologizing for the eyesore and saying the situation had been dealt with. But back to *trying* to listen to her husband’s religious ramblings — more of ’em.”
“The summit was instead a chasm. I don’t know what that means.”
Phyllis realized she missed an important part of his revelation while spacing out about the island and the shack, but didn’t want to backtrack. That bridge is best left to be built by one coming after her. She’s already on the other side of the chasm — what does *she* care?
“Um hum,” she instead answers without full understanding. The husband finally fell silent. Back to thoughts of the shack…
Unlike the others, Sister Martha Lamb’s feet were about to touch ground. The imaginary dragon behind her issued a final roar of disapproval before fading out of existence. Dream becomes reality. “You may pass,” the gatekeeper gruffed when seeing soles to stone, and she crossed the threshold into Southwest Castle,
hell heaven bent on finding the royal child and bringing her home to her true flock.
“Not *you* Strummy,” he then joked to the man now behind her whose legs remain embedded up to his calves.
She liked to get out of the castles and roam about the neighborhood, pretending she was a kid again. Little Katy Kidd still instead of grown up Kate McCoy. The Hot Spot feuding island shared with Hatfield lay ahead of her, unseen. She had blocked it in her mind with memories of, for example, guitar strumming Lucy here, claiming she was going to grow up and play in a rock band, naming it after something red. “What?” Kate Kidd would ask. Then they would spend hours making up rock groups based on that color, never venturing into other hues. So much fun. One of their guesses was actually [delete name], but Robert Fripp didn’t want it listed in the blog so I won’t (ha). Probably just still pissed I picked Peter Gabriel as the only Sunklands Variant that will never be a Variant over him and also Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson. Thanks SID’s 1st Oz! Thanks Fantastic Aspic! But it was always leading to Tronesis and the robot lady derived from that early synch and the creators behind it, including, of course, Peter. And, I suppose now, TronAxis as he is presently constituted. Where is he anyway?
“Crimson and Clover,” spouted out Lucy after a pause in the listings.
“Oh you’ve used that (name) over and over,” countered Katy.
Lucy puts finger to lips in thinking mode. “Something Crimson anyway.” She set the guitar aside and cupped her head in her hand and stared out the rain splattered window toward the Northeast Castle, giving up for the moment. “I’ll come up with it.”
Of course, after she worked out the Crimson in her system, the correct name was found. Redeye, with herself becoming lead guitarist Angus Girl. Unless it was Buckethead Girl or Slash Girl.
(to be continued?)
Kate McCoy always left the table to (softly) play the piano when there was after-dinner talk of war.
“Heterocera is *not* dead,” spoke Summerhill Nova to his right. “We can carry on. The Sister sim will remain strong — I’ll make sure of it my liege.”
“Good, good,” the person at the head of the table spoke. “I won’t worry any longer about that direction. I trust you with the matter.”
He turned to his left. “And you, Walter.”
“Um hmm?” The tree being’s voice was hollow and husky.
“What say your people about the matter? About the changes in VHC City?”
“As long as Bob Dylan’s okay with it we’re okay with it.”
“Alright, then”. Jack looked straight ahead.
But the CB Dylan Dresser containing the other Snow at the table didn’t immediately respond. Then they realized the Manster within had gone to the wrong dimension — again.
(to be continued?)