Category Archives: 0105

00420105

They were preparing for battle, they were preparing for war. The Mann claimed to not be the same as Wayne Bruce who owned the manor but just an old neighbor doing a favor and house-sitting while he and and his “wonder boy” were away chasing arch-villians around the world, specifically Antarctica at the moment and possibly New Zealand. I checked back through the blog and saw that he indeed was a former neighbor over on the Corsica continent (Instabar sim). By the tone of his voice back then it didn’t seem he had much respect for the dynamic duo, this Batty Man and Superduper Guy. Old grudges tend to not alter that much over time.


March 03 2020: Batty Man and sidekick Superduper Guy arriving home in their noisy Battymobile while neighbor The Mann looks on disdainfully.

What else? Oh, the whole war/battle thing. Here’s some pics of the odd assortment of troops from a lower level of Redsland, closer to the ground for easier dispatchment when needed.

The conflict? Some call it the great Green-White War, others Green-Gray. No one knows exactly how or where or when it started but it extends over the entire known Universe by now in ever manifesting pockets here and there. Many are conscripted and don’t return home, either by death or by perpetual service. Martian Mabel’s big brother Little Big from photo-novel 02 was one of these. Mabel will never get over the loss, although she may put on a brave face nowadays. And here we come upon the legend of Plain Wayne, said to be killed in the war as well; slit in the throat by none other than our Wheeler back in her more evil days as directed by the powerful witch Mid-Hazel; event mentioned in photo-novel 03. Is Plain Wayne the same as mild mannered Wayne Bruce, alter ego for Batty Man? If so, why isn’t *he* dead? Mid-Hazel aka Hazel Wood would know if anyone. I’ll make a note to ask her later through some character or another; she now appears to be imprisoned somewhere in the innards of the manor with former formidable powers excised. More coincidence?

And here’s certainly another interesting twist. The Mann is actually Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s father as proven through the plot of photo-novel 19 where she’s 1st introduced. And now they interact again in the current photo-novel. Do either remember the other? Is The Mann, for example, so busy making sure the grounds are neat and tidy for Batty Man and partner Superduper Guy’s return that he doesn’t have time to recall who he really is? And it does indeed look super; Jack and Jill, however shady they are in other ways, are really skilled lawn care people.

And if The Mann is around that means Parasol his wife is too — I’d forgotten about that as well. His perfect Wo-mann, first rendezvousing with each other on the Fruity Islands back in photo-novel 12 and then properly tying the knot in photo-novel 24.


meeting in novel 12


marrying in novel 24

And here she is now, entering the manor room where The Mann is fingering through the first of Schubert’s 4 Impromptus in his own inept way, the only one he can play to any degree atall. He’d admit this ineptitude himself; would say Parasol is the true musician of the family. But then he might also thinks of drums — someone is talented with the sticks as well. Maybe he remembers Marsha during these moments, maybe it lies just beyond his consciousness still.

But Parasol certainly knows, also known as Red and, from the other side, Blue. She’s a bad speller and a wiz at the same in one.

“Where’s your *girl* today?” she tests once more.

“Girl *Friday*,” he responds defensively from the piano, inept fingering temporarily halted. “I hired her as a secretary; I have no interest in her otherwise.”

Still doesn’t remember, Parasol understands through this. She can keep her edge for now.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0042, 0105, Fruity Islands^^, Maebaleia/Satori, Redsland

She has to find the owner of this accordion.

“I can hold out much longer here. My world is breaking down Eddie, my Edward.”

“How are you sitting? My chair won’t work. Can we trade?” he asked selfishly. Like the man he was. Was he even listening to what she said?

“It’s *not* about the chairs.” She huffs a bit and looks around, down the road. Just over there. Where the camera is. “I have a new game in the meantime, Eddie. I call it Pan All Around.”

“Peter? Here?”

“*No*.” Another huff. “Pan like in zoom. Pan like in circle around something. Pan like in…”

“Peter,” he repeated, staring out.

Marsha realized he was correct after all.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0041, 0105, Teepot^^

zeroed out

“Why don’t you take off your pink clothes and stay a while? Or at least put on a bathing suit like me.” Marsha “Pink” Krakow was talking to an old friend on the dock while staring out at clothes-less Ditsy and Zizzy swimming happily beneath. Aedima Hill was her name, ring leader of at least this chapter of the Brabinites, she said, emphasizing that the term Bravinites was wrong.

“I’m fine,” she replied, smoothing out the wrinkles on her hot pink pants she certainly intended to keep on. Those type of days were behind her, she knew, staring out at rumps in the water. Thanks to the monster Tom Banks. He *saw*.

“He must have changed it,” Aedima Hill said about the name. “He must have gone undercover, incognito. How exciting we’ve found him. At long last! Did you hear that, girls?!” she called down. “We’ve found him!” Squeals of elation from the water; playful splashing. Brabin to Bravin — a simple change but perhaps one he thought would be effective enough. Little did he know fate would bring Marsha “Pink” Krakow to him. And that she would have knowledge of the statue. And these guys — his faithful fan club, persistent down through the years now.

They sat silent for a while, both trying to formulate the next step. The girls in the the water went quiet as well. Everyone was contemplating the impossibility of it all. Especially since Marsha skinnydipped… skinnydipped…

—–

She was back.

“So it *was* you,” she spoke over to the turned crocogator while staring at something else.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0040, 0105, Bellisaria, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^, River, Sandfly

psychic daydream

He was nursing his 5th Blue William and nibbling on his 3rd sailboat sandwich of the day when the cry came from the waves. “CowaBUN-GAAA!!” followed directly by, in a much higher, nasal voice, “Don’t eat my SHORTS MANN!!”

From this vividly imagined exchange down at the beach, Al fairly quickly deduced that the famous expression of amazement, enthusiasm, or joy commonly uttered by surfers — a “short” if you will — was *stolen* (eaten) from the young, yellow ragamuffin by the turtles. The sim of Cowabunga in the mountains to the west was still relevant after all, along with nearby Carumba, also a historic revision, he figured. Al knew where to head next.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0105, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Western Hills

00380105

He was tired from all the talking so he laid down on the Rattan Lounge Chair to rest his mouth and brain. He pondered that he said too much. He *did* say too much. Must have been all the truth serum he was injected with day before yesterday at the dentist still working some of its wicked magic. No more soda! she warned. “I *don’t* do soda,” he exclaimed to this, and so the shot, the getting out the truth. Dentists in Lemon Free State are allowed to do that these days. Some blame the Sprite campaign back in ’95, but that was a more pristine and refreshing drink than others. So mouths one of the Hills, the bigger one, the one who Mike called his greatest player ever. He left himself open for foul play with that. Down the line it leads to the unethical dentists, the doctors who would rather perform surgery than reveal truth. We, as a society, are being *poisoned*. I’ll say it again. *Poisoned.* What say you to that, Mike, Grant?

Just as I thought.

So Zach Black defended himself afterwards to the dentist, remolding his words and saying that it was a combo of both lemon *and* lime. Together they make one fantastic *clean* drink. It was a fruitless argument and both knew it at the time.

—–

“So tell me more about this Oracle. *Mark*.”

(to be continued)

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0105, Lower Austra^, Wild West

Western

He had to face it now. This basement was his new home. Wheeler has chosen.

Moving on (and up)…

Barry DeBoy was *soo* happy. He’d found another Tintown, huzzah! And right on the outskirts of a proper town just like the other one in Mortons Gap. Some kind of doppelganger effect going on here fer sure.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0105, New Mexico, Omega^^, Southern

Darla loves black

“We have a location on the girl. Repeat. We have a location, over.”

“Roger that, Mission. Honing in… now.”

—–

It was the first meeting of the local Umbrella Club chapter, and not all were invited, namely: men.

And *especially* Albert, who could only view the proceedings from afar, say 200 meters. That’s as close as his ankle bracelet would allow, which was probably a good thing. He just wanted to check up on her, he rationalized about the spying, make sure she’s not up to any trouble. Or if she was, he wanted to know. And, he also thinks, I suppose *this* counts. Just like the case with Franklin, pheh.

He never got around to taking off his hat, which could explain why he’s here.

(to be continued)

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0105, Nautilus, Yd Island^

Black

A new crop of potential recruits has shown up on what they call Umbrella Beach on the western edge of Nautilus’ Crisp Sea, chatting after the delicious, shrimp dominated buffet. Decision time coming up. Whether to step into the shade of the protecting umbrella or go back out into the glare of the harsh, unrelenting sun, all exposed and for everyone around to gawk at in their increasing redness. Red ironically protects against red, they said during the meal, standing up one by one, these past recruits, to give their testimonies of success and life fulfillment through the initiative, the collective. Already, one here was basically under the umbrella, decision made, shackles (of outside life) removed and legs to be retreated back in the shade with the rest, perhaps even before I write this sentence. The purple clad one in the background middle was also about to cave, being a bigger shrimp lover than Lois in white. Sitting down Darla was just ready to go home and be done with it, another one forced here by a prevert relative trying to seduce her to the dark side. “Okay, okay,” she said to her mother Tulipia in a call between meal and beach. “You win. We’ll move to Ohio.” Joy in the Conner household tonight. Uncle Albert would *not* be tagging along, thanks to a restraining order issued by Pinky, Darla’s father, just yesterday.

Speaking of which…

“Medium build, medium height, wearing a black bathing suit. Any idea?”

“Sir you just described about half the girls that walk on this beach.”

“Oh. Thought of something else. She wears a Venus cage necklace. Very distinctive. I don’t think (smile?) you’d be able to miss it.”

“Just a moment; hold on. I promise not to do anything stupid.” Beach cottage owner and secret “receiver” Claude briefly goes inside and retrieves a box, opens it for the stranger. “You mean like *these*?”

It was full of such. Claude gives them away to every girl lured in by the bosses. He doesn’t tell Albert they’re trackers as well. They know where you are.

“Whatever that picture you’re referring to, every one of those girls up there has sent back the same to their family.” He also doesn’t tell Albert they track even through photos. Powerful amulets indeed.

“Interesting information,” says Albert, the uncle of not one but several girls involved down through the years. He comes from a pretty big family. “Just for that, I’ve decided not to shoot you.”

Relieved look?

“Just kidding! POW POW… POW.”

No wounds. Albert wasn’t kidding. Just a water gun… this time.

“You *fell* for it [delete name],” he said while walking away, already plotting Plan B.

—–

Dripping Claude runs inside, calls the boss who would care the most and explains the hold up. “We have another situation,” he says, knowing the boss would understand. “Heading your way.”

“We’ll take care of it,” the boss says to him in a deep, level voice made for a crinimal. “We’ll send him to the Abyss. With the others.”

“Good deal.” [Delete name], *pheh*.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0105, Crisp Sea, Nautilus, Wild West

basement dwellers

Wrong side of the road.

—–

We watched from afar (right side of road). “This is where I got my butterflies,” she spoke over, hovering beside me. “You can have some too!” I didn’t need that kind of thing. I needed answers.

“Why are we here?” I cut to the chase. “Jeogeot, I mean. I thought Nautilus (continent) was our focus now. But as soon as we abandoned Collagesity it seems the energy drained away from it. So that would be novels 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 focused on that continent. But now…”

“You need to tell *this* tale because no one else will or can. Else… everything lost.”

Middletown, I assumed.

—–

I looked across the small Linden pool of water at the significant amount of land I could rent. I knew it was coming: the unleashing of MOA again. But not yet. Nautilus remains the one, the tentacled sphere locked away down in the castle’s dungeon. If head librarian Miss Ouri hadn’t already destroyed it. Will check as soon as I get back.

—–

No. Still there.

Oh. Hi me.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0105, Jeogeot, Midlands, Nautilus, NORTH, Rooster's Peninsula

00330105

Curious, Orilia the bartender does a search on his name back at the apartment after her shift was over.

“He is an eagle too!” she exclaimed when seeing the result. Just like Charlotte. Just like… she can’t recall the name of the other one that had flown the coop, far far away from Dodgey City now, they said.  She thinks: Catchup; but then remembers that’s just what they ordered. Extra ketchup for him, just plain ketchup for her. And the time zone thing. Wieerd. Creepy. Just like that book which keeps popping up here and there around town. Towerboro is cursed! she couldn’t help finishing her thoughts with.

—–

“Where are you trying to mail it to this time, Gladys?”

“Let’s try… Fayetteville.” She produces the needed cash from her purse and hands it to Bob who just gives her that stare again.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0105, Jeogeot, Towerboro