“Lemme start again, heh. One two free fo five… wait, lemme…”
“It’s *13*,” I spoke down, having determined this long ago. “You keep saying 12 — at best. You keep saying that and you’re *dead*. You understand??”
He starts again with a laugh and a snicker and a hiccup. In his drunkenness he decides not to even try this time. “Oooonnnee, he he.”
“Just stop.” STOP
Lower Austra over there for sure, thinks Dickie Doom, looking west through a telescope from his position on Stoogle, at a cafe and boat repair establishment. Nice landscaping too.
“So who’s your friend?” asked Debbie Doom to — we better determine a relationship — let’s say brother and sister instead of husband and wife. So: brother Dickie.
“Picked him up on the marketplace,” answered higher Dickie to lower sister Debbie on the tail of the sea monster. “Freebie,” he further explained. “Brand new as well; seemed to fit (the looming mystery).”
“Um hm,” she said. “Er, where’s his clothes?”
“Dunno,” answered Dickie, daring to look over at the lowest-of-all spectacle. Frog head, frog feet and hands, human body. He tried reloading (the outfit) but same result.
“And the rain.”
“Yes,” answers Dickie. “Somehow, one way or another, the Frog must turn into Prince.”
“P,” she said. “Power. He’s trying to tell us something.”
“I could just ram this smaller grey boat crosswise through those bigger black and white boats over there and end this.” Josh Richardson: professional insultant.
Called back to Maebaleia? Tour aborted? Fern Stalin better hightail it out of here in her own, much larger vessel. If she could only get the darn thing started. “Turn baby! Turn!”
We’re losing characters right and left in this new photo-novel. We’re up to 30, W. Should I call you W still?”
W: “Sure”. Small pause. “Whatever rings your bell.”
“Bell, right.” He’s remembering. And Clare, the other head, the one actually attached to the body. Better find them, talk to them about TILE. Before the boy returns. But her house next to the snow and granite, Tennessee and Kentucky
schism chasm is gone. And Clarksey is a bit too far away to use yet, both in space and in time.
*huff huff huff*
“It’s a conundrum, W.”
“You set them up. You knock them down. You’ll push through. Find me,” she ends.
“It’s what I tell everyone at this Table. Time to choose, darlings. You can pick two apples or one banana. If the latter, I’d go with the ripest one in case you don’t like it. Oranges aren’t needed since everyone has one — needless redundancy you see. And the choco chip cookies are *right* out unless you’re one of the Far Corner peoples. Don’t be that. Jacob or Jacobia — please select the item or items you wish to be.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about the Heart Line any longer, Sid. Since the heart of the Heart is no longer there.”
“Head is still in play, apparently.”
“I know. I was there (!) 23:23.”
“So my suggestion is go back to that spot, that exact melding of space and time. Obviously it will most likely be a different *time* of course, but the space remains locked.”
“Right-o. Can I take Martha?”
Buster thought this over. “How’s her hormones doing?” he decided to phrase it. No distracting from the job at hand!
“He’s here. We’ll have to jump.”
“You go first.”
“Okay he’s gone down the road guys! You can come out!”
My dearest Fern. Thank you for the recent email. It was so nice to hear from you again. Yes, I’m still stuck with the apples (bleh!), but the chafing has gone down thanks to Dr. Lice (he’s so nice). And Dr. Maggot has helped out as well; reduced the mass. But enough of me; how are you?? You said you were in this place called Paper-Soap now. Is that 2 sims rolled up into one? Resurrection of the dead, eh? Sounds like you have your hands full analying the place. Good that Dr. Mouse gave you a room at the asylum from which you can better study the incoming patients. They all must have fascinating stories, what with being recently dead. Lots of memories to rehash and recall while there’s still time, as you put it.
I miss you so much. You are a part of me! My white VW Beetle (white as my skin!) is still running swell, thanks to Dr. Armadillo over in Beat-town. All my doctors are so swell! CC is a wonderful place to hang out. I just discovered a Bellisseria Welcome Center here. Of all places! My art is going great — trying not to use swell again in a sentence. You warned me about repeating my words; shows symptoms of lowering IQ, and that as we get older we lose brain mass. If only I could apply that naturally to the body (apples) as well! That would be swell, haha.
Well, better end. I’ll write again soon, I promise. Good luck in Paper-Soap! Send me an im when you’re settled in and we’ll catch up in person.
Harrison Jett checks spelling and a bit of grammar then hits SEND. Done. Back and forth contact fully established with the person who means the most to him in his life so far. That is, before he met Bluebird.
(to be continued)
They’re building a roadway to heaven, these Harmony Heighters, but it seems a long way from finished. Maybe the oldies and young’n’s can’t agree on a direction, wouldn’t it be typical.
The road begins here, just behind the Commons House.
“I’m not talking to you this morning, *kid*,” grumpily spoke just risen Jack Pants without turning around, digging into his first stack of sausage pancakes.
“No, I’m not talking to *you*, gramps,” responded up-at-crack-of-dawn sixteen year old Nick Barkley also without pivoting, having finished his blueberry yogurt and granola breakfast 3 hours ago and just staring into space and killing time before the typically delayed group meeting.
Nick got little sleep on account of Jack DJ’ing at the ranger house until 2:30 in the morning, starting with the traditional “B-I-N-G-O”, which the oldies sang with gusto at the top of their lungs after a completed game of same.
(to be continued)
I was told to meet him at the end of a long and dusty road. I said the name of the plant that appeared to be burning in front of me instead of the man.
“Nooooo,” he rasped. “I’mmm just *talllking* through thisss. Loookkk cloooosssser. Commme herrree.”
It was the voice of the father this time. I knew I was in deep doo doo trouble.
“I remember how I got brain damage,” he said to her afterwards. “It was a fire; I got too close.”
“Good good,” she replied. “Now maybe those old wounds will heal — Can.” Only those quite close to him called him by that name, he remembered. She edged closer and gently touched the holey hair. Soon maybe no one else can get inside.
She’s quite pretty with the long eyelashes and I can see how Jeffrey might be attracted to her, he says to himself while studying. He’s trying not to stare over at the temple and its green tree still; trying to be distracted. TILE will have to wait. There’s Jeffrey Phillips to help first.
“I don’t know. I guess I tired of sitting on the Thorn Throne all day. I combined the name into Thron, without the ‘e’, and had a chuckle. I became bored again.
I don’t know. I guess I started some wars because I was bored, sorry.”
“Wars that are still going on *now*,” Tessa said to his side.
“Yeah, suppose. I said I was sorry.”
“How did you become *Ray*, Blue Rose Thorn?”
“Just Thorn. I chucked the Rose with the throne. I don’t know.”
“Stop *saying* that.”
“I — I guess, I suppose, I *realize* — now — it started in Tennessee in that mine. It was my mine. The Blue Rose. I was royal blue at the time.”
“So like now.”
“He’s linked to Winterfell all right. The past of Rose Heaven…”
“… when it and Caledonia to the south were linked.”
“Links all around.”