She walked right past the baby doll, not even tempted to pick it up for a cuddle. She was more grown up than infantile Jeffrie Phillips in that way.
She had to see for herself. The mother! Poor Katy Kidd. Another infant grown up too fast, thus the madness. She walked between the Big Boy legs, which probably wasn’t an error in this case. Just something she had to do to go inside.
She stops to ask a survivor if the beach was still straight ahead. The head nodded without sound. She wondered if this could even be All Orange in another guise. After all, a bloody dress was involved.
It was getting even creepier but Toddles kept moving forward toward the sea, the beach, the… explosion. A stick figure on a bike skirted her to the left without apology… a white doll boy in a tilted chair with slackened mouth also in that direction. Straight ahead: another survivor. One of the lucky ones that was able to receive a mask.
“Is this the way to the beach? Darn bike!”
Another silent affirmation. She kept walking, rounding the old boathouse to the right to meet up with The Librarian, still perusing that Octopus book from the last photo-novel. The stench was becoming overpowering for the little girl. “Where is she?” Toddles demanded, tired of looking and wanting to get the hell out of this hell. She just had to see for herself. I still don’t think it was an error to enter, but we’ll see.
The Librarian didn’t stop reading but tilted his head to the left, indicating that direction. And there she was, face down in the sand. Or Toddles assumed it was her. She inched forward, the awful smell thicker and thicker.
She stopped at the tire. She could get no closer without fear of passing out. But she knew it was her now.
Katy Kidd, a little more grown up than we’ve seen her before. But definitely not reaching adulthood now. Toddles could go to Picturetown with a type of closure.
Since a Rosehaven Yarn Shop exists in both, I’m playing around tonight with a further melding between Picton, Ontario and NWES City of Our Second Lyfe.
Best additional resonance: the overlap of the also recently opened Her Majesty in NWES City with the Regent Theatre of Picton. Notice the parallel crowns in the center of the matching pictures below. And then notice that a girl wearing all black except for a hot pink dress (and seemingly holding a somewhat less hot pink colored coat) is walking directly underneath part of the theater marquee featuring the name *Pink* Floyd. Best guess: since Her Majesty is a bigfoot/yeti in Our Second Lyfe, and a black furred bigfoot is seen standing in the other doorway of Her Majesty (the main doorway here is framing Queen Elizabeth with a kind of menacing look — pic stood out for me) with footprints from him (or her) leading down the sidewalk, then the black clad woman must also be a bigfoot in my eyes, perhaps Her Majesty again in some queer way as transferred from virtual to real. The pink overlap is just a way to highlight this.
And so the actual name of Our Second Lyfe’s Her Majesty may be Vic, don’t you think. Or Vincent.
(to be continued)
“We must keep testing games, Chef-inspector *Petty*. Carcassonne is good, but–”
“Carcassonne is the one,” Petty emphasized rapid fire, refusing to play this new one. It was too far along in the year.
Hindsight (Golden) kept waiting for collage elements to show up as repercussions. And there they are.
Later, they’re joined by New Nun and perhaps some others. “New Nun,” the male Baker declares after her arrival, “you hold the cross and the crucifix in your hand at once and thus you are valuable to this here current photo-novel, 21 in a series of 20. Wait — what number are we on now?” New Nun shrugs. Duncan Avocado answers more philosophically. “We are beyond Collagesity and the number 20. We are Sunklands through and through now, the true archive. Collagesity became too — bloated.”
“Bloated?” responds Baker, truly puzzled in the current picture.
Or was it worry.
Duncan, who cannot express facial features since he is a mesh creature, elaborates. “Your original version of a virtual village, Pietmond, was also perhaps your best, or at least best balanced. You had artists coming in from the outside and having their own galleries. Yours was only one of a number. Then the new wave of collages came for you starting in, 2013? (Baker nods). Parallel to this came the new galleries, Power Tower, Falmouth, the largest of them all, followed by the Red Umbrella followed by Boos. Before you had 100 collages in 6 series, a well rounded and contained quantity: Art 10×10 I believe you named it (Baker nods). Then another wave hit, the second — stronger and deadlier. Beware the second wave.”
Baker understood now. Before it was Kenneth Rougeau, Melodie Darwin, Mike Casey, Stegocat, Max Ernst, Baker Bloch, Julie Sadler, and others. Afterwards it was just Baker. The second wave changed it all. Forever.
“There’s yet more to see in Heartsdale, Hucka Doobie.”
Kate McCoy was brought in because she can read braille. She translates the diary. “We can see into Room 05 but not 04. We are blinded in that direction.” She changes into little Katy Kidd, eyes turned up toward Phillip’s.
“Linda, I’ve decided we’re going with Legos for the next album.” Marty turns in his chair. “Come on in boys.”
“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)
“Aahh, found it. This must be the portal.” A squeaking occurred. Rules of Rose looked around for a mouse. Then she remembered Norris. Just outside. He was speaking in his high register way. She adjusted for the tone, understood what was being said. He was asking about the portal.
“Just found!” she shouted through the window pane, painfully confusing in the double transparency with the Live Oak tree limb. “Why don’t you —” She was going to ask why didn’t he come in and see for himself. Then she remembered the rule. The rule *she* imposed, after all. No entering private residences by the wee’s. But *she* was here. She had that right — another rule. “Here.” She angled the laptop toward the window. “Can you see it now?” She understood that Norris requested she hold it in her hands up to the window. “Now how am I going to *type* on it if I’m *holding* it?” she inquired, staring out at him with a grimace. She edged the laptop a little closer — it was in danger now of falling off the side of the table if care wasn’t taken. Which it will be. Rules of Rose was always careful when entering residences, a seldom used loophole. But this was a special case. She had to find a certain object or thing inside the portal, which was the game in front of her, she realized. Gunn Mobile Trailer Park: Your Darkness. The gunn itself?
You may remember Rules of Rose as Blue Berry Girl from the last photo-novel, in disguise for the sake of a plot. She’s usually in disguise. This time ’round she gave her purple color to the bear.
Half an hour until the 1st service held at neighboring St. Merry’s Church ends and Herbert Gold returns to his new home. Probably not enough time to find the needed object. She’ll have to come back. Might as well end now….
An object appeared in the middle of St. Merry’s church out of nowhere. Many parishioners later reported that they heard a *plop*, as if it fell from the sky.
Herbert Gold recognized what it was but said nothing.
Dadada Again (!). And I can buy for nothing. Yes, Herbert Gold must stay in this West End for a spell. Try to reconcile with the present wife but, if not, there’s always red. Redshirt red, redhair red. Something red. 4th.
How exciting! West End still has magic, probably due to the lingering effects of WES. From beyond the grave.
“Don’t you think WES could be Joplin, Hucka D.?”
“Could be, baker b.”
Rentals? ponders Herbert Gold, spotting the sign while heading back from the road’s terminus. Sounds intriguing. Maybe April Mae will like it better here than that box in Dewey.
“The white whale escaped, of course. The famous Moby Prick of the Deep South. But the blue whale didn’t fare as well. Caught in the Blue Feather Sea. Some say she *became* the sea, one equals the other. Do you understand, older Keith B.?”
“Absolutely not, Kate McCoy.”
“Good to admit, thank you. The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale.”
“Maybe we just better unfreeze or unthaw The Man and go. Let him explain it all. After all: he was there.”
“Indeed. Let’s go get him.” They enter the “aquarium”. Dog joined them there.
“The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale,” Kate McCoy pronounces clearly in the direction of The Man. He begins to stir inside his plastic cocoon.