In the middle of the night, Donald Farr sometimes visits neighbor Chuck Close and talks about how he wrecked that plane and killed all those people 5 years ago.
But he always ends with something to the effect that it all might have been worth it just to get here.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0008, 0208, New Island^
The Musician was carefully cleaning his new cyborg body parts in the glimmering cave pool when Wheeler sprinted into the room. “No time for that, punk, we’ve been found out!”
But he didn’t immediately jump into action. “What are you on about *now*?” he asked while continuing to wash his left arm. In truth, he was still pissed at Wheeler for not appreciating Jimmy’s solution to the stigmata problem. True, it was kind of trading one set of stigmata for another. But at least he wouldn’t keep waking up in a blood soaked bed.
Speaking of which: “Pull out our beds!” the now stationary Wheeler called from the bank. “The ones sent by Jacob. Hurry!”
The Musician kept cool and switched cybernetic arms to bathe. “Jacob? I’m not sure… oh, right, the *collage*. The one with the two beds. Well… he said he’d give it to us but was still searching for the base image, the one with no beds. He warned us not to use the current one, just to study it. Is that the beds you’re talking about, Wheeler?”
“You know they are,” she huffed, folding her arms and impatiently stamping her left foot on the cave floor. “And its in *your* inventory. He gave it to you and not me for some reason.” She anxiously looked toward the room entrace from whence she came. “I think I hear footsteps. Jimmy.”
“Jimmy?” queried The Musician, now washing between his real fingers. “What’s he got to do with all this?”
“Again… *no time.* Pull out the picture. I *demand* it.”
“I’m not going to do that, Wheeler. Jacob said to wait.”
Wheeler huffed some more and looked again toward the cave passage leading to this room. “Oooh, *please* Musician. I’m *sorry* I didn’t like your new, metallic limbs and belly. I’m *sorry* I didn’t appreciate the teeth. New things take time,” She glanced again at the room entrance for emphasis. “Which we have *little of*.”
“Alright,” The Musician finally acquiesced, moving toward her through the shallow water. “Good thing all these new workings are titanium and not steel. We’d be here an additional 15 minutes with me drying!”
As soon as he reached the bank, Wheeler clasped his hand and started running again. While being dragged along to the end of their vacation, in effect, he looked through his inventory and found the collage.
“We’re here, Musician,” Wheeler said, catching her breath again at the doorway to the last room. The final cave room. “Now… *rezz the beds*.”
Mr. Babyface stares disgustedly into the heart of Hana Lei from a safe distance, wondering how his nephew could have ended up in such a God awful spot.
“Blow she does indeed,” he answers that whale over thar.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0006, 0208, Hana Lei^^
“Where’s your wife, David Bowie? I mean, Little Tonshi.”
Little Tonshi then pitched the proposition. “Give me Wheeler (for that). And I’ll give you a whole ‘nother Second Life, Buster. A better one. Like Grand Theft Auto, except 1700 times more choice.”
“Umm… I don’t understand.”
Little Tonshi turned into just Tonshi. Bettie. “The airport on top of the hill. It’s not an airport, of course. It’s a recording studio. There I made ‘Heathen,’ my best later work. Many subterranean passages exist within. In one I’m myself and a shadow of myself.”
“Still not getting it…”
“You deserved better than this Buster. I have many friends that are aiding me. Levi Clownski said he would personally pay for your ticket outta here. He doesn’t want you around.”
“I said I’m sorry (about the killing). Many many years ago. Many times in many years.”
“This is not about that. I’ve learned to accept my fate obviously. We are not enemies. It’s just you don’t belong here.”
“Of course I do.”
“No.”
“Then where?”
—–
“*Where*??”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0005, 0208, GTA, Heterocera, Lapara^
In his newly rented, creepy basement apartment, Baker Bloch rezzed the entire “Wall of Ass.” created a number of years back now for the Biggie Gallery in Sunklands, only to delete most of it in favor of Salvador Dali’s last painting, “(The) Swallow’s Tail”. Seemed appropriate.
A knock at the door, then. Strange, Baker Bloch thought. No one knows I’m here yet except the landlord. Should I even answer it? It’s the dead of night. Vampires most likely. Fresh blood smelled. The knocks resumed, then a voice. “Baker, it’s me. Martin. Allen Martin. And Wheeler.”
—–
“Nice hat, Martin,” Baker Bloch spoke.
“It’s Allen, actually. Martin is a last name.”
“Oh right. Like the bird.”
“I suppose. Have we even met? I know your sister Baker Blinker, of course. She was my landlord over in Collagesity North.”
Baker Bloch ignored the sister misnomer re Baker Blinker. “I don’t think we have. But there’s a lot of characters in the Collagesity stories now. Perhaps our paths have crossed already and we’ve forgotten. Yes — come to think of it, I believe I saw you eating alone in Perch one night.”
“I did that sometimes, yeah.”
“I understand you have a son.”
“Doogie, yeah.”
“Something has happened to him?” He looks over to Wheeler for help. “See, I was over at your apartment just last night, Martin, er, Allen. Sorry. I was called over there by Petty.”
“I see,” states Allen Martin, repositioning himself in his chair. “How’s the investigation going?”
“Queerly,” answers Baker. “Odd accusations being tossed about. Stuff that doesn’t seem possible.”
“Like what?” Wheeler remained queerly silent. Then she was gone. Baker Bloch turned to Allen Martin, who just shrugged.
“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”
As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0004, 0208, Heterocera, VHC City^
Sunklands 