Category Archives: 0210

woulds and wouldn’ts

If and when she came into town, she liked to sip coffee at The Green Lady next to the park and stare out at the bay. At night, Ben’s place was too full of vampires, and during the day there was still the threat of one or two of his old werewolf friends stopping by and reminiscing about the old days. She didn’t want to hear such talk. *Both* eras are equally bad in her mind, she’d always want to pitch to them, both Bennington and, now, Bena. This town is *cursed*!  she sometimes wanted to scream from the top of Bena Hill toward the buildings and roads spanning north to east before her, Mothers Place behind be damned. Here at the Green Lady, drinking her cinnamon spiced coffee, she could feel away from it all for a moment.  It was like the place was made for her, Green Lady matching green (clad) lady. It was here she could think about her *own* past, and figured out what went right but also, yes, what went wrong according to her master plan formulated at age 17, her first year in college taking astromystics classes at Teepot Tech. She would acquire a husband in due time but not be chained to his lifestyle. Well, she missed the boat there(!). Although she loves Ben dearly, no one can deny his faults, primarily the threat of turning into a wolf during any full moon despite the continued treatments down through the years. “I can change,” he declares every now and then. “I *will* change”. “I have found The Lord now,” he also might tack on to any such proclamation. But wanderlust sometimes gets a hold of him and he’s gone for days, part of his wolf heritage surfacing. “Where were you now?” she’d ask, and he’d just go on talking about how The Lord told him to do this, and go there and do that. Always the same excuse. Sometimes she’d like to just yank this Lord dude out of the clouds and give him an earful back.

They managed, but it wasn’t what you’d call a perfect relationship. On the sly, sometimes Phyllis Phox would inquire to her lawyer friend in town — Rebl of course — about how divorcing a werewolf might fare. “Poorly,” she would emphasize. The pack always takes care of itself. Ben, of course, wouldn’t lift  a finger — *probably* — but the others…

If only ditzy classmate Marsha wouldn’t have introduced me to him at that Benjamin Harrison Ball held at Grover Cleveland Hall down Former Presidents Lane. If only one or the other would have chosen a different college.

(to be continued?)

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So after finding her Grandpa had turned fully platinum from gold, Tessa ran screaming through the north gate of North Yd and into the cave without even thinking, destined to be trapped perhaps forever inside its seemingly endless passages.

Until Baker Bloch and (Ruby) Fantasie showed up.


But Tessa couldn’t see or hear them yet. All she noticed was a cooler breeze which made her shiver.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0210, End of Time^^, Fruity Islands^^, The Waste^^

Tonya Two Egg…

…. seems to be trying to communicate with me again.*

I’m assuming this has something to do with Heterocera’s Pond District, but could be wrong.

Ratcliff “Rabbit Hole”, 2010.

Baker-as-Duncan pondering what it means.


* Compare with the second snapshot of this February post:

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’round the clock?

Santa God waited patiently for 10:15, when he would allow Baker Bloch to exit the Christmas Chamber. He wanted to be there in person to greet him and see his smiling face as he opened the door. Like a kid opening presents, except in reverse. Humph, he thought while staring across the castle’s open interior at the Christmas Mural — “Snowball” he lovingly calls it. What *does* he want here? The great 3-n-1 is within, as I’ve told Halloween Jack, the scoundrel. We should probably contact Melvin about this. Although rather an idiot, he’d help smooth over our differences. A quite square little fellow, but he has some allies on his sides and makes good points at times. We can meet at the Forest Retreat, a neutral spot. There we can achieve the low-down on this Mr. Baker Bloch’s motives. What’s *really* inside him and makes him tick.


Halloween Jack was the first to arrive, taking a larger seat as per usual. Santa God refused to sit beside him, and squeezed into one of the smaller chairs two down instead. “Where’s Melvin?” he asks the taller deity. “He said he’d bring him right over.” Santa God reconsidered. “But I guess he has to give him equal time in the Nasty Bodiour”.

“He doesn’t have to sleep with Lady Mary,” Halloween Jack clarifies about Melvin’s own castle room. “He just has to lay with her for 15 minutes.”


“Melvin’s a sickie, if you ask me. And why does he get the highest castle again? First one here?”

“Yes, like I was first to arrive at our meeting and I grabbed a higher chair. I knew you wouldn’t want to sit next to me, and 3 down is too far away. Hence you are forced into a lower chair. That’s us, then… the two ‘Lowies’. I don’t like to make the same mistake twice.”

“I’m still a little higher than you,” Santa God replies about the position of his own castle while readjusting himself in his chair.

“Not here, though. Not now.”

“Hrmph.” Santa God turns his innate loathing back to Melvin. “I guess he’ll start to bedeck the place with his Fourth of Juli stuff soon.”

“Not until I take down my Halloween decor,” offers Jack. “That’s how it works. We don’t have enough prims otherwise. And yours, lets see, is due to come down December 26th? hehe.”

“August,” says Santa God disgustedly. “September till August. That’s the deal.”

“And I get the trees instead of you,” Halloween Jack finishes.

Melvin arrives with the guest to their plane.

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A Apartment

Greg Ogden sits in his new apartment and enjoys the latest Sunklands post. “Upstairs guy doesn’t have any heat of his own, eh?” He makes a mental note to figure out this Mr. Babyface’s schedule and turn down the thermostat accordingly. Because Greg Ogden is here to cause avoid trouble. If he wasn’t he would have chosen to remain Gregg Oden and stuck with the seaweed hair, even kept the plot line going over in Morrison.

He spent the rest of the afternoon painstakingly arranging the furniture in the apartment to suit his symmetrical needs.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, ., 0210, Heterocera^^, Rubi^


They talked Peter SoSo into staying a while longer, saying that working on the town trains would keep his mind off his problems. Tronesisia was happy. She didn’t want to be alone again. Positioned in their accustomed places at the raised park, Peter’s thoughts become more interesting to her by the day. Lily created him to be singer-composer Peter Gabriel, she thought to herself, but he turned out differently. He’s beginning to understand that Prissy is perhaps more a sister than a wife — the whole Luke Skywalker-Princess Leila-Star Wars thing again. He feels he didn’t live up to his mother’s hopes, even though the entrance into his own grave secured the sphereing of The Moon’s cube. Second Life’s *Moon* of The Moon, actually. Most curious. And these places don’t seem to exist any longer. They are refugees: Peter, Bendy, Prissy. Drawn here by All Nancy’s who doesn’t seem to be around either. Sacrifice.

Tronesisia is also curiously not that upset about Bendy’s departure with Prissy, unlike Peter. She knows more than him. Something has cleared in her mind. The Muff-Bermingham split is about over.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, ., 0210, Heterocera^^, Lapara^

New angle

“Back already eh? Been clowned, huh?”

“It’s going away,” Wheeler clarified to Chuckles Greentop. “Somewhat.”

“You learned to keep your mouth shut about the Underworld, hehe.”

“Suppose so.”

“You want (more) information.”

“Yes. Are you OD?”

Greentop answered Wheeler’s question with an invitation. “Walk with me down the tracks and I’ll speak what I know. You understand there are ears here and ears are in hears. Petty looms; Doogie Martin will not fully return for a while, perhaps a long while. But first: walk. I want to show you some other fishing holes. I want to encourage you to take up angling as much as I can.”


“See, I’ve already got one,” Chuckles happily exclaimed at the next fishing hole, about 200 meters south of the first.”

“Must admit it’s pretty. And relaxing!”

“And no ears to hears. 10 minutes more here and I’ll show you the next.”

Wheeler was in no hurry. “Take your time. I’m good.”


“Just wanted to show you this upper pool to the same flow. Right under the railroad. I’ve found that maggots work best here. Different bait for different pools, see. It’s an art and a science both. Little of both. I call it Phenix Pool because it sometimes dries up completely but then comes back after a rain.”

“Makes sense I guess,” agrees Wheeler.


They move about 150 meters south of that, still just off the railroad tracks.

“Check *this* out. Beautiful, no?”

“‘Tis nice,” coos Wheeler.

“And your clown face is about gone already. Let me take a look.”

“Yes, much better. One more watering hole should do it. But first — another upper pool.”


“You just relax back there Wheeler. I’m reeling them in from the other side. Reeling reeling reeling. Wee!”


“This is as far south as I usually go,” explains Chuckles Greentop, still reeling them in. “Linden land between the two tracks, see; worms work best here. Bigger perch, but fewer and further apart.”

“So it’s about all perch you catch. In any of the pools we visited.”

“Perch is the name of the game, yeah. Good eating too if you’re into that kind of thing. I’m a strict vegetarian myself.”


“And… your nose is back to normal. Good as new.” Chuckles pauses. “Sure you want to go back into that place? You could just keep running south. Run run run, all the way back to Collagesity. That’s where you have control.”

“I know.”

“Why go back?”

“Musician,” Wheeler says plainly. “And now… Allen. Above ground for the first, below for the latter.”

“So you’ll have to choose in that way as well.”

“Suppose. I can’t give up either right now.”

“I want to plant a name in your brain, then. Keep a lookout for it.” Chuckles stopped here and cast her rod again into deeper water. She looked up in the sky, gauging the sun’s progression as it sank to the west. “Nightfall in about 1 hour. You either go back now or keep running.”

“You said you had a name to give me,” Wheeler urged.

“Oh right.” But then Chuckles looked up into the sky and forgot what she promised again.

“Are you okay?” Wheeler took a closer look. “Oh dear. Transference.”

Wheeler would have to find her own way again.

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