It was an interesting color pattern and one she would end up studying for many years to come.
Now if I could only get the deity upstairs to speak something sensible. “I” just doesn’t cut it.
Especially before the introduction of Corona-V tall stouts into the local bar, the red topped town church at 56 Rose Lane was a way for people to set aside their different realities and gather together to pray toward a unifying deity most often called God. But, as we know, David A. B. was his “real” name, and he worked somewhere in the aether above Corsica Prime, making sure the right people got placed in the right spots on this continent, the other mainland masses be damned. We also know that Stranger Creek sim just off the northern coast was not one of his best works — a cock-up he called it on this here blog for all to witness. A cockamamie plan I added just afterwards, having been to the spot through the avatar known as Illuminatus, and also Arthur Kill. Yes, I, baker b., played both roles, as I always do on these nightly excursions in the virtual reality most often called Our Second Lyfe. Or, individually, Your Second Lyfe or My Second Lyfe. Because, you see, we are all experiencing different (virtual) realities when we come here. And that, I think, is what I’m trying to illustrate with Marsha and SEAN here. They exist in *similar* realities, sharing, for example, a church to go to in town. But — yes — reality is breaking down now due to the, ahem, beer. The local bar is also open on Sunday mornings for some inexplicable reason, but everything is to go these days, including the beer. In short, people are drinking at home this delicious but highly intoxicating brew and forgetting all about the gathering, the worshiping, the unity. They are all separated in their individual spheres, Marsha’s Second Lyfe over here and SEAN’s over there and “3rd wheel” Olive’s even different from either. Same with Mr. Fix It artist Gene Kelley, same with Lester the police car mechanic, and anyone else we’ll run into in Storybrook during our present story. The brook flows rapidly but with different currents. Currents. Each is row row rowing their boat to a different set of islands in the bay. And that boat, those islands, keep shifting around.
Inside the church, the lone occupant feels pleased at his work. Marty is a kind of God as well, one that wants to replace the starless black Bible with something red. And so it will come to pass, he declares. However, the real God has allowed this placement as well. “‘Starless and Bible Black’,” he deems, “will still reside inside ‘Red’, hidden like the ‘Lark’s Tongue in Aspic.'” But David A. B. was probably drunk when he spouted all this nonsense. We’ll see.
“Gee, dad. You’re driving especially fast today. Um…”
“You just hold onto that lime, son. That’s an important part of your school presentation today.”
“I know,” he recites indifferently. “World of Lemon; Lime World. Contrast between the two. Blah blah blah, pheh.”
“Hold on, son. Another curve. Wheeeee!”
“Gosh dad, your cap blew off on that one. And your hair’s all poofed up and spiky too.”👍
“Never mind that, son.” SCREEEEEEECH. “We’re here. “Rooster Springs Backwoods Middle School. Where you’re in the middle…”
“I know, I know,” Preston recites mechanically again in the pause. “… which is (and his dad joins in here) unfortunately in the way.”
Preston gets out, peers cautiously at the school front door for potential allies and foes. “See you soon, kid.” Then he was gone in a whirlwind of burnt rubber and skid marks.
A small shop I’d like to open in the heart of Rosehaven but probably never will. Has little to do with knitting, weaving and sewing. Instead: tales, with tall preferred.
Let’s begin with this:
And here’s the bit that links this yarn with the other:
Mabel was not literally stuck in Pipewold; she could emerge and investigate New Island if she wished, her ultimate home if things in Heartsdale didn’t work out. She had to manipulate what she could in the meantime — to prepare. Mabel was looking for this mysterious Leeman or Leemon who supposedly created the whole shebang. Is *this* him? she thinks here.
Hummie the Hummingbird (another one) wasn’t telling.
Buurb didn’t like to come out here, she knew. Says it’s like reading ahead in the hot red book of your life. Plus, taken individually, he had more at stake than Mabel. But there were still other avenues to explore. She hadn’t given up on Baker Bloch bringing their beloved Heartsdale house (or some equivalent) to Collagesity. She knows in one reality this *must* come about. But it’s a domino effect — that would mean, perhaps, the displacement of Karoz Blogger’s TILE Temple, implying *he* wouldn’t have the opportunity to return. And where would that leave mate Baker Blinker?
Mabel wanders back down the beach, toward the far side of the pipe. [Leemon’s?] Beach had been set as her personal limit in this direction. She couldn’t stay out too long — for Buurb’s sake. She spots Volkswagen Gurl leaning against the large, white house in the distance, but too late to turn around. Luckily the chatty lady went AFK before a potential engagement.
She also ran into Yarco on the way back and they held a brief discussion about cactuses, another type of pipe in a way, he explained. Yarco was a graduate assistant in the biology department at New Island Community College, the same place where Robot Derak Jones teaches physics and astronomy. Mabel thought the young lad was a bit full of himself, but he provided useful information at times. And also Mabel felt he could be trusted. She had dirt on him and he her. They were trapped on New Island for similar reasons. Oops, there’s his tanned slave boy. Time to leave, she understands.
Mabel sighs before heading back inside. 242, 121 here at the water’s edge, she notes again. This is where the world splits asunder.
Marion Harding hated the multi-leveled Christmastown section of Capitol City, but there was a considerable amount of money to be made on this particular deal. Elf trafficking. And this was the time of the year for boom and bust on it. He scouts out one of the main streets from a safe distance, watching some kind of grandma figure be gorged over and over by a reindeer gone rogue. He enjoyed *this*!
Bing Avenue it was called for reasons he didn’t understand. Anyway, that’s where the deal would hopefully go down, har.
He turns in his tracks. Snowing outside still. Better get busy and then head home before it’s over his guns again.
“Five green and two red.”
“Four green and three red,” he reluctantly countered. This would be his final offer.
“Ohh, ummm. Four and a 1/2 green, 2 and a 1/2…”
“You can’t split one of your elves in two,” Marion Harding gruffly pointed out. “Four and three. Take it or leave it.”
“Oh… *all right*.”
Santa God shakes Marion Harding’s hand, sealing the deal.
He leaves Capitol City to return to his Clemscott castle down 7 elves but up 10,000 lindens. Overall, a pretty decent haul and most likely worth the 3 kilometer long trip, he thinks.
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!