Category Archives: 0211

controlled

“Awfully nice for you to come over and cook me dinner again, Alysha.”

Alysha, she thinks. *That’s* how he sees me now? “Sure, honey,” she says. “Anything for my number 1 man.” Number 10 at best she calculates to herself. She’s just that deep into it. Horns of Hatton, pheh. Manga, huh. She sprinkles spice on the meatloaf and asks him what he’s up to today, hoping the heck she wouldn’t be involved. But she does feel sorry about the hands. The Abyss will have its price, she thinks. And the Abyss is very close here. Very close indeed. About as close as that big whale circling around this treehouse.

“Business down South,” he answers from his rocking hammock. “Have to take Pricky.”

Thanks Gods, she ponders. “Oh? Big haul, then?”

“More marine life, yeah. Squid, I think. Or octopus — can’t recall right now. Anyway have to go to Cass City to pick it up; haul it up North somewhere. Meat Town I think it’s called. I’ll have to look it up on my map.”

*Neat* Town, Alysha thinks from the sink, pondering whether to add poison to the recipe to stop the whole thing. She knows why she’s here now. But not to kill him, she realizes. Instead: kiss; use her magical powers.

By the time they’d finished, Alysha had had a chance to alter the map. The whale ended up going the wrong way and never reached its intended destination. Roth wasn’t fired, but he never saw his precious, red headed Alysha again. Blonde Wanda filled the void, but Wanda couldn’t cook worth shite and had to be disposed of herself. Fed to the sharks, some say, although she actually just went back to Bombtown and eventually married a man with 3 eyes. Then came Sally. Or was it Shelley? No: Sally.

“Do you want some meatloaf on your spice tonight?” she called from the kitchen, preparing for the worse.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0211, Cassandra City^, Horns of Hatton^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Neat Town

00280211

I can’t see the castle on this peak either, Shelley.”

“Silly. There *is* no castle on that peak. Not any more. Not for a long time. The reason you couldn’t see it on the other peak we just looked at is because your draw distance was too short. Don’t you know *anything* about Our Second Lyfe, tee hee?”

“Suppose not.”

“That’s where Ruuster’s castle use to be, though. Some say he was an actual rooster, a creature. Some say he was called that because he *roosted* on the peak, like some kind of bird, rooster or no. My papa taught me that. Said sometimes there’re multiple ways of looking at the same thing and sometimes none is right but at the same time *all* are right. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Suppose,” he repeated. Shelley started wondering about his brain, and maybe she didn’t finish the boy properly — left holes where thoughts should be, rationalization. “You say… we’re suppose to get married.”

“Um huh.” He was still staring at the empty beige peak, perhaps 50 meters higher than the one they are on. He was staring at himself.

“Can you elaborate? I mean, it’s rather shocking that you know that.”

“I can see the future.” He turns. “You can see the future. We are all angles.”

“Angels?” She purposely misheard him but he didn’t laugh, didn’t get the joke or just didn’t care. Maybe both are right, she realized: angles *and* angels. Are *they* angels?

George turned back to the beige mountain seen through the diamond paned window. “Roost never sleeps. It’s an ironic name, then, because that’s what birds or roosters or whatever are suppose to do when they roost. Sleep.”

Maybe his brain is alright after all. Those are pretty deep thoughts he’s thinking there, she thought, pondering the irony herself. Her daddy had said the same thing. Roost never sleeps, corrupted to rust never sleeps.

George looked down from the peak to the green grounds below. “Well well well, if it isn’t the Wells.” Why did the boy say *that*? Is someone actually approaching? Or was this just more word play?

“They’re trying to find the front door,” he then said. “Better go down and help them”

“The… neighbors?” she guessed. He just stared at her again and then extended his arm. “After you.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0211, Nautilus^^, Rooster's Peninsula

Hollywood

They were all dead now, these “monsters”. All except herself. She stared at the empty space that should have held her own picture, thinking back to the time they first discovered her superpower. She was called the ugly duckling, the unpretty one who instead seemed to be cut from the cloth of the ordinaries all around them, the mundane, the *muggles* to borrow a phrase from another supernatural mythology. Must have been blinded Uncle Sam on a town bender, they figured. But as they aged, she didn’t. They then traced the genes back to Great Great Great Aunt Selma on the father’s side, who was from a long line of immortals. Then they traced the whereabouts of Selma herself, living under a new guise in Cheeseburger, Wisconsin down near the city dump or city hall take your pick. “Of course she has powers,” Selma replied in a middle-aged voice about Sally’s seeming normalcy, at least judged by the outer world that we, us non-monsters, live in. “Why would she be staying with you otherwise, humm? Uncle Sam has nothing to do with this; she’s actually the oldest of all of us.” She addressed each of her visitors individually: “Great great grandson, great great great niece and nephew(-in-law), great great great *great* grandson. Meet your ancestor with a family name so long that it would take the rest of the day to pronounce. I’d suggest you just keep calling her Sally, then, but respect the hell out of her from now on and look to her for sage advice instead of just ridiculing her looks.”

Even Selma is dead now, since the great majority of so called immortals are actually quite mortal and only live to be a couple of hundred years old at the most. Sally is a little different, since both her mother and father were pure bred. But one day, still a long way down the road, it will catch up with her.

She had to say goodbye to each one, watching them fall like dominoes in time’s passage.

—–

Jeffrie’s note came under the door. Without opening it, Sally remembers how she was slipped under the door, as it were, of her own great x 2,375 niece and nephew(-in-law)’s gothic Mockingbird Lane abode by parents long in hiding themselves. Marge and General Johnston I think they’re calling each other these days. She’ll have to look them up sometime. “Uncle Sam’s kid, yeah,” she presented herself at the threshold, luggage just behind. Stooping down in the present, she picked up the note and read.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0211, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Upper Austra^

this story has teeth

Hmmm. Tempting, he thought while reading the “clothing optional” signs he was passing. But I must focus, on Shark Rock tonight, at least to begin. I *do* need to shed this Santa costume sometime. Maybe wait till when I get back to the Blue Feather with Wanda, he he.

Or was it Angela?

He passes from Nightshark into the parcel with Shark Rock the next sim west, but I’m not sure if there’s any causal connection. Thus the investigation.

—–

Huh. I wonder if this little fellow here is suppose to be me? *I’m* the shark.

The message seems to be reinforced by what is perhaps the progeny all around.

—–

“Wanda,” he calls over to the girl across from him back at the Blue Feather Table.

“Angela,” she corrects, blonde hair combed over one eye.

“Sure, sure. Ahem: I’ve made a decision about the suit. I’m going to keep it on for a while longer. (pause) You can exit through the side door just over there. Make sure Wanda doesn’t see you as you slither away into the night.”

So there was a Wanda.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0211, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

Mistery Island

“So that’s one dead intruder taken care of, but more will come. Original Fern,” he declared in his tiny, maniacal voice full of greed and thirst for power, “you must find the witches and take care of them — cut off their *head*.” He rubs his little green hands gleefully as he does every time the subject comes up.

“Yup,” came the simple reply from even slightly smaller Original Fern (OF) beside him, killing laser put away for now. Rael-Anon never had a chance with this gunslinger of the Old East, a tiny who would rather speak with action. A fly lights on his nose and he swats it precisely back into the hell it was spawned from. He picked the dead carcass from his nose and ate it, with then small crunching noises emitting from his masticating mouth as he continued to state at Spore, his fearless, intrepid leader, the one who calls the big shots. For now.

“My sacred *shards*” — he watches the spore shards in front of him turn another color here, gold to red this time — “will tell us what to do now that the Strange Orb has been released. All is going according to plan.” (rubbing of hands here again) He turns his attention to the steady green orb hovering above the center of the table and the broken shards that use to contain it as a slightly larger orb. Unwavering green from mutable green, gold, red, blue. Original Fern has his mission.

Sammy the Featherfloater swept in from the skies, his head juxtaposed with the green sphere from this angle. “Sire. The ship has landed in the Northern Sea.”

“Good good. OF — on your way.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0211, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Outer Islands

00240211

“I was on the Diagonal next to the Not Quite Gazebo, named so because it wasn’t (quite on the Diagonal). The moon was made of cheese. I try to transfer to the tower which I *know* is on the Diagonal but can’t quite reach the center (Diagonal). Instead: on one of the edge seats. The moon is not made of cheese. I wake up, still looking from the point of the Not Quite.”

“And then the lane,” spoke [delete name]. “Cherry Lane.”

“No, that was something different. In the land of Hana Lei.”

“Which is a catch all name for locations that you don’t want to list out.” Silence for a second, as if Jeffrie Phillips was checking this fact (he was). “Yes… but no. I mean, it wasn’t Cherry Lane on the Diagonal. Instead a path through a clearly haunted or haunting woods filled with wolves, especially at the bend where the path or trail leaves the Diagonal. That was before the Not Quite Gazebo. I wasn’t Peet Archer. I wasn’t wearing the tuxedo to indicate I was Young Kane who was never called that (strangely).”

“Go on.”

“I was…”

“Blue Thorn?” guessed [delete name].

“I can’t recall,” responded Jeffrie Phillips, thinking hard. He was pounding a fist into his skull three times. Then three more. He recalled. “Niagara. Peet Archer was at the top. I put him there. I was…” Again a stall. The 1898 room was powerful that way — squelched speech. He wondered again who was beside him in that room while he dreamed. Someone from Hana Lei perhaps.

“Go on, Jeffrie. Do you need some water? Do you want to continued another night? We can wake up at any time. I clap my hands three times, and then three more.” He clapped his hands three times and then three more.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0211, Green Yarn, Rose Heaven^^

pointless (what’s the use)

Tree being Lemmy pretends to nab Bartholomew Smipson with his net…

… only to toss the transformed weapon into the air in a gesture of forgiveness for an old feud with the boy’s father involving a knife wound to the head. Homer thought he was just a mascot. He wasn’t. Bygones be bygones, though. Anyway, he tires of being mobile.

We will have to look elsewhere for explanations about the young skateboarder’s disappearance. Lemmy retreats inside the town’s famous lemon tree, feet back in the ground once more.

What an imagination!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0211, collages 2d, Springfeld

x’s and o’s

Goodbye Ant Castle at the end of Eleph’s Trunk. I feel like I hardly knew ya.

The only related castle remaining on The Trunk is Harrison Ford Jett’s, whose enhancing apples were recently mentioned in relation to a city crime. The City now. But was he suspected perpetrator or victim in a series of 4? And is he truly a man or a woman? Perhaps it doesn’t matter; let’s go with it doesn’t matter.

“Sure you can stay with me, Ant. Until you get your 6 feet back on the ground.”

“Thanxxxx!”

—–

That taken care of, let’s move back to The City and the Happy Travels Travel Agency…

“Hellloooo. I’m ready to go on vacation. Hide away again.” It was typical of Hidi to do so; in her genes, one could say. Speaking of which…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0211, Apple's Orchard, Corsica^^, Gaston^^, Northwest^, NWES Island^

magic shop

“Yeah, I’ve got one like it back home,” Jeffrie Phillips speaks about the geode on the mantlepiece before him. ‘Cept mine is pink and and *maybe* a tiny bit smaller, maybe.” Much smaller, he thinks here. But I like it just as much. Not everything has to be *big*, pheh. Except in — well, he’s got that department covered anyway, he he. He can always lord that over the people he meets. The girls flock to him, Charlene the punk being only the latest in a long line. Too bad she liked the catacombs. I was hoping I could get rid of her that way. But her mettle has been put to the test and she survived. Round 2 coming up — only about a 1/3rd make it to round 2.

“Do you know what you have to do?” Jeffrie Phillips knew that David A.B.’s diamond-like brain lie within this new host with voice deep and bass. He couldn’t look him in the whites of his eyes. This never happened.

“Um.” Jeffrie instead looks down at his shoes randomly scuffing the floor. “Sure.”

“You must coordinate the two places, there and here. This is a connector. Take it and place it with the other one. Make sure they face each other. You know the rest.”

Jeffrie Phillips didn’t know the rest but he could guess. Alchemical sex, large to small, or one inside the other. Maybe he shouldn’t have lied about the size. He decides to tell the new host. “Listen, um, Jim.”

But Jim would have nothing of it. “Coordinate!” he demanded, which made Jeffrie Phillips quickly gather up the green geode and high tail it outta there.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0211, Teepot^^

labyrinth at the Temple of TILE

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.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0211, Corsica^^, Urqhart^