“Well, well, well, Marion. Well well well well *well*.”
“Yes,” replied his partner in crime. Always. “What do we have *here*?” And then he waved Philip on before him. “After you,” he offered.
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!
“Sooo. You wanted to see me Carrcassonnee. But you can’t talk without your eye. And Spider is inanimate as well. Hmph. Why am I here, then?”
Spotting it behind a boulder to her right, she used the teleporter again. “And *here*?”
“OMG. SoSo South has been destroyed!”
I, as her user, then realized what had occurred. I’d accidentally linked a teleporter to SoSo South when working on it in the Collagesity skybox the other day. The teleporter happened to be in Carrcassonee’s gazebo when I moved the whole thing back to the ground, which Wheeler Wilson teleported to when trying to reach the skybox from Blue Feather. But in using the teleporter again, everything went haywire, seemingly.
Baker Bloch, posing as Bookworm up in the heart of the SoSo Mall at the time, was called in. He moved all the pieces — which were still linked, thankfully — up to the skybox and went to work. He asked Wheeler to log out to give him room and decrease the likelihood of more wonky things happening. He lowered his graphic options and logged out and back in for the same reason. He searched for and then found the skybox landmark in his inventory. Baker himself headed upward.
In under 10 minutes he had everything about righted. He could check later with a full version of this gallery, which is a Linden build created specifically for the Zindra continent. Baker hadn’t made any significant alterations to the original design. Which was good in this case.
But Wheeler had been spooked. She became convinced that Carrcassonnee did the sabotaging, and was trying to communicate with her from “the beyond”, as she put it. “Something is happening,” she finishes.
“I don’t quite get all these references to clowns, Buster. Could this be a Clare Nova influence on the town? Clown town?”
“Here it is, Wheeler,” said Buster beside her, not really listening. “The stairs I took up to my death spot. But now Peter says there are two such structures (in town).”
“Well, let’s go look around. Anyone coming in has to land there. Why did they do that? Some things here puzzle me. Puzzle me greatly.”
“My guess is that there are two forces in Olde Lapara, one for each involved sim. The town is split, in effect. Male and female. Black and white.
Good and bad. Old and new. The town needs to heal itself in order to go forwards. It’s the same with every one of us.”
“Quite the philosopher you are, Buster. I guess that goes along with you being 10,000 years old or something.”
“Yes. I’ve seen a lot. Do you know how hard it is to kill a vampire?” He answers himself. “*Really* hard. If they don’t want to be killed. And I’m simply a coward. I enjoy life in death.”
“Jesus could give you that,” offers Wheeler. “So says the protesters. Where’d they go anyway?”
“So many questions, but we must start at the beginning. And the end.” They walk up the stairs.
“We could just wait here long enough and meet up with everyone that regularly comes through the place,” says Wheeler, staring inside. “Manifestation spot. What does it mean?”
“Stop asking that. Meaning meaning meaning. Maybe it just is what it is. A work in progress. Continual progress.”
“Let’s go see the other one. This one’s empty to me.”
Buster took a closer look.
“You don’t understand, Wheeler Wilson. I couldn’t even look out to see who was continually shooting me. 47 times. They thought I was already a vampire. But I wasn’t. At the time.”
“Who turned you?” queried Wheeler (yet again). “I mean, to become a vampire someone has to kill you — drain you of blood, right?”
Synchronicity. Just then, Bettie manifested in the south side of town using Rocky’s Unique Mushroom Portal, as she called it — RUMP, for short. That was part of the deal. Rocky would possess the small house, but Bettie and her alts like Little Tonshi Ashokan could use it as a shortcut when they wished to come down the mountain for a visit. Which was turning out to be often, much to Rocky’s irritation. He was attempting to jumpstart his second novel. Current working title: “Two to Know.”
On August 8th, 1926, cubic Arnold and Betsy Layne had just arrived in town, demanding a room in the already booked up Grand Lapara Hotel…
Rocky took the sheet out of the typewriter, wadded it up and threw it toward the wastebasket in the corner. “No, that won’t do,” he sighed.
“Do you want to do it or should I?”
“I’ll go. You go get some rest for tomorrow when we explore the other end.”
“I said *I’d* go.”
In his new basement apartment, Baker Bloch had begun dreaming.
Outside, he followed a man looking exactly like The Musician into the Underworld but who instead claimed to be one Sikul Himatk. Sikul had been dead for many years, 100 to be exact. It was his centennial death day today. He wanted to uncelebrate by going back to the place where it happened, he told Baker Bloch.
“Don’t linger,” he implored as they came to a white door just down the steps and around a corner. “Lingering causes absorption. Stuff like that.” He indicated a painting to their right…
… which then moved swiftly down the wall and out of sight as attention was drawn to it.
Opening the door, Sikul took Baker’s hand and dragged him through to the other side. “Bemberg,” he said. “Different sim. You *don’t* go back through the blue door.”
The white door shut, the blue door opened.
Baker had seen enough. He woke up.