“He’s one of us now.”
Category Archives: 0213
It was a short vacation for Hidi but meaningful. She reconnected with her past: bruisers Delbert, Filburt and the rest. But she was back now in The City, and boyfriend-husband Axis and she had had a wonderful evening just staying in the room and, afterwards, strolling down the westward facing beach in the morning and enjoying a beautiful, forced sunset over the ocean waves.
No, he preferred to go by Opp now. Tropp, actually. True Opp — 1/2 and 1/2 (dang!). And she: well, we’ll get to that soon enough. She created him in effect, a reversed Adam to her Eve. The Apple had been, um, turned inside out.
Anyway, she’d learned something at the beach. A Mercury capsule like astronaut John Glenn use to pilot bobs all abandoned and shite out in Neptune’s Bay, but then when you walk just north past the Neptune sim you reach a property called Mercury Rising, like the sun was rising on the couple at the point where she discovered this coincidence. If it is coincidence. And all those celestial bodies (!): Sun, Mercury, Neptune. Tropp sometimes quips she has a celestial body, ha. Not last night — that would be too weird or obvious I suppose — but sometimes still.
She needs to check her horoscope to see if something is resonant there. Let’s see, Mercury rising. That’s easy. And the sun with it, but also in forced opposition to it (forced sunset instead of natural sunrise to enhance the effect of the walk). And Neptune in the, er, adjacent sim — that must be a neighboring zodiac sign.
She thinks back to an astrologer (name?) who told Hidi about what she felt at the time was a forced association between her birth horoscope and the positions of towns in an Ohio county bordering the Great Black Swamp back in the days. Importantly, Neptune is the only town that is named in the association. The rest of the planet-towns are, or were, inferred. She has the notes somewhere in her filing cabinet downstairs in her actual apartment. This is just a room she and Opp used. For reunion purposes. She decides to check out and head home. Actually, that’s just a figure of speech, for the place has been locked up for weeks. Hidi and Tropp just like the view of the beach and beyond from that large, paneled window; the couple is big on scenery and enhancing it in ways they can if possible. Forced sunrise here, forced full moon there, extra lighting in a darkened alley, so on. But Mercury rising… she must go back to that beach to scout out the place. The owner said in his property description that visitors are welcome. No forcing action there at least.
She lathers sunscreen over her oh so pale face
and hands and heads out.
Ahh yes. The Mercury capsule is labelled a *hideout* by the owner. Just like she had been hiding out over in Gaston and just returned. She sits only a bit beyond the border of Neptune on a sand dune in Mercury Rising and thinks about Ohio. Then when she recrosses into Neptune from Mercury Rising she is able to sit in the abandoned capsule. Interesting. Another true hideout (!). True Opp, true hideout. Hidi.
A map charting celestial bodies on a pillow inside; the whole thing is owned by a person from Consignment. Consignment shop! The plot thickens as they say. Better gather up Tropp and hand over there. If this capsule is truly cursed he needs to be in on it.
“Audrey’s place,” he spoke over to still tagging along Charlene. He didn’t mind, as long as he could use her for a sounding board every couple of minutes. “Right down there. With *him*. I see their green dots in the middle of the night. I know what they do.”
“Jeffrie,” she urged.
“I know, I know.” Jeffrie Phillips sighed. “Stop dwelling.”
But he couldn’t. Next stop: the Gasthause, as close as Jeffrie (and Charlene) could get without actually trespassing on *his* property. The doctor. I bet he is, I bet he is, Jeffrie Phillips thought over and over in his mind as he stared up toward the structure owned by a man from the future. And the past. Along with the present of course. He said his thoughts aloud again. It was here, for the 12th time today (not coincidentally, the amount of sounding board moments between Jeffrie and herself), Charlene considered leaving this clearly possessed man. Audrey, Audrey, Audrey. That’s *all* he ponders about.
“You don’t understand,” he defended himself after being called out again. “I was just wandering around, having a good time, poking my head in here and there. When I stumbled into that cabin and found *her* chair. Just sitting there. Like a sacred altar — which it was, actually. For me, and her. When we were *together*.”
Ah, a secret submissive, though Charlene here, understanding more in the moment. She knew about such chairs. Well — *two* can play that game.
“*I* have a chair. Back at my place in Colona.”
“Won’t be the same,” he quickly replied, putting her in her place again. Audrey was queen. She was merely a pawn in a much bigger game.
“Everyone knows about the Ant Castle,” replies Golden Jim, glancing over at the structure perched on top of Yellowmoon Ridge, wearing it like an orange crown. “It’s where the ants emerge from the elephants trunk, turning it into, well, just Eleph. Peak, that is.
“And do you *know* the particular black ant that lives in the castle?” the mann next to him queries further about the mysterious object high in the sky. “Not Queen but King.”
“Boldon,” Golden Jim guesses, suddenly recalling the history of the place, the *smell*. The wax hardens and everything is recorded. It was a good work.
“He invented the telephone, you know,” The Mann spoke over. “That’s why he likes to use it so much. One could say he’s really *jazzed* about it.”
“If C.D. ever gets out of that whitewashed village over there, we’re *all* in trouble.”
“So I’ve heard, Messed Up,” responded Kind Of Messed Up 02 across from her, also staring at it from the Messed Up Cafe. *Her* cafe (oh).
She turned toward her cat again, her tenuous tether to the world of sanity created before the day of last Wednesday’s Monday. “Game of chesskers while we wait?” she bubbled.
Knowing there was no such game (tether!), Kind Of went in back to retrieve the board and pieces.
On his way back, he paused to stare at the picture again, a thing he’d done a thousand times now. “The Man Upstairs had such great plans for this place,” he said once more, a ritual litany.
Audrey was, as usual, dancing an Irish Jig. Jeffrie Phillips was enjoying the scene, but they must get down to business soon. One more dance, though.
“Try 13 now,” he requested.
“Whatever happened to Marsha, by the by?” Jeffrie asked after Audrey had given him the latest update. He didn’t need the information but he wanted it. Sounds familiar.
“Oh, the usual. Marriage to some slob and now they’re pinned down with the standard 2.5 kids. Thank you for not wanting any. Teepot has enough. The *world* has enough.”
“The world is not long for us anyway. No use in bringing someone new in to experience all that misery.”
“Agreed,” Audrey quickly followed.
“Well… we’ve tracked Casey One Hole down to Danshire before his disappearance, along with the Small Kowloon House. This is right outside Phyllis and Ben’s home — no accident there. And now Ben might be recalled to the old country, thanks to Host Charming. No accident there either. One chance out between two worlds.”
“Don’t say that,” red pendant wearing Audrey requested. “It reminds me of the girl we had to kill.”
“Kill off,” red tie sporting Jeffrie elaborated. But the Kidd remains within. They didn’t know of Tronesisia’s big picture plan.
“Who are you??”
“Don’t be afraid,” Billy Jean spoke to Katy from the other side of the walkway. “It’s only another Kidd.”
Tasteless smell-less Robert Drake Johns had had enough. 5 was his limit for mud cake pies! He pushed it just enough toward Guyd, who quickly grabbed it up and ran. “Thanks!” she purred back at the gluttonous, lime green robot. The stench was all over it. “Mine mine mine!” he cried, his eyes beacons in the dark, but Guyd had already exited the cave room. 3 hours later, bumbling and stumbling through the maze, she found Rebl back in Wabe. Or was it Wabd now?
Rebl was pleased (!!). She took one bite, spat it on the ground, dug a little hole for the thing, covered it up, and put a little tombstone on top that read “shite”. “It’s a dog’s dinner,” she pronounced through painful wincing, and went to retch in a corner while holding a thumb’s up. Success!
Second fiddle no more. She was ready to meet Bush. Either one would do, but she’d prefer the Sun. The burny one.
It just came up from one of those illogical cracks in the road. Broad daylight; scurried sideways toward the park to his right. Directly in front of him. In a hurry, as rats are wont to be, but not *too* much so, he also noted.
“I *hate* rats,” Herbert Dune managed after watching it disappear down another hole, thinking back to Spunky’s and Bob Waffleburg’s slip about a secret room the night before.
I don’t mind rats atall, thought Sandy Beech inside, actor countering character once more, as in a yin-yang relationship. Day and night. Guess that could be one reason they hired me for the part, he then realized.
“Just ignore the rats,” sweating Herbert Dune chanted while continuing forward over the crack. “Ignore rats.”
“I guess so,” Grey Scale responded, but still taking pretty deep gulps of air.
“You know we’re only about 100 feet from the house.”
“I know. I’ll get my second wind. I know how this goes.”
“You’ve *heard* how it goes. When’s the last time you actually ran over, say, um, 100 feet? High school?”
“I’ll have you know I tried out for track in college.” Her eyes widened. “Failed miserably, admittedly, but I tried. It was all those coconut cream pies they offered in the cafeteria. So tempting.”
“And all the cigs, I’ve heard,” responded Chesteria A. Arthur with a chuckle. “And some of those *special* cigs you like.”
“Well… maybe.” Grey Scale’s thoughts turned to ambition again, as they often do. How long to stay in this backwater village. Who’s here besides them, Marcus and Chicken Boy next door, Bullfrog and Aqua Dude, and then, let’s see, the Kevins I suppose. Kevin C. and E. at least. Kevin A. lives in the separated Northeast Quadrant on Space Ghost’s property. Non-gay they are. “Didn’t the guy with the archery set and his gal pal leave the village recently?” she asked her non-winded partner. “Something about converting back to straight?”
“I’m not sure,” Chesteria said. “Okay, enough dilly dallying. It’s time to see what you’re made of, dictator girl. Then she was up and running, so fast that she was around the bend up the hill almost before Grey Scale could turn around. This would not work out well, she knew. Better just head back to the house; pull out one of the special cigs; wait for her return. She’ll understand… she didn’t want me tagging along anyway. I’ll smoke my cig and plot world domination again. I have my eye on Horns.
When Tillie was feeling a little gaseous (which was fairly often), she’d sometimes go down to this bench by the water’s edge so as not to bother Tealy, who was always hard at work around the cottage doing house chores, gardening, and not what. Tillie was lazier by nature, a dreamer. She’d see things in the Rubisea water. Nymphs sometimes. Fish — but that was just because there were fish in the lake. Then a sea monster one time, but she was on some weird kind of dope. She said it was for her stomach, but really it fell under recreational usage. She’d taken the same stuff 4 times now, and decided to stop when the water and the accompanying feeder stream (now just a waterfall, where in past times it was a full stream) turned blood red. Tasted like blood too after she dared to dab a tiny bit on her tongue. Rubisea — the name comes from ruby, like the ruby color of blood. Nasty Branch was the name of the feeder stream. She’d merely revealed the past behind the present through the drug. But no more.
She was feeling better now. She would return to the house and help Tealy with whatever he was doing at the moment. They were a team, but sometimes Tillie had to do her own thing for a while, drugs included. Tealy had never taken drugs, but he drank like a drunken sailor. So they each had their vices. Oh, and Tealy flew airplanes. He was an ace of the First World-Wide Web War (WWWWI).
“Hand me that (hand) spade please, Tillie,” a drunken Tealy requested to his partner after she reentered their home. “I have a feeling that diamond is there for the taking today.” Oh, and he was a prospector of sorts. Or at least for one particular mineral, a gem he’d personally named Jim. “Gotta go dig for Jim,” he might say randomly during any period of intoxication. “Jim’s beckoning me today; I can feel it in my heart.” He even started a Jim Club composed only of himself, but, formerly, Tillie. For she admitted — probably when she was on some kind of dope, because she would never be so insensitive straight — that Jim was imaginary, and represented his own, lost soul. Member no more.
(to be continued?)