Category Archives: 0213

Bakers… and Wheeler

I think we have a new candidate for an alchemical experiment going wrong that you originally assigned to Bart Smipson here in photo-novel 09.” They were in the past. Which was also the present.

“Lemongrab, yes. I’ve heard,” the female Baker replies to the male Baker. She reads the blog even if she hadn’t appeared in it for a while. “Sink into Sunklands”. It’s taped to her bathroom mirror so she’ll remember at night. Just before bed. She understands they, the Baker family of avatars and friends, are struggling to establish Lemon Free State in the middle of Nautilus. Thus Lemongrab, who here goes by Mike. And Lemongrab 2 is his now female (?) mate Pat. Both found quickly on the Our Second Lyfe marketplace through a search for complete avatars using keyword “Duke.”

“Does that make you Princess Bubblegum?” He pivots his head, takes her overarching pinkness in. “You always wanted to be a mother, Baker Blinker. You always wanted… *boys*.”

“Not *those* kind of boys,” she shot back.

“Oh sure you do. You were jealous of Wheeler from the beginning.” He knew to let the matter drop after that. They’d been through the transference a 1000 times now, reviewed every aspect. In the early days of such analysis Baker Blinker was trying to assert herself as the queen ruler again, with Baker Bloch by her ever-side as Prime Minister. Like in the UK as opposed to the US, which had just gone to hell. Wheeler, early on again, was kind of like 2016 Trump happening at the same time, the new ruler, the wannabe *dictator* — obvious to them if not a big chunk of the country still surrounding their safe patch of virtual irreality up in the main world. Where Mike and Pat originally come from in Missouri, North Carolina and Tennessee respectively. This was all fate.

And she’s still married to original “king” Karoz Blogger — that hadn’t changed, despite all the other stuff that has occurred since they tied the knot in photo-novel 02 and originally started dating in 01. It seems to be one constant of the blog and attached photo-novels. Perhaps the ultimate one. The ability of two to manifest at once and live and interact together as husband and wife. Then: Wheeler.

—–

She ditched the remainder of the crazy blue outfit, made the scars in her face deeper and more off-putting to fit into this world better.

“Last Drop, good,” she said, staring at the the sign of the place on the edge of the Fissure, which some call the Fracture just to be ornery about established protocol. “I have a place to eavesdrop on new gossip.” In particular, she was looking for Jed, who now seems to go by John (the Mind Reader) or perhaps Incognito, obvious enough nod to a disguise, a covering up of an origin rooted in one of those complicated North-South type disputes. And *Stitches.* “Ted,” she mouths his own new name aloud while thinking about all this.

“Yes?”

She twirls in her tracks.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0213, The Waste^^

death at the saloon

He stands in the 4th and stares out at a Hill fronting another hill in the distance. He knows the mystery of the Silver Nuggets is buried along with her blurred given name — he can’t make it out on the queerly angled monolith before him. “Jnlo,” he tries aloud, a mere slur of the truth. Sirens, then, in the distance; dust trails along the road below him from this vantage point, the one belonging to Shakespeare and not Lordsburg, but not for much longer. The present is about the breach the past in order to find him, the perpetrator. The bully of the town and then some. True murderer we have here, two times over. Nikki and Hal. Who could have seen it coming, except everyone who had ever read the Bard.

—–

“Blurred”, speaks Barry DeBoy about the pale face in the center. “I’m afraid we’ll never know.”

“Truth,” says Hucka D. to this.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0213, New Mexico

more of Yellowmoon and the Ephant peninsula (while I’m here)…

The Ember Botanical Institute where Barry DeBoy met with Andy Warhole, Ant, and Harrison Jett back in photo-novel 21 to talk about art and some other stuff is still there. Strangely I find myself banned from the property. Description reads: “… dedicated to corvid murder survival training, Rothko appreciation, neuroaugmentation, and antifascist remote viewing.” Seems I’ll never find out more of the story of the place now.

And, moving to the western edge of the same ridge — in Motocyclone this time — Ant’s castle (Ant Castle) is still around, apparently, greatly enlarged and painted black now, like himself. Could be more stories awaiting us here…

Barry’s old art studio just down the hill from it remains intact as well, hmmm.

Wheeler could go back to the EB Institute if not me; same for Bracket. Heck, same for Hucka Doobie the Bee, Baker Blinker, etc. — any of the core avatars except myself, Baker Bloch.

And then there’s that interesting seaside Japanese town centered in Mortons Gully below the Motocyclone peak where we’ve already seen several blog characters (Golden Jim, Marty, The Mann, maybe others) milling about in.

Closest Oracle match for that here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mortons_Gap,_Kentucky

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0213, Corsica, Kentucky, Northwest^

gloryous night

What am I doing here? she thinks while she smokes. Here in Eels with a man I really don’t know that well, a *black* man. Not that I’m prejudice, she also understands. It’s just… the world at large. They see an opening and they’ll go in for the kill, Arthur Kill in this case, or the actor who plays him. Poor, sweet Lemont Sanford, much more like his (Arthur Kill’s) sophisticated twin cousin Kill van Kull, as is often the case for the creation of secondary characters to balance a first. She was just reading recently that in the first part of the last century it was illegal to be doing what they’re doing. It could come back.

George, she then ruminates further. I *can’t* marry him. Arthur, I mean, Lemont — keep doing that — we have the same aunt, which means we’re destined to be married ourselves. George and I bickered and bickered over what family member belonged to who that night, never fully deciding on Bernice. Now the riddle is solved. I had to go top to bottom on the problem. Liz is the answer. Any questions or issues that arise along the way point to her.

Better get at it again, she thinks while taking the several last draws off her cigarette before heading back inside. Not bad here in Eels, she ponders. Nice light.

She then heard an actual bird, a rarity in Her Second Life. She couldn’t spot the source. She’ll ask Lemont if he heard the same. If she CHANGED could get out from under this Umbrella.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0213, Bellisaria

Newt

He thought she was going to wear her new hair, but purple’s cool, purple’s cool. He wasn’t going to bring the subject up. She had her reasons. Instead he decides to talk about the girls.

“Venus is working hard on her novella.” He could hear her typing all the way over here.

“Novel,” corrected Eyela in a sweet but stern voice. “And Mistress is helping with it too.”

“Sure, sure.” He looks over at the townhouse on the northern edge of the property, (the girls’) home away from home. “I’d like to read it.”

“Well they don’t want you to.”

“*You* can.”

“*I’m* different.” That seemed to be a dead end subject too. Maybe switch back to the hair. He pointed.

“I thought –”

“Don’t start with the hair,” she requested, knowing what he was doing. “I — didn’t like the way it, ahem, set my eyes.”

He didn’t ask for explanation of this cryptic reply. Was there another subject he could broach while they sat in their hot tub, waiting for the guests to arrive? Tonight was the big night! He decided to talk about that.

“Tonight’s the big–”

“Don’t,” she cut him off. “Just don’t.”

—–

He was reminded when he walked back into the house after their long vacation that they had too many servants, perhaps way too many. But, to their credit, they were all still hard at work, manning their various posts. Gregg the Greeter in the foyer, now waiting for the first guests to arrive.

Sam the Scrubber up on the second level, still trying to get the last of those blood stains out of the wooden floor. Almost got it.

David the Duster as well. If only those damn dogs all about the house would stop shedding, he constantly thinks.

And Cookie the Cook, waiting for the tea to boil. Guests start showing up in about 30 minutes. Tea had to be hot but not too hot. Water might have to be reboiled but he’s ready if so. Bags just in that cabinet over there. He measures the steps to reach it. 7 he’s counting. And 5 bags for each pot. And 8 guests due to arrive. Two pots, then. Better put on a second kettle.

And, closest to them presently, Willie the, um, Watcher. Waiting for his wife to get out of the tub so he can slip a robe on her. He probably needs to go first. But that was also her special request, the last one hired. Don’t think he can then be the first to go. Can he?

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0213, Big Woods, Jeogeot

hollowed out volcano

Baker Bloch trying to love his new, temporary home and forget that his Collagesity rent is now 1 day overdue, pheh. PHEH.

He hasn’t quite got the lighting in here, he thinks. Trying out “Fairy dark blue (Paulina)” currently.

View of the place from the west. Complicated. Potentially many stories to tell within with the many dummies present. Just like Towerboro before it. Wonder how Towerboro is progressing — still a work in progress after all, according to the land description. But Baker shouldn’t be focused on the past. Instead: current. *Dairochia* — yes, that’s the name I concocted several novels ago now. Because we’ve been here before. Library. Looking for a particular book about monsters. Then: stolen.

And it has a secret core, Baker also remembers. Where the letter “l” was exchanged for an “i’.

Time to bring in Wheeler.

—–

“Morgan, eh? Just like Alysha.”

“Yeah,” Baker answered Wheeler. “I’m positive she’s still here.”

“She stole the book, she stole the letter. She won’t be welcomed in this here kingdom of several powers that be.”

“No,” agreed Baker.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0213, Dairocha, Nautilus, North

we know what will happen (this is part of Nautilus too)

Baker Bloch eats alone, Baker Blinker having excused herself to take her sub down to the beach. They’re apart again. When will the joining together occur once more? Soup’s getting cold. Better force yourself to take another bite. Spoon down… spoon up. There ya go (*slurp*).

—–

Later:

What’s he pointing to, Baker thinks while mimicking the gesture then following the indication.

Maybe this…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0213, Nautilus, North, Upper Austra^

Boo!

Not4Sale.

Crystal suddenly found herself confronted with an enigma, a puzzle, a riddle. Where had she just heard about this?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0213, New Island^, Omega^^

root of the problem

He found her in a town full of bigots and zombies on the other side of the wall, a mere apple’s toss from where he was before. Annaball or Annabell, the pretty, white, raspberry beret wearing woman of the night who was dating that [black guy] who just broke into town one day, stole all its dignity. She had ambitions, she did. The hooker aspect was just to tide her over until her *real* dreams kicked in. Plus she really wasn’t a hooker; they just hung that tag on her back because of the incident in the alley and it stuck. A lot of things get stuck in this town of 9 that can’t quite reach 10, however hard it might try at times (try 3.16 instead of 3). “And to think she use to teach our children!” exclaimed one when learning about the alley. “Abhorrent,” hissed the other sitting across from the first, still below the TILE colored lights where green mysteriously switches with yellow at times, another round and round situation. If only the carousel could stop. We have to get off.

“‘Nautilus,’ she said to me (he relayed later on to the proper authorities). ‘I have to get back to Nautilus.'”

“And you just let her *go*?”

“I didn’t… have any choice.”

“Dot dot dot,” the authority figure chided. “It’s always dot dot dot for you lot. You’re as bad as her,” he finalized, spiked helmet secured on zombie head with a dead leather strap. Or so they say.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0213, Jeogeot, Sunklands^

Head

5 til 3! she thought while looking out at the big Hooktip clock tower with her red and white umbrella peepers. I’ve got to get going!

I put on the garb of a white mage tonight, trying to act like I knew what I was doing. I was able to sit down on a diamond shaped plot of good ol’ actual Linden grass in a mainly artificial terrain constructed by the land owner of this little forest here, one Clare Nova. Remember her? Anyway I was smack dab on the Diagonal, at, let’s see, 36, 35. Close enough, as they say. One off of any of the two (or three) numbers is okay — difficult to tell any difference in the, um, energy, quote unquote. “It’s often not what’s right on The Diagonal,” I say to myself almost religiously, “it’s what you *see* from it.” Like that clock in the background Shelley Struthers up in the middle of the sim might be looking at at the same time. Actually, nope, in checking she’s put on that long Pepper shirt she likes now and is starting to brush her luxurious blonde hair (to her) in front of the vanity mirror. One stroke, she counts, two… three. Always 30 and she’s perfectly beautiful, almost as much as Ginger Granite down the lane. She can never get her bearings in this sim for some reason. What was its name?

30.

She splashes water on her face and prepares to face the world.

Today is the day she’s going to get up the nerve to speak to Tommy Tailgate, maybe goad him into asking her out. Goad? How about “guide”? She wants to get better at doing such things. Like Ginger again.

*Shelley*. That was the name of the lane. Like her!

There. Picture perfect.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0213, Heterocera, VHC City^