She was at the house now, or the edge of the hill it stood proud and dominant upon.
She summoned Newt again to take a gander at what she’d found. This was obviously the source of their names. They *were* still married…
… to this town.
“You’ve found the shower again, congratulations. It’s in the Oracle you know. Chicago.”
“I think you mean Illinois,” I replied. “As in: someone was bad and deserved to be
“In the circle of the shower with the water on, all is good,” he replied confidently. The person sitting opposite of me. Triangle, I gather. Something about the stabbing of the duck obviously. I am now a resident. How did *that* happen?
“You are not dead,” I decided to say. “You were supposedly killed–”
“Look to the House on the Hill. All revolves around the House on the Hill. Just like before.” The apparition, so solid just a second ago, fades…
She finally got out of the shower and put on some clothes, bound and determined to find the graffiti that would set her free.
She’d left the water in the shower running but it was on purpose: to prove a point. Or, better, to remind her of something. A key, 2nd shower really not needed since no poop is involved.
She was finished with her clients but there was more work to be done tonight before
going home bed. Check on the Duck. Because she was about ready to kill someone…
… with writing. “Dear,” she called over to her ex but both still using Gold for a surname. “How do you spell asimilation? With that extra s I’m always mising? Dear oh dear. There I go again!”
“Answered yourself of course,” he responded, not staring up from the folded newspaper. 20 dead in Uptown this year so far. What is Gold City coming to??
“Yes,” she realized. “All I have to do is look down.”
“Or straight ahead…” *sip*
“… if a computer is involved, yes.” Which it wasn’t in this Gold City experience of hers. She preferred pen over keys here. Must be something about running away as fast as possible from the Ebony and the Ivory. Dove’s where it’s at now. She just used it in fact. In the shower. Which she needs to take another of. *No*. She has the key, she reminds herself again, still writing, still scribbling sideways across the yellowing paper, perhaps parchment. *Barry* is the one. He needs the shower. But where is Barry?
Still scribbling, still writing.
Newt sets the paper down. He’s had enough bad. Now for good. “I’m glad I found you again Eyela. Just mised you in the church, ha.”
She looked down, emitted a small laugh as well. Good one, Newt. Then she took the pen and struck out that sentence. Then another, and another until the whole paper was full of lines. Newt was gone. Newt, her ex, perhaps even still her husband since she’s reverted back to Eyela and/or they still share the same last name, was never here. Or else he left earlier. She writes alone.
Later she sits in bed staring at the sword, wondering how to turn it back into a pen. Looks like actual killing is in order if she doesn’t succeed with this.
Because the Duck is right beside her.
“Yes?” he quacked.
“I think… it’s… time…” STAB
Marsha “Pink” Krakow was praying in a Mid-town church. Newt just missed her. “God bless Mama, rest her soul. And Dada. And most of all my little boy all grown up and playing with fire now. Help him not manifest the Duck any longer.”
Fat chance, he thinks simultaneously while spraying in Southside.
She releases the doves from the steeple, hoping one would poop the truth on him, just like with her.
Here he or she comes!
Newt walks down 64th exactly aligned with longitude 64 in the sim. He’s just done the same in Big Woods sans a road to follow, trying to also figure out the lay of the land there. *There* has shifted to here. Witness the Duck in the background (!).
Wall of purest Green ahead. And that confounded gold tipped pyramid. How did Eyela know it would be here??
Now to find her, Newt thinks. Could have shifted shapes already, exchanging old for new. Very likely, given her history.
There’s also some clear indication that an association exists between this new town, this Gold City as I call it derivatively, and NWES City on the west side of the continent — opposite coast.
Remember NWES City and *its* Applewood? Primary setting for photo-novel 22, perhaps the best of the lot, or at least most profoundly, um, balanced front to back (unless it’s 25, 19, 16, 13, 10, 7, 4 or 1 in the series). We also saw Marsha “Pink” Krakow in that one, along with her boy Barry. Applewood (sim) is most prominently featured, though, in section 1 of photo-novel 16, which matches a NWES City narrative to one created in Nautilus’ Collagesity (when it existed), or, more precisely, a NWES City narrative unfolded in sections 1, 3, 5 *balanced* (that word again) by a Collagesity narrative existing in sections 2, 4, and 6 to complete. In photo-novel 22, as it happens, Collagesity has, in essence, *merged* with NWES City (briefly) to form a synthesis of inner/personal and outer/general, the goal of my journeys since the failure of same back in photo-novel 4 when I tried it with (what I call again) VHC City.
Is Newt thinking some of these same thoughts about past photo-novels as he continues to explore Gold City, advertised by the owner as the *second* largest city of the Jeogeot continent? Probably. Can you guess the largest? I think you can.
One more note here. The rent is significantly higher in Gold City than NWES City, which I would assume makes it more difficult to flesh out a story like I did with the latter. Right now I’m working along the lines that the name Applewood here is planted on purpose in its honor. Add in my efforts past and present, and we may have some kind of overall Jeogeot mythology forming from the aether.
At the midway point up in the sim, Newt turns left from 64th onto Southbridge, hoping to get more answers tonight.
My boy is 15 minutes late, she thought beside the absorbed portrait in the middle of town. Better go meet up with him.
She looks just like I remember her! he thought. Hadn’t changed a bit. But the designer drug was wearing off bit by bit. One by one, the wrinkles began to appear on her face, under her eyes, alongside her chin. Yes: different. Mom but changed. The years have treated her well but they’re still years to live with. Barry realizes the duck will be gone too when he returns to his motel. It was *their* diner. They always met here under the gold tipped pyramid. To talk about life, where they were both heading, where they have been. His mother was always more like a best friend than a parent. She was only 17 years older than him. He felt like he could talk to her about anything. Including the duck.
“Mom,” he starts.
“Don’t,” she said, putting finger to lips and making a shh sound. “I know about the duck.”
(to be continued)
The TV didn’t work but he had his computer, his game. Toilet paper dispenser right beside the bed, actually a little over top of the bed. That’s normal, right? he asked himself while automatically logging in. He left now blue haired Cloe at the bank holding a gun in one hand and 50,000 lindens in the other. Paper bag, again. He goes back back back to when he was a kid, getting take out for them while Mom was busy with, er, clients, she said. Only later of course did he understand what that meant. She had a room downtown, very much like this one. In fact… no: impossible. The old motel was torn down about ’67, he supposed, right around the time of the robot revolution (Robolution). He himself became a mechanoid for 3 years after that — whaddaya call them? A *hybrid* anyways. Anyway. Dr. Diper fixed him up in late ’70, and by ’71 he was back on the streets, peddling duck dope to the ones also fortunate enough to come through the other side of the mess. Mid-town rebuilt. *No* robots allowed. They had to move back down to Southside by the railroad and the chicken plant. *They* didn’t have any noses, the town council decided. They can handle the fowl stench.
Meeting Mom in 30 minutes, Westside Diner. Shower and general tidying up didn’t take as long as he recalled. Clothes fit perfectly and didn’t have to be rehemmed. The man remembered the boy remembered the man. Cap fit rightside up instead of upside right. He left Cloe moving quickly to the get away car with the bag, unwitting Fran at the driver’s seat. She’s as culpable as the other now. “Get the lead out!” she said while slamming the door (END). Enough of all that, he thought. I’ll read a book for 15 minutes, and maybe it will be time to start my shower again since I left the water on.
Shhh, don’t tell anyone.
She checks the graffiti portrait in the exact center of town to make sure (128/128 Yangban).
Yes this hair will do fine. 🙂
Barry DeBoy checks into the Mid-town motel of the large Jeogeot city with the Duck.
Came with the room apparently.
He figured with all the other stuff happening, it’s his now. “Excuse me, Paul,” he said while squeezing past it to wash his hands and tidy up.
Meeting Mom in 3 hours. He’s very nervous. They hadn’t seen each other in 3 hours. Just enough time to shower and get ready. Ready get and shower to time enough just.
She suddenly stopped the 1947 BLACK BEAN ROD 9 in the middle of the road and looked over. Pyramid. Just like pictured on The Bill. Gold tip at the top. Then…
…. Barry walked out of the Chinese restaurant on the other side with their take out orders, still looking for his. Dunce he remains; making a lot of D’s. Well: only 3 this year, an improvement. He obviously chose this location for Eyela to pick him up for symbolic reasons. Seeing the boy, Eyela forgets the before times, becomes absorbed in the Gold experience. She has the key still, hidden deep deep deep in her pockets. 319. Alls she knows now is that the room is somewhere around, and that Barry is with her.
He’s still walking in place, waiting for her to change into his Mom. Should be any second.
Aah. What the heck (door slam). We’ll just go with Eyela as his Mommy. But we may still change the name to Pink. I’ll dig up some more appropriate hair soon.
“Mmm. Smells good!” she says pleasantly, and then motors down the highway to parts yet unknown.