Category Archives: 0306
She describes the parcel. “Planet X, in the same sim of Icefyre as Mercury X. (Rising). And then the Mercury capsule just beyond in Neptune sim’s Neptune Bay. So many planets I see.”
“Icy planets, yes. Well: Neptune. Planet X I suppose as well, since it’s suppose to be beyond Neptune. I think.” Merry Gouldbusk’s sometimes lover Sandy Beech looks around at the sandy beach that represents the 512 parcel known as Planet X. Not much here. Just a couple of palm trees, couple of chairs and a “lounging boat”, a central patio fire, and several bags that use to contain men’s sandals before they were unpacked and put in someone’s inventory. Presumably the owner of the parcel, one [delete name].
“I suppose *this* is my queendom now. I can’t go back to Rosehaven. They already have a princess. I was just a (stunted) double for another.”
“True enough.” Sandy thinks here of his own doppleganger, a more cartoon-ish version of himself named Desert Knobb.
“Annnnd CUT!” Eraserhead Man calls offscreen in front of them. “That was great guys. Since Sandy is thinking of Desert here, let’s just switch him out. So Walter, if you would just change places with Herbert over there. Just say the same lines that Sandy was suppose to say in the script. Improvise if you feel the need.” The 2 actors switch places. “Annnnnnd ACTION!”
“Have I ever told you about the place I’m from? Great Belt? It’s very close to here: Icefyre. In fact they…”
“… may be one and the same,” Merry completed. Sandy was on his beach, Sandy was on his island. He can never leave. Just like me.
Why did he switch chairs? he thinks, staring over at the weapon wielding Dinner Girl. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it! But he wasn’t in the direct line of fire. Not quite. He knew who was. History was repeating itself. But first to the other.
“Blue Berry Girl,” Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer addressed, turning to his left and prying his eyes away from the huge barrel of a gun pointed kind of right at him. 1/2 and 1/2 (oh boy). “We were expecting someone else.”
“I know. She couldn’t make it. Stomach ache, let’s say. No: let’s go with flu.”
“Has she been tested?” Dr. Baumbeer was all about testing. Because it could be one thing but it could also be another. You couldn’t know without the test. Baumbeer sneezed here, but not in his arm. In the air. The girls stared at him. Had he inadvertently infected everyone in the room? His stomach was hurting after all, although he chalked that up to the nerves of the present situation, with the gun and all. But maybe it was the other thing. He better get to the point and have a test himself. He has to see this through first.
“Um hmmmmm,” she answered haughtily. She lowers the gun a bit. She’s lightening up and becoming less tense. Baumbeer’s shoulders sag, a relaxing exercise he’d learned long ago back in mummy embalming school in Egypt. He trained with the best. It was an Illuminati run campus after all, pyramids all around. And here he is. Still in the middle. A good place to be post-mortem.
“Tell me 5 things you love about Supper.”
When she answered food items instead, Baumbeer knew he was in trouble. The gun was raised again. She wasn’t taking this seriously. Because she was here to kill someone and that alone and he wasn’t here in the moment. Someone had come to life too soon with his Neptune style blonde hair and all and was foiling everything they had tried to accomplished in Our Second Lyfe. Which was to suppress the dead; keep them in their grave. No red meat for any of ’em.
(to be continued?)
“I don’t know how long I was a mouse but it was a long time. I lived in the richest house in town but we were still dirt poor. Like all the rest. Audrey lived 5 doors down. There were no houses inbetween. Just doors: upright, as if still serving a function. And perhaps they were.”
Jeffrie Phillips was becoming impatient with the doctor’s rambling story. Why was he the doctor now? What happened to the old one? He asked these aloud.
“I’m trying to tell you, Baker Bloch.”
Baker Bloch? Jeffrie Phillips thinks here. But then he realized the (new) doctor was right. That was he. And this was his bakery. Bake’s Bakery, with the demon hot beverage dispenser to complete. It didn’t work without the vending machine. He decides to ask the doctor about it next.
“So tasty,” Doctor Mouse compliments. “I had a, let’s see (he checks his inventory), a Jedi tea. I suppose that’s something from Star Wars.”
“Star *What*?” Jeffrie Phillips had never heard of Star Wars. “Do you mean Star Trek?”
“I do not,” the doctor measured out. He keeps thinking back to the drink, and how it vanished into thin air just before he could take the last swallow. Oh well: delicious still. No need to ask for a prorated discount from Baker Boy here. The Boy.
He first met him when he was this Mouse. He tells Baker Baby Buddy Boy this here. His old nickname. It rang a bell.
“The spotlight is on you, Yoko Ona. It is your decision where the brain goes next. Does it return to its original owner David A.B., making him *normal* again? Or somewhere different altogether? But (weighted pause): your choice.”
Yoko Ona knew it was no more her choice than anything else ’round these here Heartsdale parts. She’d already been cloned twice! Replacements are standing by, as they say in show business. David A.B. it is.
Now to just find the right time for slicing his head open once more.
She studies his every move during his perpetual interaction with fellow coven member Linda Halsey. He steps into the road right…
The next day he’s taken to the hospital after being sideswiped by a beat up old station wagon in front of this very same motel. There Yoko makes her move.
“Officer Ferguson’s just here to ask you a couple of questions, pumpkin.”
“Da-ddy! Don’t call me that.” She indicated her pink outfit. “Wrong color!”
“Oh, this won’t take but a second of your time, me laddie,” interrupted Tank Ferguson, uncomfortable with talking about colored people. “We’re just here to discuss your visit to the old Perch place from the other day. We suspect — an unrendering of volume.”
The Man — playing Pink’s daddy in the current scene — gasped from his corner, but the gesture was a forgery. Fooled Tank, though, which was the important thing in the moment. “You *didn’t*,” he exclaimed to his little pink girl. “So… you saw the Big Inside,” he further rationalized. He turned to Officer Ferguson. “I *promise* Tank, that this will *never* happen again. I’ll — well I’ll never let her out of the house again!”
“Da-ddy,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow offered quieter now. “It was just a one time thing. We didn’t *go* inside… the, you know, Big Inside. We just looked at it, peered in just a bit. Peeked in, ahem.” Marsha “Pink” Krakow knew she had slipped up with the mention of a “peak”. Tank Ferguson, who majored in psychology before switching to criminal justice just before what would have been his senior year, caught the Fraudian slip. Pink’s face started turning beet red. Tank pivoted toward The Man. “I think we know what’s going on now.”
“We *do*?” he sputtered, but also knowing full well what was going on just beneath the surface slippage.
“I’m going to verify it with that SEAN child who lives down on Arnold Lane and then Olive Green, if she’s returned from the monastery.”
“You’ll never find her,” boldly responded Pink to the officer, in full defense mode now. “She’ll always be hiding just outside your grasp.”
“Oh I think I know where I can *find* her,” retorted Officer Tank Ferguson, smug look appearing on his face. He stared at The Man again. “Just so happens *I* have a daddy involved as well.”
“Bazooka?” shot back The Man, truly thinking the old geezer was dead in his grave. He’d been away too long.
(to be continued?)
“It’s time to get a form, Summerhill Nova,” The Lord said in her head, the same one that spoke to fellow Oodite Ben Wolf, and perhaps still does (more later on that — involves the *second* Bena — we’ll see what happens). Oh, they don’t call themselves that name any longer. Christians they are now. No more underground planchette movements in the middle of the night. That can only spell TROUBLE. Weegee is no longer the key. *Visibly*.
Summerhill knew full well who the Lord was. She use to rent to him. But 20 linden dollars a month and her will to charity can only go so far. *If* he returns it will be for the regular price, the one everyone else pays that stays “x” amount of time. And it will depend on the destruction of Collagesity. Just like before. And she told him that in *his* head.
I asked her about the missing wall at the Point of It All, the one where my collage formerly hung in the underground, where The Musician became Sikul Himakt once again several years back now to translated the codes and symbols correctly. She said it was just a building mistake, corrected at one point. Didn’t have anything to do with me and my art. Oh, but I begged to differ. It has *everything* to do with it.
“When you erased that wall — those *rooms*,” I explained patiently in her head, “you changed reality. Something was let loose; something was lost.”
She asked again about Pitch Darkly so I told her the full story of what I knew up until now. She was rather shocked he was in Bena. And even the older, original house in Instabar, about as close as I could get to that summit that represents the “featured” peak of the present section.
“You’ll have another Red Pepper incident if you don’t watch out.”
She was right, I realized while spotting an avatar in the house just above it. I wisely decided to delete the structure…
… delete the structure
… delete the structure. Oh heck. I can’t do it.
She kept pressing. “What of the name Bemberg for, er, my sim?”
I said it was an Oracle thing. Like Sikul Himakt. Like Vainom Kug. I resisted saying once more she didn’t die in Vain but in VHC City, but I did segue from that into telling her there was a Firesign Theater angle to all this, involving member Phil Austin in part. Maybe in a major part. I explained the choice of the name Melder for the sim her church was in. And next door: Fharsine. “Melder points to Elmer and the underground,” I said. “That’s why you are…”
“… white as glue?”
“I think we’ve got everything we need, Merry. Rope, tent, flashlights. It’s all there. The general store here set us up real good with all these freebies.” He finally looks over; pays attention. “Oh my, you’ve changed again.”
“Yeah, the skin is gone. Been gone for about 30 minutes,” *Breeze* replies. “You’ve been calling me the wrong name for a while.”
Axis goes over to her, holds her. “I’m sorry.” They lock hands. “I promise to pay more attention.”
“It’s okay.” She leans in for a kiss.
“I see it in the enlarged fire, Rules of Rose. Merry Gouldbusk is succumbing (!). We must do something to alter the mix.”
“Do something,” Rules of Rose echoed, also staring. “But — what?”
Ruby Fantasie looked to her right. “Norris. Norris could help. Put him back in that tree.”
“If you in-*sist*,” spoke the elven fairy, readying her powers of teleportation once more. This was her plan all along, though.
“He already knows his lines. Just send him. Break a limb!” she called over for encouragement as he vanished from the scene.
Jer Left Horn spots the source of the call up in his beloved tree. He stands. “Who are you?’
The Peninsula it is called, because it lies between two bodies of water and also kind of juts into them. Sort of. Anyway, the name still seems apt, given the flag in Heidi Hunt Ives’ new bedroom in her new digs, formerly Danny’s trailer. But who lives in the Scarlet Creative Sylvia House that sort of centers this peninsula? Is it Mabel once more? Or Ruby?
“That’s very nice Melvin,” Baker Bloch says as the small demon offers him a fresh bowl of hot fly and centipede soup while he ponders such questions.
Whatever, 7 Stones seems as alive as it ever has and in no danger of going away anytime soon atall now.
Maybe it’s *finally* time to bring back Karoz, hmmm.
Baker then watches reruns of old Lum and Abner shows on the tellie with Jerry until the latter gets sleepy and is put to bed by Gus, the caretaker taking care of the evil spawn until permanent residents are decided for *this* place, another NWES transplant into 7 Stones…
… as is the Red Umbrella gallery on the upper side of the Peninsula. Nifty. Switching out the larger Red Umbrella formerly here for this considerably smaller one allowed the formation of the Peninsula in the first place; domino effect once more.
Roth Voomer never found his hands. But he found a home. Horns of Hatton. Although he lacked horns, the locals liked that he always had a hat on. The name Horns of Hatton, according to legend, came from the fact that original settlers had horns big enough so that hats couldn’t hide them, or else they poked through the hats and that became a fashion. So the Horns remained even though they had a Hatt-on. Others speculate that this only means some kind of Ur settler, perhaps attached to an Ur homestead, was part goat or ram, maybe also making him (or her) a Capricorn or Aries. Probably the latter (ram/Aries).
Roth was sub vice deputy in charge of mainland marine. Basically what this means is that he had to take care of the local whale. Up in the air it was, always flying in circles around his provided house. His home in the trees. The Queen instructed him to feed the picky, carnivorous whale every two months, but not one of the local villagers. Go over to Tipton for that, she said with a laugh, and pointed northeast. So every couple of months, Roth had to take a royal vehicle over to this town about 5 sims north and 4 sims east of Horns to club or stab or shoot a couple of locals over there and bring them back for food. The Queen said Big Blue — the name of the whale — didn’t like bones so he’d have to de-bone the bodies before offering them up. She provided the royal dungeon underneath the palace for this kind of activity. Roth always had trouble de-boning the hands, but this was because it always reminded him of his years growing up, his father, his brothers. The War Against the Savants took his hands but not his head nor heart. And now the remaining 2 out of 3 natural assets had also found a resting spot, perhaps a final one. Treehouse.
Ahh, he misses the old Queen a bit. But he’s met the new ruler (Grey Scale), although he can’t quite remember her name (Grey Scale). If only he could think of it — right on the tip of his tongue (Grey Scale). Ahh, oh well. But nothing has changed much. He’s heard rumors that the whale may be in danger, but dismisses them as just part of the instability of change. But he doesn’t yet know how intensely Grey Scale (Grey Scale — that’s it!) hates the color blue, especially something big and ever-present. You can see the flying whale from about anywhere in town.
“Hi up there.”