“We can do it too. Go ahead and sit down, honey. Let’s talk.”
“I hear the Toasty O’s are very good here in the morning.”
“Talk,” she requested, not wanting to dilly dally around. “Spill.”
“Cube. We found the cube. In Hook Tender.”
Her mouth became an O. “My… *home*?”
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0418, Bellisaria, Horns of Hatton^, Horsa^, Maebaleia/Satori, New Mexico
“So you’re ready to move on from this… *Pickle* state. Now that you’ve found a new host. Is that how it works?”
“I suppose so, David.”
“Don’t call me that here.”
“I’m sorry.” Pause. “But I did what I had to do to better…”
“… yourself,” David finishes for him.
“I can’t argue.”
David A.B. settles back in his chair, tries to calm himself. Although he is a God he’s prone to errors too. More emotional ones for him rather than intellectual, because of the brilliant, diamond-like brain and all inside his nogg’n, thanks to Mid Hazel. Or thanks to Mid Hazel for allowing him to keep it there. What does she want long-term, though? he ponders once more. It’s a direction he can’t see clearly, which is unusual. He’s asked Jenny to help. She should be here soon. Better wrap it up with this Pickle man dude.
“You better confer with the Ant. I know you hate him but…”
“… he’s a part of me too,” Sandman finishes for David this time. There is no me without we, he knows. Maybe he should have thought this whole host transferring thing out better, but, too late now.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0418, Pickleland
When to move you first, my Queen? Rey Wisa ponders from far below.
—–
“How about… *now*.”
“Omikron City is where I’m from,” a tipsy Teebestia continued for a half listening Danny. “Dancer.”
“Is a full house two sixes?” he asked, staring down.
“David *Bowie* was there. David frick’n Bowie!”
Danny sighs disinterestedly, looks to his right. “Where’d Jackson go? The big blue dude with the gun?”
“Yeah, we were hunting for something for sure,” she slurs, head wobbling. “A *demon*. A demon at the center of it all. Aspertame? Darnit! I can’t remember of the demon we were *all* hunting down there. Over there. Up there.” She points in different directions around the bar. “Hmmm. Why can I not think of… that name??”
Danny turned to her. “Astarte,” he said levelly.
Teebestia’s mouth drops. She even drools a little bit. “What did you say?”
Facing forward, he becomes disjointed again. “Nancy is sooo late.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0005, 0418, Heterocera, Lapara^
Seeing the front porch of Woody’s house appear to the right from behind some raised, pointed green terrain, The Musician decides to jump down from the blue path and head toward it. Keeping straight would quickly lead to the sky islands. He didn’t need to go there quite yet.
The front door of the house is open. Figures appear in the far corner of the single room floor, all gathered around a circular, white topped table. Seemingly not yet noticed, The Musician listens in on the conversation in progress.
“Well, Osborne, in the late 1970s McKay told John Conway, the inventor of the Game of Life, you know, that the coefficient of 196884 was precisely one more than the degree of the smallest faithful complex representation of the monster group. Conway replied that this was Jack Daniels style moonshine, in the sense of being totally wacko nuts.”
Woody stops speaking and turns toward the door. “Oh, howdy Musician! Welcome to physics night at Woody’s Outpost. I hope you like vertex operator algebra.”
“I’m not sure,” is all he could manage, then, looking to the left, added, “I like your tree,” to be more cordial.
“Thank you,” replies the wooden toy-man. “It was a house warming gift from a dear dear friend who still lives over in the quarantined section of Bennington. Sector R I believe they call it nowadays, don’t they Osborne?”
Osborne doesn’t answer, but just appears to keep reading his book with the queerly tentacled creature adorning the ancient cover. Another monster.
“Well, anyway, come on in,” Woody says. “Just pass through the twirly whirly Jaspery thing so we can check out your core being. Then you can join us here at the table. Just a simple test, you understand. We need to know who you really are, deep down. The area around The Table must remain sanctified, right Osborne?”
The Musician began to panic. Who *was* he deep down? He’d figured something out at LEA11 about his true self but then quickly forgot. What if he simply *vaporized* — had no inner core.
“Oh don’t fret,” Woody reassures, seeing the worry on his face. “Everyone has a core, Musician, whether they know it or not. Here, I’ll go first and show you. That’s only fair. Osborne just remains Osborne. Pretty boring.”
Woody gets up and moves into the center of the swirl. He quickly contracts into a sort of meatball, then reconstitutes. Woody’s core.
Then he contracts and expands again to return to his wooden toy self.
“See? Nothing to it. Now your turn.” Woody steps back toward The Table.
The Musician saw no way out. He entered the swirl.
“There,” comforts Woody. “That wasn’t so bad.” He turns to Osborne. “Look, Osborne. A ghost. The Musician is a tall ghost at the core. Cool, eh?” Osborne keeps reading. “Let’s check the name out. Ohh, a Jupiter, eh? I knew some Jupiters over in Farmington. You’re not related to Jeb and Stewart by chance?”
The Musician shakes his head. “How do I get back?” he asks. Would he have to stay this way *forever*?
“Takes a little longer for first timers,” Woody explains. “Just give it a moment. Try not to move too much.”
And then The Musician was back. Woody pulls a chair out at The Table and offers him a seat. “You can sit beside me. We have much to talk about. We need to get you reunited with Wheeler and heading to VHC City pronto. Bad juju going on there. We can use the key shop as a teleport device of course. I know you’re familiar with it.”
Ah, The Musician thought. So Wheeler was right all along.
—–
10:15PM: Heading back.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0004, 0418, Muff-Bermingham^^
“I guess this is goodbye Baker Bloch.”
“Not forever Wheeler. Just until we can figure out how to deal with you and Mid Hazel. Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie and I.”
“Tell Baker Blinker congratulations on the land sale. Oh, one last thing. I want to say goodbye to Old Mabel as well.”
“Very well.” He changes.
“My car disappeared,” starts Old Mabel.
“Never mind that *young* Martian. You can rez another one over there on Mid Hazel’s property.” She turns around and points.
“I hope that, at the least, you do not consider me a mortal enemy. I only used the Wilson mask as needed. I am truly David Bowie underneath it all.”
“Are you?” asks a still skeptical Old Mabel.
“I guess that’s what we’ll find out. Come over here now and rezz another car and skedaddle back to your Heterocera.” She walks forward, and Old Mabel follows. “Just through these pillars.”
“No,” says Old Mabel firmly, sensing a possible trap. “I’ll rezz the car from this position. I see the property lines.”
The Spookmobile appears above the “B” on the wooden platform. Old Mabel hops in remotely.
“You better change back into Baker Bloch or you might not be able to reach the pedals.”
“Oh right,” states Old Mabel, and she transforms once more. But Baker then has to stand up again and sit back into the car to fit properly. Mid Hazel’s plan had worked (of course).
Baker Bloch steers the car toward Wheeler and runs into her, moving her about 5 feet up and sideways both. Smiling, he drives up beside her again.
“Aw, what the heck,” he says, already under the spell. “Hop in. Let’s go see that (boy) Karoz of yours. Just for a little bit.”
“Just for a little bit,” reiterates Wheeler.
As they sloppily made their way back onto Highway 9, the only bridge into New Island remained open…
… for a lesser bit.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0003, 0418, New Island^
Sunklands 