“Will you two just *stop* with the arguing,” requested Inky Woman from the Falls, hair getting wetter and wetter. The water should be becoming blacker any time now.
Any time now.
What were the two frog-ish goldfish, Goldie and Grayscale, arguing about or perhaps just discussing in a loud way? Bodies of water, I’m guessing. When does a pond become a lake?; how many acres does it have to be for the name transaction to kick in? 100, Goldie is guessing. “100 *feet* or 100 acres?” responds Grayscale, trying to differentiate 1d from 2d, like any good mathematician. Goldie is a linguist, though, and his experiences with numbers is not good. Instead: letters are his numbers, as Grayscale would understand. If he grasped letters at all. “1 through 10: 100,” he exclaimed to the other in a voice that definitely argued for argument now. “Well, A-Z right back at you!” Yells. Definitely getting louder and louder. “75! 3/4ths!” “A-B-C-D; R!” “125!!” “R. RADAR!!”
Goldie turned to his left and Grayscale to his right. Inky Woman had played her card, avoiding a crash. Jenny Lind enters Pickleland from above. All are embarrassed they even argued at all as the Great Woman stepped out of the ship and onto the green of the lake (or pond) peninsula. Graceful. Like a butterfly. She told her entourage to wait within while she settled the matter.
She takes 1 step. She takes 10 and is upon them. “Lake,” she responds to Goldie. She turns (changes). “Pond,” she says to the other. Then, hair still not wet, she moves away.
Baker reading a popular history of the Trojan-Durexian Wars and contemplating the “what ifs” of a Durexian win, an alternate reality. What if… the voodoo spells were a little more advanced at the end; what if… the Southern Passage could have been secured 3 days earlier by Lord Duncan and his crew. Water under the bridge now, because the North defeated the South, although the Great East-West Highway represents a tangible barrier between the two still. So besides being split off, in essence, from the rest of Our Second Lyfe, the Omega continent remains kind of split itself, despite the unifying government. Lisa the Vegetarian played a role in setting all this up. Quartz was her game, and the Omega continent mountains centered around a large lake contained plenty of it. She was able to buy mountain after mountain, selling most of them eventually but retaining some, like the one where Tessa is temporarily staying in that treehouse with a strong butterfly theme. This is her half-sister after all (!). Why wouldn’t she try to help out, now she knows the urgency of the situation.
Baker here sits on the side of the same mountain, staring out at an old Durexian air base with a bamboo plane relic, a heritage site now. Because bamboo didn’t cut it in the end, despite the strong voodoo. Not strong enough anyway; later it got out of hand as poverty increased.
I’ll never forget the first rehearsal—her clear comprehension of music and text at sight. I’ve never encountered such a perfect concept at the first reading, simple, natural, and from the heart.
Dinner Girl often dreams she is her great great grandmother Din Din, or at least her winged statue in NWES City’s huge police station harboring a vast law enforcement system. Liberating the city of all men who don’t understand or submit and making unions with like-minded strong, weapon toting woman across the globe, like the Amazonians. Great people they are, great tribe. Except for the, well, sawing, and I’m not referring to snoring here. What is *left* is the one. Leforest should know, now called Phyllis in this here blog and blog derived photo-novel 22… well, you know. Leforest Bresford. Let’s see what she’s up to. And where the *heck* did Hucka Doobie go? Oh well… on with the show. The show must go on, as Mercury X. Rising once sang to complement the going insane one.
It is happening again.
The jazz and beatnik club known as The Dive was actually just a front for the numbers station in a secret room below the establishment. An old bomb shelter. Charlie Banana became humanized after being successfully contacted by Poetry Dancer. They listened to the artful tunes of D.J. Marty, still intent on finding out whether Yoko was a good or bad witch. We’d determined that Mid-Hazel was the real manipulator behind the scenes. Another All the Numbers situation, most likely. He played his Pepper album both forwards and backwards at once to attempt to create a third, higher perspective. Lt. Salt entered the club and
killed them all bought them all drinks. It was an unexpected result.
“What am I doing here? In this sim, pheh.” She waves the bat in the air, contacting nothing.
Downstairs in the Purple Marz house, somewhat human again Jack Snow answers the door. For no one.
“Rerro? (pause) Rerrooo?”
How much for the lot of you?” Peter Osseo asks in a neighboring Southeast sim.
“50 lindens,” the talking battymobile responds for both.
Your job, er, Tom — just like before — is to guard it day and night. Just stay here. I’m going to find out what makes this baby tick!”
“It’s like a really — loud clock,” mafia dude Tom Blinks complains softly, then wonders the obvious.
Peter Osseo wakes up with a start…
… then vows to get rid of that crazy bat wing vanity he bought yesterday on sale asap.
Peter Oesso wakes up.
From his Holy Island in Henrietta, red rose holding Marcus Fox Smartville receives more information from the laggy, texture overloaded Oracle before him.
Corsica is an elephant — yes. He already knew that, staring beyond the Oracle into the far corner of the building. He imagined the fantastical, imposing elephant there trumpeting additional, savage notes with his huge trunk which emerged as ants that came into view after spilling on the floor before it and marching toward the Oracle, hell bent on protection. Symbiotic relationship.
“One of us is going to kill the other one, you know.”
“I know. (pause) I hope it’s you.” Communication bleeps from the opposite side of the room. They both stare over.
“The Oracle says it’s time for me to ride your back over to the island, Mr. Purple.”
He puts away the knife. For now. “Hop on.”
By the time he reached the island, Purple (and) Bear had become one again. He stares over at his old house. The one stolen from him by Rules of Rose.
(to be continued?)
“Hi Carrcassonnee. Welcome back, heh. Whattaya got to say for yourself? Hear it’s been a long, long time for ya, huh? Carrcassonnee?”
“I…….. am……… back?”
“That’s right, Carr. Can I call you Carr? Like something-I-can-drive kind of car. Except with another ‘r’ at the end.”
Carr(cassonnee) thought heavily. “I…………. suppose.”
“Great, Carr, heh.” The Man About Time spins around while holding out his arms. This was truly a joyful moment. Carr is alive! She’s come back. “Do you know what happened? How you got back?”
Carr senses something at her left foot. A buzzing, a humming. Life! “Something……. about……… plants?”
“That’s right, Carr baby. Plants. 3 plants, but 2 are dead. But that one, man. That one did the trick. Either you brought *it* back to life or it brought *you* back to life. Either one: you’re back. Man. Dad-i-o.”
Who…. is….. this….. man? Carr then thought, less lumberingly and limbering up. Is he……. dad? And…. this…. moss.. hanging.. off. Me. Carr tried to look down at the moss draping from her left arm but couldn’t. Had to keep staring at The Man About Time instead. But she could feel it. And she could see it peripherally. She could see a lot of things that way. A bit of the just resurrected Collagesity Tower almost completely at a right angle to her through the right window, for example. A structure she recognized. Collagesity, she thought. *Home*.