“It’s a good strawberry shake. I wish we could have enjoyed such a shake while growing up.”
“What do you mean?” asked Poetry, truly confused in the moment.
Parasol changed, staring sideways at… “What did you say the name of that movie was?”
“‘Hot Rod Girl,'” Poetry said, not noticing the change and responding to earlier conversation.
“Another thing I could not enjoy.”
Poetry noticed the change.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Hana Lei^^
Straw Bear Y looks wistfully toward the northwest corner of Tyranea and Dr. Young Kane’s Mental Health Institute from her southeast position, wishing her husband Blue Bear Y would get well and be able to return home. But she knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon. They hadn’t kissed in ages!
Oh well, she has other options in the meantime. “Coming back to bed, honey pot?” Ralph the milkman queried from inside.
“Sure.”
“We’ll have to call this Widow’s Peak after this,” offered still all grown up Kate McCoy (the Real McCoy) to the others sitting around this 4 chair table. Still grieving the death of spouse Jack Snow all the way back at the end of section 1 of this here photo-novel, 18th in the series.
Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike across from her, surname reverted to her maiden one after the death of hubbie Ben Wolf in that newest Bena coup in 2 — *supposed* death — turned around in her seat to look at it. Audrey, the most recent of the widows (husband = just shot Jeffrie Phillips back in Urqhart), followed her gaze. Parasol (wife of The Mann, killed at the end of section 3), didn’t want to look but just pulled a drumstick out of her pocket and began to munch. “Grey matter,” she garbled to the now staring others. “So good.”
A miracle, thought Herbert Gold, looking on. I was just dreaming about this fenced-in place yesterday and no flowers. Yet spring is still far far away. I will mark this spot in my mind.
He takes second psychological photo and moves on.
Past the Petunia Trail toward his old home.
—–
“Snow or sand?” queries wife April Mae by his side, trying to snap him out of it. No more meeting makers and dying! she vowed day before Friday of last week’s Wednesday. He rubbed his non-platinum head, sat up. “Snow,” he responded, looking around as if trying to gauge the place he’s in. Seeing his color return, April Mae breathed a sigh of relief.
—–
“I was looking for — home,” he explained more later at the breakfast table. “But the bridge — the middle of the bridge…” Stopped him? he then thought. He still didn’t know where he was.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Rosehaven^^
It was time to make the House of Truth a permanent structure in Collagesity South.
Done.
He then sits and admires Carrcassonnee’s new “growth” before entering the neighboring temple. So olive green, just like herself. The plant makes the alien and the alien makes the plant. Nifty. Three again is the lucky charm as per legend: a tree in this case. Three Tree; good name (?).
Walking the Rainbow Labyrinth on the temple’s bottom floor may be required preparation later on but not right now. The Man About Time is prepared enough.
8-5-6-7-4-1-2-3-0
On second floor: much work to be done still. The Man About Time plays a Carl Nielsen piano piece to see how it affects the tv static. He believes that Carrcassonnee will like this music and looks forward to her approval. He’s here to entertain her, among other things.
Third floor: Carrcassonnnee herself. Alive and well. Well enough. For now. Later: mobility.
“Hi Carr. What’s up with you tonight. What you been thinking about today? Let me in on it if you may.”
“Helllllooooo MAT. I……. call you.. MAT. You…….. call me….. CARR.”
“Okay, Carr. Good deal. MAT it is. Okay.” He swings his arms around, temporarily faces away, then returns. “Hey Carr, I’ve been thinking…”
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”
“Um, yes Carr? You okay?”
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”
“Okay. Lemme take a closer look (at your eye)….” But MAT quickly realized that Carrcassonnee wasn’t physical any more, unlike the old days. He couldn’t climb up her leg and check the eye, like before. She was still in some kind of ethereal form. Better be careful with her, he realized. Take it slow; slow it down.
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii” Carrcassonnee repeated, but MAT decided he couldn’t help her today.
“Hey Carr. I — think we better postpone that chat until tomorrow, eh? Tomorrow it is my friend.”
Carrcassonnee just stares now. Everything seems okay. But everything wasn’t okay. Something hadn’t been locked into place yet.
The 7th.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Lower Austra, Nautilus^^
Curling up in a fetal position helped her cope with her fears. The sound of Preston Weston and the others eating some crunchy munchy cereal they requested comforted her as well. Here was her safe spot during breakfast, the clear place where she could think rationally about things. Like her weight problem (you’re *not* that overweight!); her drinking problem (3 glasses of wine a night for a woman my size is fine); her… other problem (having 3 lovers on the side is natural for a woman my… um, size? weight?).
She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. Preston Weston is currently chatting up Robin about some comic book he’s reading disgustingly called “666 Satan”. Says he wants to date this Ruby who’s a star within. This gets her pondering about her own star, which seems to be sinking. Displaced by a — well, she shouldn’t think that but it’s true. A black woman. A black woman with *horns*. Satan seems to have come to town and taken up residence.
She then decides that today is the day. Colored TV has also come to town, perhaps connected, she ruminates. It’s time for the black and white Sylvania to go away. Zenith’s where it’s at now. After breakfast she and Preston will go into town again before the TV shop disappears along with the laundromat, massage parlor, kitchen shop, etc. etc. before it. Maybe Jim A. will come by later on. Then she realizes that Jim A. has been in a coma for 20 years, frozen in time. It was Jim *B.* that comes to visit her, 1/2 of the famous or infamous band known as The Basterds (“The B.’s”) along with her father Keith B. Ahh, the old team. He should have never given up the ol’ circle within circle drums. That’s when it all started: the slide.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Pipersville/Sink X^
Another witch thrown over the edge of town, Brother Amos Truth observes from his brother’s Toppsity apartment balcony, fearful for his own life. Better grab Gabby and split pronto. He turns.
No time to rent a van in my estimation. We’ll send for the saved trees and treasure later.
And Sacky Doll. He’s been with us through thick and thin. Can’t lose Sacky Doll now!
—–
Cassandra City here we come.
—–
“I thought they were heading north instead of south, Hucka D. To Golden Sink or perhaps even Sink X.”
“Plans change,” states the blog’s spiritual guru plainly.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Toppsity
As of this afternoon, Collagesity is no more. A new town has sprouted up on the Nautilus continent to take its place. Name: 7 Stones. The transference is complete; Minoa properties are all up for sale. There’s a 5120 and 4096 next to the Rubi Woods, in case anyone is interested. Asking price: 2.3 linden dollars per square meter. Also there’s a 1024 over there owned by Wheeler going for L$1.7 per sq. meter.
Shocked I could move a town so fast? So am I. But almost *everything* was transferred, with a few exceptions. The SoSo Mall didn’t make it. Nor did Pitch’s Darkly Manor. But about everything else was successfully shifted from Minoa to Fordham (my new home sim) in well under 3 days.
7 Stones Phase 1 is complete. The town has been established. I’m now on Phase 2, which will include stabilizing and then reopening the Fal Mouth Moon and SoSo galleries formerly present in Collagesity, and just rounding out the place in general as the dust continues to settle.
Why the name change? one may ask, especially since the current plan is to display about the same amount of collages in the town. Well… just decided it was time. And the name 7 Stones actually has a history in this general vicinity. Too long a story to go in tonight. I have plenty of time to delve into town history, because I’m certainly here for a while, probably years.
For the record, this is the 5th appellation change for a virtual village of my creation, starting with Pietmond in 2010. But the name Collagesity has lasted the longest by far, existing from June 2014 until this month. 5 year anniversary would have been in a month and a half (!). Sad… but the new town is working out so well. Everything is slotting in really nicely.
Shocked…
Some more preliminary shots:
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Lower Austra, Nautilus^^
After several hours of lounging and drinking, a man appears on the beach in front of Duncan and Sam as a sea monster’s fin manifests in the water behind him. They can’t help but notice the conjunction.
“That is a monster who has turned into a man,” Duncan says in a low voice to his war vet friend.
“Indeed,” Sam murmurs back.
—–
But the two were just drunk and spouting relative nonsense. The man, who was actually The Mann, couldn’t see Duncan and Sam on their deck since he was in a different sim. He continued on down the beach past Matilda the snake, hoping to meet Da Womann before dusk. Shirley was her name. Or Ethel. Something.
—–
Made it!
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Fruity Islands^^
“Well? How’d it go?” asked Jim the Pirate Bartender about Marion’s exploration of Anson. He was nosey that way. Regular customers usually liked it. Strangers sometimes put off. Like Marion Harding. But he relented, wanting to abate rumors while telling the real, *checkable* facts as much as possible.
“Nothing much there except a hull,” he tested. “No autos within now for certain.”
“We *know* that, Mr. Hardware,” Jim said, speaking for the bar collective he felt he presently represented.
“Harding,” Marion corrected about his name.
“What about Anton? What’s he look like these days? Use to come in here you know. Alternated between a bloody bucket of nails and a naily bucket of blood. Rough drinks both. Usually dove back into the sea pretty wasted. Surprised he didn’t actually drown he was so sloshed.”
“You know that’s impossible,” Marion corrected again. “You know we can all breathe under the water. Above the atmosphere, under the water. Survive fire and flood — although there is that rumor about a volcano on the Old Continent where avatars could actually perish.”
“But look at your friend Stinky Brinkman you spoke about earlier. Riddled with bullet holes. You said you were there at the funeral and another gunfight erupted, with three more dead. Then at *their* funerals nine more dead. What was the total at the end?”
“138,” replies Marion in a level tone. “138 avatars killed so far. Chain reaction, yeah.” He shook his head, thinking about Stinky more than any of the others. “But they aren’t really dead, see. The *core* remains to rise another day. Actually,” he then reconsidered, “there is another way to truly die. You can deactivate yourself — obliterate the core. I’ve been told it’s possible but I’ve never known anyone to actually do it. The problem might be: when you deactivate yourself that way you rub yourself out of existence, so no one remembers anything about you, past or present. It’s as if you never existed in the first place. Working theory mind you.” He took another sip of his Brewmeister’s Quarterly, still being careful not to drink too much. Because that’s when he gets in trouble with the revealing.
“Well I never,” Jim replied, wanting to get back to Anton. He wiped the counter in front of him a bit and collected his thoughts again. “I’ve heard he’s only a beard these days. Anton, I mean.”
Close, Marion thinks. But then utters: “I didn’t see him. No autos, no Anton.”
“Impossible,” returns Jim. “There’s a green dot on the map up there. It’s usually there. It’s gotta be Anton. We’ve had ships pass over the wreck and examined their NAR (Nearby Avatars Radar). Anton: usually the culprit. In fact — let me check my own map right now (Jim’s face went blank for a moment) — well he’s not there now, but *usually* is. Sometimes, anyway.
A cyberwoman walks into the bar and settles into a stool two down from Marion, paper airplanes whirling ’round and ’round her head. Spy? he considers. Jim keeps talking about Anton. Marion wishes he would really shut his yapper now.
“Maybe he’s totally invisible. He use to be whole, like when he came in here. But then there were reports of just a beard and a coat, just a hat and some pants. Maybe he really is gone, man. Dead even.”
“Is this Anton a boy of about 10 years old,” Cyberpaperdoll then inserted.
“Um, no,” Jim answered.
“Well, never mind, then. Paper plane cocktail if you will.”
—–
What Marion actually saw:
Shoes buried in the sand — uncovered. And the left one holding something small and green and almost priceless he soon found out. About $500,000 lindens worth of almost priceless. Enough to leave Second Lyfe altogether if he wished. But, truth be told, he only wanted to get back to that ice fishing shack over in Horizons-Spica. He dreamed about it almost every night.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Nautilus City, Nautilus^^
