Complete loss of red. Black Elephant confronted full on.
“I know what you are. I know why I’m here!”
“You’re just going to have to admit it, Speck. This *doesn’t* depend on logic. Synchronicity instead.”
“Now get the meter stick out and let’s measure the distance between these two tables. If it’s the same as over in [Denshore] then I’ll sh-t my pants…”
“… but not be surprised,” finishes Speck. “That is logical.” Speck imagines seeing the face of God, like he did in that first movie. Beauty. So much beauty. He’s lucky to ever get his mind back after that.
“Hold it right there gentleman!”
“Oh rats,” Speck exclaimed.
“Hold on, hold on, Speck,” the Cpt. says, putting his hand out. “I’ll handle this.” He moves forward toward the new figure. “Luke Pickard, this is *our* planet, our Corsican continent. Get your own elephant continent to explore and conquer!”
Pickard glances right toward the red eyed elephant, proclaiming: “Eleph? Eleph’s a mere prop. What you’re looking for is a *real* elephant, one with Ants crawling from his trunk.”
“Explain,” the Cpt. quickly returned. Pickard moves forward to join them as in a triangle. “Let me take over and I’ll show you.” He edges closer to Speck than the Cpt. Everyone understands the game now.
The Cpt. draws his phaser and rushes over to Speck. “Never!”
Duncan Avocado was wandering around the various stairs, tunnels, beaches of The Rot, thinking he’ll never be able to figure out The Waste. Huge! And dangerous.
While ruminating this, he spots what appears to be a face in the rocks at the top of a nearby, ruined tower. I’m not one to focus on seeing faces in random patterns (pareidolia), but I thought I would note this one, especially since it seems to represent a *particular* face to me. That of Richard Milhous Nixon, our 37th president who resigned in disgrace in 1973 and was known, through the infamous Watergate Scandal, for his trickery and deception. A nickname became Tricky Dicky.
I’ve highlighted the face a little through black outline to the right. He even appears to have a little horn sticking out of his forehead, marking him as the Great Deceiver. Compare with here (hint: Nixon’s conspicuous nose is, cartoon-like, exaggerated in the rocks):
Duncan also thinks back to the 13 billiard ball he found fronting a Southern residence of The Great Fissure, just beyond its lip. Or I guess, since we’re talking about the South, we better call it the Great Fracture or face ramifications.
Note the horns again in the “hell’ sign above the horseshoe framed pool ball.
This could be the home of Fracture biased Jed Campton, then, but Duncan couldn’t tell. There was no one inside. Duncan had a hard time tracking anyone down in this sim, and considered himself lucky that there were weekly meetings of residents at the Last Drop where he could *eaves*drop on local gossip. The Gossipers they called them back in Jackson Bloch’s day. Before the erasure of East-West. He understood that part too, thanks to Gabriel’s dream.
(to be continued)
He was on the other edge of Cloudmont now, waiting for Doris with ruler in hand. Doris was late. Doris didn’t deserve much sympathy.
But he soon tired of this role (as well) and moved further away from the Purden Castle into Vail, anagram of Vila. What happened to his halo? Halo Boy — what happened to him?
He was such a Little Butt now.
Afterwards she took off her shoes and sat beside the old motel pool, now closed for dysentery reasons. No details need be applied. She would immediately wash her feet in the Dari-Creme bathroom just behind. Mother had returned to their modest but clean downtown apartment, sterilized like all the rest during the Great Disinfection of ‘011.
Ahh, fate, she though. Having a beautiful mother who everyone is attracted to more than her, even her own classmates like Multiface, like Preston Weston. She then dwells on the brace burdened lad who sits behind her in geography class, taught by the same mother. It’s one of the reasons she got the tattoo — so that he would see it all the time. Satori, she pondered. *Not* Maebaleia. This would teach him and everyone else that she was a Northerner at heart and always would be, despite some dubious origins. Stamped in flesh, as it were. Fixated in time and space and… options. No option for her any longer. “The name — of the continent — is *Satori,*” she shouted at her mother one day. Then it was off to the parlor to ink some color on her neck and back.
She pondered more tonight while daring to dangle her feet in the pool a little longer, like the alley that use to center the village which was so ill of repute. Creepy Alley they called it for a reason. Before receiving her teaching certificate in ’08, her own mother use to hang out in that place. There were rumors — unsubstantiated for the most part. But it was beyond doubt that mother took the occasional walk on the wild side, playing Nico to any Lou Reed who decided to properly peel their banana. Where was Zappa when you needed him? But that was the province of Annie (Anorexia), who isn’t part of the present story. Shame, though. Maybe we’ll be able to fit her in later.
And there she is.
“Who’s out there, baby doll,” Karl gruffed. “Is it *him*?? Let me at him, let me at him!”
“It’s – not – him,” Annie metered out, trying to calm her latest husband down. “It’s *her*.”
Karl waited a beat for an explanation, then: “Her *who*?”
It was the more unusual of the buildings at the X marking the center of X-City. Well, what was left of it. Orange it was, and elongated. With circular sides ghosting a circular front in my opinion. For I’ve surmised what this building actually is. We’ve seen the address before.
The X marks the portal between Real and Second Lyves. Sign.
I knew who the mermaid inside was at the bottom of it (bottom writing). But she was something else. Not a whale, although that’s part and parcel of the legend. Not quite a jellyfish, but that was closer. Squid? I haven’t quite connected the dots. Dot dot dot…
If only she could tell us herself.
There was only one other character I could introduce to attempt to put a face on it. We’ve seen *him* before.
It’s a matter of time. Does the face remain (2) full and smiling or does it become (1) smaller and then (3) wink out, leaving us with nothing.
They emerged from the sunken pool quite refreshed and relaxed. Woody continued their tour.
“Here we have symbols representing the primary holidays of Christmas and Easter,” he piped up in his whiny, nasal voice. So irritating, thought Wheeler. But she must concentrate — she knew all of this was important now. But that’s not Christmas and Easter. Something else. Or was it?
Maybe nearby barwoman *Jean Fade* would know.
Yes. She did.
“Sister,” she explained in starting out. “Twin.”