Category Archives: 0513

landmimes 01

“Go ahead and take off your head and roll it into the center of the sink. That way you’ll be free of it. You can enter Pipersville unencumbered.”

“Of what?” Hucka Doobie speaks behind me in the void. “Yarns?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0513, Maebaleia/Satori, Pipersville/Sink X^

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So here we are, Charlotte. Back at the beginning. Anything different you notice?

“Shhh,” Charlotte requested. “Someone’s fading in.”

Hey, where’d *he* come from, thinks observing Orilia from the bar, always aware of the comings and goings of customers. But this was no ordinary man. Instead: cartoonist, or so they assumed.

He then produced one of the latest from his pocket, unfolding it before their eyes.

“Jem,” Charlotte uttered, recognizing the inspiration.

“Yes?” Jim answered, not knowing if she was referring to one or the other. He then produced another from the other pocket, likewise unfolding.

“Jem,” stated Charlotte more firmly, pointing this time.

Jim understood. Jim L. Brown, with the L standing for nothing. At least that’s always what his parents told him. Actually we know it stands for the number 12, as in 4+4+4. “You… knew her?”

“Know,” says Edward Daigle, chipping in. “We know her.” She’s not dead… yet, he thinks with malice. His stern stare matches Charlotte’s. This was *wrong*. “Nice trick, by the way,” he said of Jim L. Brown’s manifesting act. Magician as well, they assumed. Cartoonist and magician: hand in hand. A combination bourne in the depths of hell itself, they also quickly decided.

Seeing the loathing, he scrambles to explain himself. “You don’t understand, people. I’m here to *help*. I don’t like this either. *John* is to blame, not me.”

Edward’s stare turns toward Charlotte and visa versa. “Twins?” they utter simultaneously to each other.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0513, Jeogeot, Towerboro

misdirection

“Good, isn’t it?” she wanted to say in her Northern accent. “Comes in bottles in this county.”

“Jasper?” she could hear him say back, which prompted in her mind: “Bling, Diamond Cave, Arkansaw. CAN.”

“Are you a witch?” he actually said, sitting on the couch before her and knowing she was the one. Miss Ouri.

Of course I’m a witch, she again thought, but decided to answer otherwise. She went with the Arkansaw story. Can saw right through it.

“Take off your dress,” he tried, figuring she was a simulacrum. “I want to see.”

But she was no pleasure bot like Tronesisia still hallucinating that cactus plant over in the library.  Her eyes were equal to each other, orange against orange. 2 + 2 adds up to 4 for her. She is rational, reasonable. “No.”

Well I tried, he thought. It was worth the effort. “Then… reveal yourself for who you really are.” It was second choice but maybe had a better chance to work.

Since she was a bot if not a pleasure one she had to obey this time.

“Satisfied?”

He was  — 1/2 and 1/2. “Where do you come from?” Trick question! “Your mama?” she played with in her head. She was from nowhere, actually. Outside *everything*.

“Chattanooga,” she decided, then ended with a weak, “choo choo,” and the appropriate pulling arm motions, like a conductor with his tooter or whistle. Yes. Exactly like a conductor. Mahler.

—–

The next thing he knew he was in bed, drink still in hand which indicated that what went on before wasn’t actually a dream. Not really. Along with the 2 orange legs of course to match the eyes.

“You had to see, ow,” she said in her mind.

He studied them later and decided they were like 2 coke bottles while he finished his drink. Evil, they were. Not Northern atall.

—–

He went back to bed and had a different dream about the dresser and their wardrobe.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0513, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

where’s the point? 02

The water system of the town was *barely* serviceable — toilets slow to flush, water flow weak overall — but *someone* kept up all this infrastructure to a degree. She wondered about the 10! on the door of the stall she just exited, and how it could be connected to this 102 group she was assigned to investigate, linkable through 101 (10! > 101 > 102). Or perhaps the exclamation point stands for 2 somehow instead of 1, bypassing the needed link. She’d heard things in the middle of the night, scurrying from below, from the other side of the walls, even from above. Although the place appeared totally empty and deserted, someone was here. Her witch training gave her more clues. A *soul* was present: intelligent, secretive, perhaps ultraly so, and, finally, *powerful*. It could be Mid-Hazel disguising herself for one of those lessons, Esmerelda pondered here for not the first time. That might fit — why she can’t penetrate the soul further and read its thoughts, etc.

She was also told 102 represents a missing letter, which she’d narrowed down, again using her witchy powers, to either S, E, or W. If W, we’re all in a heap full of trouble. But I, the omniscient author in the moment, happen to know it’s S. Esmerelda would find out the same day before tomorrow before tomorrow.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0513, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West

another one?

“Why aren’t you guys sitting across from each other still? *Anyway*, we know the Anomaly is the same as this beanstalk being mentioned around this here town, Paper-Soap still, despite the attempts at division. It doesn’t jam our systems any longer — a situation we should toast to sometime (come to think of it) — but its presence is still around.” Goober gobble. “Reports now. Whatcha got Agent 47?” he speaks to the closest one. “Er, 23,” he adjusts, seeing a hair on the upper lip. Male this one is. The other: female, despite the baldness and otherwise seeming identicalness. More experiments of The Mouse.

“We’re monitoring situations of a bust,” he metered out crisply, almost like a robot but without the needed, metallic squeaking of the inner mechanics. Like with the Claudes. “A painter. Paper.” He glances over at Agent 47, noting the hairless lip and the current desire to kiss it. When did these feelings start for 23?? He guessed that birthday party. Where they summoned The Devil again, pheh.

“A ring,” continued 47 on the same case. “Within…” he looked back.

“… a ring,” completed 23 for him, contemplating whether to blow him (*a kiss*!).

“So you’re saying to me, people, that this bust involves a ring (*brinnng*). And not only that, another ring within that ring? (*brinnngg*). How deep are we?”

The phone rings for the third time at the far end of the table. It’s one of the Claudes, which is always bad news.

Jim walks in (*brinnng*). “I’ll get it.”

“NOOOOOO!!!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0513, Paper Soap, Soap

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Axis-Windmill found great promise in what I’m calling the city of Clarksey spread out across part of 3 sims on the northern border of Sansara’s Snowlands. But for now — he’ll tell director Percy Pierce later — he’s recommending our family of core avatars move on while the less than year old place continues to develop — only a handful of buildings populated with people or even furniture still. There’s even a fledgling underground connected by several tunnels scattered here and there throughout the streets, always a plus for a community we explore (i.e., VHC City, Lapara, Eveningwood, Paper-Soap, so on). We will keep an eye on it.

And an encircling, elevated trolley train track! Nifty.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0513, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara

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They had finished their burgers — vegetarian for the doctor; basically raw red meat for Wheeler, er, I mean, Wendy — and were sitting outside in what they called the kid’s area. Greg Ogden was riding a coin operated horsie across the way; no food for him, just play. The 2 “grown ups” took the opportunity to talk, core to core.  Mouse was asking a lot of questions, so Wendy plopped out her laptop for some quick google searches when needed. Or so she said.

“Claude,” he spat out. “Friend or foe?”

“Friend,” replied Wendy quickly. “But a mechanoid so basically useless. And he indirectly blew up our director so we’ll have to mark down for that.”

“Kids?”

Wendy stared at him. They weren’t suppose to talk about the children. He remembered that with her prompting and moved to the next.

“How about the swamp? How about the bars?”

“Bar None?”

“Um… not sure.”

“Both have black mold thanks to the you-know-who. Both lack bathrooms, hence Stu Umbriel in jail for the urination and such. But he just likes peeing in public, don’t get him wrong. He’d do it anyway. That’s just what his lawyers are going to say.”

“Kolya… seems to be missing.”

Wendy stared over at Greg Ogden still jiggling on his horsie. “Did you give him 2 quarters or 3? Because this could take a while.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0513, Paper Soap, Soap

Mr. Chicken

“You cannot see me yet properly, *can* you… *Can*. Kolya, if you wish. I am both gray and brown to you. Thus: Gray Brown. That is my name. I am both black and white and colored. I am one tv swapped with another. I am your childhood, Can… Kolya. And I can be your adulthood.” She tried another pose.

“How about now?” she gurglingly asked, neck broken, facing the ceiling. “Does this ring a bell, spark a memory? Do you (she moved into a different pose; voice returned to normal) recall *killing* me? Hmmmm?”

“I don’t want to (sniff), I don’t — want…”

She was relentless. “I’m going to summon someone now, Can, someone who wants to talk to you. Someone: nervous.”

“Okay let’s CUT there for tonight; start fresh in the morning. Thanks everyone!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0513, Hana Lei^^

dopple effect

“Figured you might be here, Biker.”

Well. I had to go *somewhere*. *Burt*. Wasn’t that your name the last time we met? Black Lake Bunch?”

“Brutus, actually. But enough of the past.” He fondled his skeleton heart medallion hung from his neck like an underweight albatross, knowing he had to further the plot. Biker was merely following steps.

“Evening wood be too kind for this sky.” He waited. Nothing. This must not be Eveningwood.

“Amazon is awfully hot for June.” Nothing. But then:

“Ama*zonia*.” Bingo. We can continue the dance.

—–

She stepped out of the subway and into the light.

“Mother?” Cory asked at the top of the stairs, hands folded. He hadn’t seen her in nigh on 20 years.

“Cory?? My little baby???”

“It’s me, Mother. Your little Cory.”

They hug. They embrace. Cory had heard she had been gunned down in a crosswalk over in Urqhart or thereabouts but here she was, full of blood again and pumping like hell. He could feel her heart pound through his. He hugged more. She embraced more. It was a warm moment, hot even.

She drew back from him, arms still entwined. “*My* *little* *Cory*.”

“Yes, Mother. It’s me.”

She exhales bigly. “Wellll. Where’ve you been??”

“Where *haven’t* I been.”

“Biking. So Peter tells me. And Jonathan.”

“Biking with a man named Biker, yes. I’m a biker, he’s a biker, but more than one. TWO TO KNOW.”

“What did you say, darling??” She hadn’t heard that expression in years and years, the last time being…” She unclasped his arms from hers, stood back, staring, no love in her eyes now, or just shock. She knew this wasn’t her little boy all grown up. She knew that this was some kind of doppleganger manufactured for a reason. *A* *reason*.

“Mother? Anything wrong?” He couldn’t even see it in her eyes, but he wasn’t programmed that way.

This Middletown was big, far as the eye could spy. Women wearing red wishing they were wearing blue. Visa versa. It was all a big game of 2 in this most central of cities.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0513, Amazon, Nautilus, North, Slaashsides

Highcastle

His foot pointed at yet another classic book he hadn’t read: “Tess of the d’Urbervilles” by Thomas Hardy. So many tomes to read and seemingly so little time, since he was on his own photo-novel 25 in a series of 1. He was at the top, everything leveled off. The Grandma, the *actual* one, was nearby. Very close. But she was busy with Man About Time at the moment. Everything depended on Sandman *not* reaching this level, and MAT knew it. He had to be reinforced that he was the chosen one. Would it work?”

He rested his hand on hers, not daring to ask the question foremost in his mind. He thought back to Collagesity and Carrcassonnnee, the attempt to make the 7th well and alive and functional again. There was a trick involved. Just like there was here. Grandma was always near death but never made it to the Pearly Gates, her just reward. Grandpa was waiting for her, just around the corner. She could hear his voice, feel his presence. Yet there was still a barrier, a resistance. What was it? Was it MAT? Did he want me to choose? she pondered.

—–

“I’m through here for the moment, Keith B. We can go back to your place.” But Keith was busy listening to the voices again. Only writing would help, not reading. He sat amidst the volume of dusty books, holding his head in his hands while rocking back and forth. What was wrong with him? This seemed just like Mercury.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0513, Pickleland