Big, new development happening now. Can’t talk too much about it yet. Safe to say the Lebettu Castle is going away. Found a parcel that’s twice as big (8192) I can rent for less than 400 lindens more, or about 4/3rds the cost of the former. And I own the top of a mountain (!). Emerald green it is. Put another castle on it already, but a second option is the Temple of TILE. Then down in the valley below, on the western edge: the return of Sunklands Institute with its Perch Restaurant and Table Room, etc. Some ground galleries will also appear, and maybe a couple of others in the sky. More very soon!
Category Archives: 0515
The Musician had a plan. Play his last gig at Pink Think before returning to Nautilus and take Shelley with him, freeing her from the prison cave closest to The Void in Gemini (4006m). That’s how he can keep her from opening the door to her cage. Power. Power behind powers. He thinks she’s ready. He’s delusional. She’ll never forgive him, although she feigns acceptance to escape.
Albert and Biff sit around the wall still from the ensuing gig at their tea table, the music too deafening to their more sensitive ears. Plus they’re all too familiar with the notes and beats. They’d rather remain in the bar with at least equally-sensitive-to-sound Marilyn, a light in their darkness now. True they were were resigned to their entrapment here in Gemini, not being as blind as The Musician. But they were still trapped.
Marilyn? With Fern now, catching up — Fern said it was super hard to find her in the sim, what with all the cubic meters to cover from top to bottom, all 16 stories of 256x256x256 of it. Claude never showed up, intervention with the 3 beastly boys delayed. Or did he? Fern changes to demonstrate what happened.
She was back on top, ha — in charge. “The *clue*,” she said while nursing a red cocktail 1/2 in Claude’s body, educating Marilyn/Lichen as well as putting her back in her place, “was the receiver part. I live in a receiver, like a jeannie lives in a bottle. Get it? Like ‘Jeannie and the Tiger’. You remember? We watched that summer before last — it was just showing, by accident let’s say, on the Cartoon Network where we usually hang out. We switched over from ‘Dirty Duck’. Do you recall?”
“I remember,” said Marilyn, marveling at the brains, the brilliance, of her partner in crime once more. If only she had my humor, she thinks. Always pretty dead serious about stuff, like this. I’m not really surprised that Fern has outmaneuvered me and don’t really care. I could make 10 jokes about the situation right now, make light of it.
Yes, I suppose they made a good team, nay, a great team, especially after Marilyn/Lichen decided to ditch the horse and the association with The Void. Because this was the ultimate lesson learned for the traveling bartender in the sim of Jem– Gemini. Avoid the Duck.
“TILE, baby. Look! You were *right*. At the marketplace… just like you said.”
“Yeah, me *big* now. 12.” She kept her grin while opening her hands to display 10 fingers and then not flashing the additional, needed 2 to complete. Psychic, if not the brightest.
“You sure are, Pumpkin,” Cloris Bleachman said, trying to overlook the miscounting; scrub it from her mind. Perhaps 12 is sometimes 10 in this new math they teach at school these days, she rationalized. But not far underneath the fake shiny surface she knew this was a lie. Poor Betty. Good thing she has this psychic ability or else her life would be ruined. And maybe she’ll turn out to be a looker later on, able to use her body for material gain if not her mind. Attract the right kind of husband, Cloris meant here of course. One with green in his pockets.
“See here?” she called to gain her child’s attention again. “Red, blue, yellow… just like you said,” she tested.
Betty stuck out her arms and twirled around in place, reciting back, “red… yellow… *blue*,” with the “blue” making her come to a stop again, arms all wrapped up around her before dropping by her side once more.
“And…?” Cloris encouraged. “Come on, Betty. You said it before. Look here.” She resorted to pointing. “What’s this in this here, er, dish? The last one.”
Getting on her tippy toes and taking a gander, Betty heard a hissy “Am I nothing?” in her head and decided not to answer, also seeing the face. She knew not to cross it unless to mark out of existence. And she wasn’t ready for that. She enjoyed her powers and didn’t want to relinquish them… to him.
(to be continued)
He left her with her two orange eyes and matching orange legs, dancing up a stoorm in Trinidad at a place she’d been hanging out for years now, she said. He had succeeded in part 1 of his 2 part quest as well. The price? Reversion to Nauty, extraction of the possessee, pins revealed. He was Nauty. He was Nautilus.
Let’s see where we are on the big board…
I’m going to artificially light up Darkfold, the nearest gallery to Collagesity since we just featured a couple of his pieces at
Wheeler’s Miss Ouri’s Trinidad dance spot, synchily enough. But I didn’t place them there — already present, like a present to be opened. Returning to the map, and understanding highlighted locations are the ones featured in the current photo-novel, now lumbering toward the end of its 5th section like a wheel running out of air (admittedly), we more clearly see the weight toward the south of the Nautilus continent, centered around Collagesity perhaps. Yes: Collagesity, even featured by itself in section 4, which hadn’t happened in a while. And now the struggle with encompassing Lower Austra, how to define borders between the east, the west, the north and south. How to define *center*.
Later a folk-punk band showed up to help with the cause as seagulls all around continued to squawk their mournful tunes.
I was back to the beginning point. They were staring at each other across a space I knew represented 2. The missing letter! Now to divide it in 2 and make two one’s about it.
The protective stone that is also an eye magically appeared in the middle. Everything was going to be all right (secret kept).
“*Cult* of the 3 Suns brought ME here.” Zzzzz’s from the “listener”. “You still with me?” Clearly he wasn’t, but Dr. Herbert Thomas Brown only needed a sounding board this late at night, when the bitterness fully kicked in. “My Three Suns, the wife called them, before her own mysterious disappearance.” A snort this time, then rolling over and more snores. Tom was a good guy, Dr. Brown could have thought here. But he sleeps a lot. Oh well… not a lot else to do in this alley separated from reality. He tried to think of a joke combining the words reality and alley to more accurately describe their situation but it didn’t quite come together. Fitting. “Then I went to *Falmouth*… don’t get me started about *Falmouth*, pheh.” He looked over at Tom: still rolled over but quieter now. Had he awaken? Brown thought. Was he, I don’t know, actually listening to him this late at night for a change? Something about Falmouth?
Knock knock knock. “Honey?! I decided to join you on your vacation after all. Darling?! Are you in there?!”
The Paper Kings dropped a Big Baby behind enemy lines and Claude Sit-on got sat-on. His son Claude Jr. carried on the family name, obviously. In retaliation he tried to wire the school so that it would blow up at 4:20 o’clock on [pick any day], but the kids foresaw this and blew up Claude Jr. instead. With their minds of course, no primitive physics needed. End of mechanoid aspect of our story, but later the Claudes, jr. and sr. now conjoined and united as one Claude in the minds of people who couldn’t remember the originals, became martyrs to the cause. It was here that Dr. Mouse entered our story again. “He died for *our* sins,” the fanatic was telling him back in their secret basement lair underneath the mayor’s house, now run by Jim Turbine the plastic surgeon. He surged, he won. Former mayor Longnose went back to Yayaland where he came from and started wearing a different face (at times) and leading the resistance to his own cause, which eventually recruited Guy Benjamin from Kowloon who eventually was able to steal the little yellow fellow, the Rael McCoy, from the other 3 while they had their backs turned. And this is where Dr. Mouse enters our story once more (!), for he was asked to perform a special operation to straighten out the racist lad. *Not* remove the color this time, which should remain glinty gold or close, they insist, just like Claude down in Sittontown (Meatside renamed). “What, then?” demanded Mouse, afraid he would see a rat in such a remote place and eager to get outta here. “Turn him into an *I*,” they said, and left it with him.
Dr. Mouse went back to his basement lair, told the others what had happened. A plane crashed outside in front of the cave that sheltered Sheldon the Initiated, Fern Stalin in disguise once again — I believe this was 42 by this point. On the other side of Paper, Swamp Lake had been drained by the resistance *here* in an attempt to stifle the efforts of the kids. The Asylum was filled with those who weren’t really loonies but were deemed so nevertheless. And Dr. Mouse was the stamp-maker. He wore many hats, but there was only 1 he wanted to live under. Hatti’s.
“What do you think? First attempt, mind you.”
Greg Ogden was stymied. “Is that a… banana?”
He wanted to scream but couldn’t open his mouth to do it. Stuck. Just like in life.
Realities were shifting around for him more rapidly than ever, almost at a blur’s pace now. Time to calm the hell down. Where’s that green phone and D Flat ring when you need it?
Lunchtime now. He wondered if any of these other dudes he was sitting with on this beam in the sky had any packets of mustard for his sandwich. He hated bologna without mustard. But with it: best thing ever. “Wanda forgot the mustard again,” he said to Fred beside him, lifting the top slice of bread to show the non-yellowness within.
Yellow yellow yellow. He was remembering something. Tumbling, he fell into a different reality, different universe really.
Wanda was with him, now called Hidi, true face hidden beneath towering blue hair. They had kids between them. Yellow ones, all beaming smiles at the camera. “Cheese!”
He tried to reach for the ringing phone but it remained just out of his grasp. Blue anyway; probably wasn’t for him, and neither was Wanda-now-Hidi and the in-between kids. And now he’s checking, the key is D, not D Flat. Too far away from Middle C to matter. Oh well. On to the next!
“Let me try!” Hidi exuded, poseball whisked away as she selected the next.
“Get it?!” she shouted down to Kolya far below after assuming the new pose. “I’m a banana!” Kolya didn’t get it, the one within not yet ready to be peeled. “Very appealing!” he shouted up, trying to be funny despite the confusion. The holes in his head began to hurt. He forgot to eat his sandwich before he left that one reality, but there was the problem with the mustard. Then, with the vertigo induced by hunger apparently, he fell off the beam into a family centered by beaming yellow kids. Well, except for the middle one, who was too small to smile and just sucked on her pacifier to indicate being please in the moment. The camera’s eye moved onward…
Kolya selected one but it turned out to be Hidi’s pose again. “Whaddaya think? Giant tigers!” He’d seen this before. But where?
Then he remembered (again). Picturetown. Must – get – back.