Category Archives: 0516

00340516

“So it’s all settled. We know what the head in the center of the sink is.”

“We *do*?” spoke Wheeler, scratching her still beret topped head and trying to look innocent. At least she’d taken the key out of her mouth and dropped it in to be disposed of. *Tried* (damn chain).

“Where’s Baker?” Newt looked all around, as if the true owner of this blog and attached photo-novels, heading toward 34 in number, would manifest from a purple or raspberry tinted corner or wall.

“He needs to be in on this yarn, this story,” agreed Wheeler, also looking around the swamp shack but expecting less. The Prime Minister, the only one who can save the plot, the key. And it seems that he already did. Thanks to the levels, the nodal points. Now we can enter Pipersville unencumbered, he might utter if he were here. But is it really about Pipersville, a Maebaelia location famous for its sinkhole not thought about in a while? We have to think like we’re playing 3 dimensional chess. A bit like Spock. We have to get smarter, or at least more awake.

Pipersville obviously relates to pipes. The key should have passed through, Wheeler realizes, gone down. Yet it stayed at the top — caught. The key to the box that is a house, perhaps this shack itself, inner absorbing outer, passing through each other again and again ad infinitum. We should never have opened it, Wheeler understood for not the first time. Pictures. Occident separated from Orient. East over here, west over there, hemispheres apart.

Inner and outer, inner and outer…

Maybe only Nautilus can save us after all.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0516, Maebaleia/Satori, Nautilus, Paper Soap, Pipersville/Sink X^, Soap

00330516

“What’s in your pocketbook, lady?” she asked innocently of course, being a child and all. No malice or subterfuge involved.

“Oh. Just grown up stuff, darling. You’ll know soon enough.”

“12? I’m 12 now. Will I know (*sniff*) this year?” She wiped her nose of a little bit of snot produced in a sneeze several minutes back now. Must be the flowers, Dafney thought, but in actuality it was her perfume, grown up stuff intruding on more delicate nostrils.

“Oh, maybe not.” Dafney then took in her companion in the moment better. She sat up on her tiny pretend vehicle a little straighter to seem taller, older. She wanted to hear that she would know this year. Dafney obviously relented, seeing that sweet face, those saucer eyes.

“Yes, yes I see it now.” She rubbed the top of her head playfully. “Maturity. Yes I think you’ll know this year.”

“Hurrah!” the kid cried and, happy with the exchange, moved herself and her little piggy car or whatever down to the next available person, interacting with them about what *they* were doing in the moment. It was Sunday and Sandy was at the park. This is what she did. Her mother was just over there, observing. But otherwise letting Sandy do her thing. She had a break and that’s what was important for her. Sundays, blessed Sundays, when she could temporarily pass her loquacious kid onto others.

Dafney pulled out her phone, dialed the numbers that would get her in contact with Redbird, her current flame. Unless it was Bluebird. Heck, she’ll give them both a call/text. But first — a banana. Yellow before red and blue she always said. She hardly ever thinks of green and how that fits into the overall picture. The 4th. She’s not a true Tilist… and she’s grown up, which might mean she’ll never be.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0516, Jeogeot, Towerboro

the end of Duncan, A.

“He’s not coming out of there,” he says to me. “He’ll always be a part of the library.”

I knew I was weighted too much in the South. But that’s where he chose to stay.  “Who will replace him?” I asked Buster Damm sitting across from me, an impossibly small vampire in such a big big world. Too small to fit in anywhere properly. But too important to die himself. He stared the answer into me.

“So they just found him there. Dead.”

“Gone to South America,” Buster elaborated as best as possible. Just like Sherwood before him, another Allen.

—–

Nighttime at the Castle in De Skies; fog getting thicker. Must think about heading home soon. North.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0516, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

Alysha

She’d transformed, just like he did earlier. “Okay, you can open your eyes,” she bids.

He sees the stunning blueness of the thing. He sees the roses. He knows what’s going on. “But… *I’m* the Blue Rose,” he sputters, sitting up more in an effort to directly confront the thing. “That’s *my* angle.”

“Not any more,” she shot back. Indeed once a thing has been done and done successfully, it’s hard to walk back. Besides, we need to double up the Blue Power in order to keep West Virginia viable as a northern balance to Virginia. It’s just that damn important.

Time to unwrap the present, as she promised earlier. Jeffrey Phillips will come around, probably sooner than later. She just needs to pick a time to tell him about MAT. The new relationship is real enough, despite it also being a dream.

Later she showed him 5 more transformations directly related to the first. It was a revealing night.

“And *this* is how we had the black child,” she explained at the beginning of the 4th.

By the time of the 5th, Jeffrey Phillips had determined he would definitely be the Blue Thorn from now on and give up the Rose part. He didn’t deserve this woman. But she definitely deserved him and considerably more, she might think here on her own behalf.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0516, Lands End, Nautilus

Quick Stop

“Can I help you with anything, inspector!?” the acne faced clerk called over. He’d neglected the chef part in the title — must be a town newcomer. But that’s the hat he’s currently wearing: private cook not public dick (he’ll switch over at dusk). And he needs some special ingredients for his surprise pie. He’s almost got it. Something about recently deceased Bob Dole in a Franco-American afterlife. And butterflies — he can’t help mixing business with pleasure. He always seems to have eyes in the back of his head as well as front; part of his two faced, interior/exterior personality.

But nature calls right now and he can’t wait until he gets back to the apartment. Public will have to do again. He pivots, he sliides. He opens the unlocked door.

“Oh. Excuse me,” he calls into the man in the dark also studying butterflies. Is no place sacred any more?? The apartment it will have to be.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0516, Paper Soap, Soap

hues

“Okay, we’re definitely going to have to agree on a favorite colored tea before we get married. Here, let’s switch (*switch*).”

(*sip*) “Yuuuuck!”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to have to rethink this relationship.”

(*huff*) “Fine with me (!).”

—–

“I think you definitely said 301 East Meeting.”

“I definitely did *not*. 103 I said. I wish I would have recorded it now. I need to record everything.”

“*Anyway*, we’re here. We found each other.”

“3 hours later!”

“Aren’t… aren’t you going to drink your tea?”

“I’m not drinking that stuff.”

—–

“Annny-wayyy. The low down on the plot so far. Spill it.”

Axis-Windmill then “accidentally” sloshed some tea out while raising his own glass to his mouth. “Oooops.”

“Funny,” Percy said while watching it penetrate his duster coat sleeve, turning himself slightly green. Percy’s lone color remained red like her own untouched tea, as in controlling heart red. At least it’s not in (or on) her head. she often thinks. Speaking of which…

“You’re a funny boy,” she reinforced. “A funny funny boy.”

The green kept coming. “More than I expected!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0516, Blue Feather Sea^, Cassandra City^, Maebaleia/Satori

no rats

Yeah, in staring at the sign again, Dr. Mouse realizes he’s never been on this Paper-Soap property. Wonder why.

He’s a bit drunk tonight but still resists the urge to explore the offerings of the Lucky Motel, because he knows it is really not that atall (*hiccup*). Plus he’s kind of got a relationship with the ex Wheeler/Wendy again. Moving on…

—–

Let’s go back to the big Nautilus continent map and see where we are. We started in Center (01) with the visiting of the Ur-parent’s graves, and worked our way up to the Aviary (02) where both Alysha and Hidi testified against Kolya as it were, almost eliminating him from our story, then quickly followed by Rooster’s Peninsula (03) where a nifty castle was established that may well replace Collagesity itself in our continuing Second Lyfe adventures. As you can see, these three basically equidistant locations form a line essentially running directly north, right to edge of the map and thus the continent.

But in the second half of the present photo-novel (XVIII), we have focused away from Nautilus to other, mostly non-mainland locations, like Paper-Soap. It’s as if the establishment of the castle provided us with a new anchor and then we moved on. So the question is: Is the more southern Collagesity now *toast*, at least for a while?

We haven’t even seen Collagesity leader Jeffrey Phillips in the current story yet. Perhaps that should change; he should have a say in all this.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0516, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, North, Paper Soap, Perch-Mistletoe, Rooster's Peninsula, Soap, Upper Austra^

Missing

“Beckett?” she wondered.

“Paul.”

“No. The sim. Missing Beckett.”

“Oh. Correct.”

—–

“Muse is a key word here,” she mused aloud later, perhaps for me but also others listening in, the prescient, the psychic. Like our damaged friend Kolya. There he is. Listening in.

“Hi big boy. I’m over here now.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0516, Europe, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Retirement Islands, Upper Austra^, Wild West, Wonderland

where’s the beef?

If we could just recreate the original crime scene. Pigeon roosting on ass; Amanda Stoorm placing an ultra important call to Buster Damm.

Call? Looks like we just did. Duncan Avocado brings it home.

—–

“I knew you’d be here, Ginger. Because of the face replacement clinic and all.”

“500 lindens for a whole new look. Worth every penny!”

“Yes, you look great, you look fantastic.” Could Duncan date a high class white chick like this and get away with it in this town, this place in the center of it all? It would be controversial. Maybe *he* should get an operation. He knows a certain Dr. of Mouse who might be able to help. He ponders the outcome, black to white. But is he running away from his heritage because of that? He’s *tired* of being discriminated upon, but he’s in the same boat with the rest of his color. He can’t date fair, red haired Wendy down at Mac’s Diner either for the same reason, that damn white racist rat Pansy watching over it all. If only he could get rid of the Pooping Pigeon franchise, maybe create a reality where Wendy branches out on her on, dumps the hot dog angle, and goes all in for burger. Pure Angus beef; not those ridiculous fillers for the dog like lips and genitalia, even if that isn’t quite true. People could be trained to *think* that.

And that’s what he decided that day in the late of May or early June or whatever. Kill the Hot Dog, stick a pigeon on its rump and call it done. Killer Andrea Stoorm, trained in the Death Star battalions, knew what to do, Buster guiding her and then Buster telling Duncan what actually happened. “We manipulated probabilities in that Middletown alley that day in early May.” “June,” I corrected, but understood it all now. There was only one actual killing, the other 5 being deflections or subterfuge. Although it still thrived in other realities, in this one the Pooping Pigeon was over almost before it started, with Pansy behind bars behind a bar instead.

“What’ll it be Duncan, my man?” Always the “man” for the black dude, he observed. But at least he still played his old music here.

And now: Hidi.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0516, Eveningwood, Nautilus, North, Slaashsides

confluence 02

“How did it go today, sister of mine?”

“She is *definitely* one of us,” Daisy Mae Flowers replied to Lou Ferrig No, not seen in this blog for a while. Not heavily since photo-novel 4, when she interacted with The Musician in her own, similar realm of Bermingham and took care of his pet dingo for a while, if memory serves — maybe still does.

“That’s great, yes. Can’t wait to meet her. Staying in Shauna’s room I assume?”

“Yes. The snow monsters have her now.”

“Nice — I suppose. I mean, the snow monsters aren’t *that* bad, I’ve heard.”

“They’ve killed 3 million people!” exclaimed Daisy Mae, pushing a popular myth about the actually quite decent blizzard creatures.

“Nah, not what I’ve heard. Do you still get your news from FOX?”

“Lets not go into all that sister.”

“I’m just saying, *dingo* is better — all small letters in that case. Small is for humble; truthful.”

Daisy Mae looked away from her sister, not wanting to start an argument that had no end and would most definitely spiral into the Abyss. She’d seen enough of the Abyss. Instead: “She’s met David A.B. here, the normal one. What I mean…”

“What you *mean*…” continued the sister, “is that he’s not the Devil.”

“No, he’s the God,” agreed Daisy now with her sibling. “At least he *thinks* he’s one.” Both titter with this. They act in unison again.

—–

It was a long time ago and it happened in the theatre below the castle. It was a round concavity full of something but not popcorn this time. Instead: brains, specifically the diamond like brains of David/Dave, who had not chosen a moral direction yet. The victim slumped opposite him. Keith B. most likely, who subsequently acquired his own new brain from… well, let’s just keep some things private for now. The man they called The Barber sings a tuneful song of familiar design while he works.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0516, Pickleland