“You know, as much as I love this Nowhere Beach, Peter my nephew, I never can get use to those bodies.”
“They’re only trying to save themselves, uncle of mine,” he said back in his slightly cracking adolescent voice.
“Yeah I know. Still…”
The seagulls squawked. More were on their way.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0507, Paper, Paper Soap+
—–
He recognized her immediately upon entering his pizza parlor, despite the black and white checkerboard makeup. Wheeler. She, of course, knew him as well. Knew he was *dead*: killed by a monster way back in VHC City in the olden days, before the coming of Mud and the parallel need for Soap. He took off his crown. He dared to sit down, confront her.
—–
“H-how?” she uttered about his resurrection. I mean, she’d seen enough of them in the meanwhile but still — a bit of shock. He was stone cold dead laying on the floor when she found him. Heart attack. Couldn’t reach the pills in time. Surprise crocogator appearance through a thought-of solid wall did him in. They’d walked through the Fate Gate together, even, she escorting him to the afterlife. This is what he told her; she wasn’t physically there at the time; left when she found the body; alerted the authorities; cried her eyes out way into the night, The Musician, her other boyfriend at the time, seething on the other side of the bed, green with jealousy. She loved *him* more than *me*, he thought, although she was still with him, didn’t run wee wee wee all the way back to Collagesity like a broken piggie, even though she had supreme power there and not in VHC City. And now — The Musician was long back in the rear mirror, yielding to Axis and Opp both, take your pick. And now her new husband, she as Wendy Wilson Wheeler that is. Not really Wheeler any longer. All the old avatars had packed it up and moved to the White Palace, as Hucka Doobie liked to put it. But really: storage. Old yields to new. Continually.
“Jeffrey — Phillips?” Old Man Allen Martin, the resurrected one, didn’t like the sound of it. Then again, he wouldn’t like the sound of any of Wheeler’s lovers past himself. “How many down the road from me (and The Musician)?”
“4 — something like that. It’s complicated.”
“I bet it is.” He blew out air. “Well, yeah, I *died*. But then Soap cleaned me up, wiped away all the grime of a dirty grave. Plenty of Suds and Bubbles did the trick.”
“They *are* uplifting,” opined Wheeler, having caught the vaunted dancing troupe’s act in Collagesity 02 not long ago, Peter Ladd on his soapbox between them. The contrast of talent almost balanced out to mediocre but not quite. Skippy Bittman.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0506, Paper Soap+, Soap
“‘sunburn by noon, clammy at night, cracks in the earth, pavers delight'” She stopped quoting the poem she’d spontaneously made just 15 minutes ago while studying the damaged cement before her out of boredom; paid attention to a potentially paying customer approaching on same. We’ll see how this goes, she thinks.
“Yelloo!” Stu Umbriel said in greeting.
—–
Earlier/later:
“Yelloo!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0505, Paper Soap+, Soap
“New bar in town, Chief.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not an Indian any more. I’m an *American*, dammit.”
“Sure you are Chief. Anyway, Gus and I…”
“Gus? Since when did you start calling yourself Gus, Ben?”
“Since, I don’t know, yesterday?” Distant but distinct.
“*Forever*,” countered Stan, formerly Stu. “You’ve always been Gus.” He turns to Chief. “He’s *always* been Gus.”
—–
Slowly but surely, they traced all the confusion back to that birthday party where they summoned The Devil.
“Oh yeah,” spoke Ben at the time. “Guess that could have done it.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0504, Paper Soap+, Soap
“Ahem. Gentlemen… and women. As you can see. We have a problem. With the Portal.”
“Why is it called *Moster*… sir?” Officer Jetski in back. He’d just checked the description, which most of the others sitting around the conference table had already done and came up with the answers themselves.
Chef-inspector Petty was trying not to turn around. The effect could be blinding. “Typo I suspect. Someone probably drunk when creating it. Or possibly a misleading name… can’t be traced back that way.”
Silence for a second except for the steady humm of the… well I think it called itself Dinah earlier on, or that’s what several of them thought they heard upon its appearance. Like an announcement: “Dinah: front and center.”
“I can’t get through.” Agent 47 up front.
“Me neither.” Agent 23 across from him. “It’s jammed…”
“… the system.”
Whatever followed Petty through the Portal to this sheriff’s office was taking over the whole of Soap.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0503, Paper Soap+, Soap
Center. Peace.
He has found Home. Paperweight. Paperville but different. Root word: Paper. And Soap.
And then there he was. Soap National Park. In Paper.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0502, Collagesity Fordham-, Crisp Sea, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Paper, Paper Soap+, Wild West
There were all kinds of environments he could paint in. This one was just regular Midday, a default setting, actually one of his favorites and always easy to “reach”. Time was controllable in this land of two, initially in a fourfold way (Sunrise, Midday, Sunset, Midnight), and, with some additional quick adjustments, any time atall could be produced. Then, going beyond defaults, there were the customized environments, many in number. I’m sure all seasoned Second Lyfers have a set of their favorites that they regularly use. Mine include Fairy dark blue, Cornfield, Cromac, and Lo Gun Light. But Midday is certainly handy for initially brightening up any scene. So here we are.
He knows this is not Black Lake, where the monster came from or identified with at least. So a positive situation. He must paint this body of water before him over and over again for healing, for purification. He must drink the water — boil it first, of course. Take it into his body. Eventually he must — become this body (of water). 2n1. 4n1 to 2n1 to 1n1. There. He is TILE.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0501, Crisp Sea, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Wild West
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.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0516, Eveningwood, Nautilus, NORTH, Slaashsides
Andrea Stoorm (killer) and Duncan Avocado had a followup meeting to their first at Jim’s-later-Cory’s Club but it didn’t go so well. Multiple theories were tossed around with none settled on. Blue and red remain confused and muddled.
“I have to split this damn dopple town,” thought Mary Ricardo, walking away from it all. Dopple on dopple!
Unseen Alysha knew more than she let on.
She heard the alley whispers.
Real Life Burro Alley, Santa Fe, NM
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0515, Google Street View, Nautilus, New Mexico, NORTH, Slaashsides
He places an all important call to Buster Damm, his regional boss of sorts.
“Yeah, I’m standing right outside his place right now. (reply) He’s been here for *years and years*. (reply) Mom just came back in town. Now she’s in therapy. Or jail: it’s a mixed up place, with one establishment shifting over to the next before you can blink one eye and bat the other. It’s all red and blue here. I’m ready to amscray. (reply/question) Biker? Yeah, he’s here too. He just rolled up in fact; I heard his souped up motorcycle all the way across town. (reply/joke) Far as the ear can hear, good one. (reply/request) I’ll get on it.” Duncan Avocado hangs up the pay phone, glances over in the direction of the club’s entrance. The killer could be in there right now for all he knew, cooking up another crime in some degree of seriousness ranging from blue (not very much at all) to red (very *very* much so). “Damn town,” he reiterated again under his breath, and took steps toward the entrance.
—–
“Ever killed anyone, lady?” he joked at the bar, continuing the conversation to its ultimate end.
“Define ‘kill’.” There were different degrees of seriousness to it.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0514, Nautilus, NORTH, Slaashsides
Sunklands 