Category Archives: Estate

00430112 (Crazy Blue)

“You know if you keep using that brain-daze, Edward my Eddie, you’ll never get out of Nightsity. You’ll be stuck here forever with your one girl and your one guy, unable to leave.”

“I’m *not* bisexual if that’s what you mean,” he defended his actions, smooching heavily on the girl in a current scenario.

“I know. But your mate over there is, sitting alone right now, waiting his turn. His *turning*. Where do you think this is going, Ed?”

He stared over at patient Arthur beyond her shoulder. The acquiescent hubby.

“What do you recommend? Bartender?” She was a secondary source of alcohol for Edward, her Eddie in this town. After Lexi of course. Too bad she too doesn’t offer brain-daze services or perhaps she could give Lexi a run for her money. He likes Sarah. He likes her heart tattoo. And Lexi likes women and he can’t switch over like that. Then again, there’s always Panama for that. Where *was* Panama? He goes long stretches without even remembering who she is, forgets that she even exists on the fringes of Nightsity, waiting her turn. Patient like Arthur here. For now.

“Blue Moon Kentucky,” replied Sarah to this. “You’ve forgotten she even existed — *exists* still.”

“Blue Moon too!” realizes Edward aloud. What *else* has he ceased to recall?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0112, Badlands, C2077, NIGHTSITY

00430111

“We should be okay once we get past the bridge.

“Oh f-ck, now *don’t* panic like you did before, boss.”

“What’ll I DO? He’s, he’s heading right for me!”

“Remember, boss, these aren’t *your* memories. Whatever happened has already happened. Just let him pass through you if that’s the way this plays out.”

“Bring me out, bring me out!”

—–

“See? That wasn’t so bad. Now. Let’s get back to the task of finding Blue Moon.”

“Blue *Who*?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0111, C2077, HANA LEI, NIGHTSITY, Rancho C

00430110 (paying the Price)

“Oh, before I forget, Lexi, I want you to do me a favor.” He pulled out a small gold disk from his black jean pants and handed it to her. “I want you to help me analyze this thing.”

“A brain-daze? What happened, boss, the girlfriend get up and leave you all of a sudden, ha?”

“No no not that kind of brain-daze. Surveillance. Stalking actually, as it turned out. Blue haired dame. May even know her. That pop star Blue Moon Kentucky. Last seen near the dam… remember?”

“Of course I know BM Kentucky.” She eyed it more keenly. “W-where’d you get it?”

“Never mind you that,” replied the boss.

“Oh but it’s important. Could be a virus.”

“It’s from a reputable source, (then). Guy named Daydreamer Gaming.”

“Mhm hmm, I’ve heard of him. Creates tours of Nightsity for visitors who don’t have powerful enough computers to visit in person. Didn’t know he worked with stalkers.”

“I don’t think he knew he was. Accident, we’ll say. The dam is an odd place. People claim it can warp space-time, make you see things that aren’t really there. Maybe someone happened to get inside a glitch?”

“Who tipped you off?”

Should Edward say, “Blue Moon herself”? Too early, he deemed. “A fan,” he said instead. “Someone who wants to see justice done.”

Lexi wondered: Blue Moon fan or UK Cracks? knowing she went solo about 5 years ago. But decided it was irrelevant. Could be both of course. Later, she wished she’d asked this very thing. Turned out to be relevant as all get out. Because the “stalker” was now a fan of only one album, one song really, and it was indeed from her solo period. Single named “Keep on Shining.” The one that brought her back to life.

—–

“Okay, just lay back and relax and study everything you see. Okay, not *that* laid back. Sit up a bit.

“I’ll turn on the machine from my end. Ready? Sit up a bit more please, boss (which he does). Okay, here goes…”

—–

“WHOA, get me out of here, Lexi, get me out of here! It’s *him*, it’s HIM.”

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00430108

“It’s bs about the Cleveland Rocks ultimately representing a phallus. And everyone who was hired by Asylum was given that list. They were ask to study it, write down 10 things they noticed. From this, they were assigned their positions within the company, a kind of aptitude test. Grandpa didn’t do well on it, didn’t even spot the obvious reversing of the D words Diablo with Draco in the supposedly completely alphabetized list, and so he was given the position of, let’s call it, sanitation engineer.”

“Grandpa,” asked Fern about the name. “Why did you call him that?”

“Because he was Grandpa Cliffs before he was Drew ‘Grumpy’ Cleveland. He’s *old*. The project was actually started in 1919, not 1972. That list was invented in 1919, both of ’em actually, although of course the second was advertised as the only one at the time.”

“He told us he was from ‘rough’ Grandpa Cliffs, as he put it, but implied it was a place. Just across the channel — I assumed he meant the river that flows below Castle Town, fixed in a gorgeous gorge.”

“No, that was his name,” insisted Teebestia the Asylum bartender, mask removed and revealed for what she was. A fount of knowledge about all things Asylum. She was old too, older than Grandpa, er, Grumpy, she claimed. “He was rough all right, though,” she continued. “Brought a rusty knife right with him into the compound on his first day. Rust is prohibited anywhere on Mars, you see. It’s because it’s considered a concealed weapon, even if you openly wield it in your hand. Mars is just that dusty. Can’t have rust or rust colored objects. So he was given a fine right off the bat.”

“And, let me guess, that was also on the aptitude test. Which Grandpa/Grumpy didn’t spot as well, didn’t understand the rule being openly displayed in the list.”

“RUSTYKNIFE, yeah,” said Teebestia, idle in the moment and free to talk at length. Only kind of rush they get in this place is 12-1 when the labs let out. “Should have been paired with MUSKET as an obsolete or extinct weapon. (The test) is all about pairings. GREEN-GRAY obviously.”

“Right.” Fern had time to study the list more later with this new information but she’d already started in her head. DIABLO-DRACO, GRAYBACK (or Greyback) and GREENGROW. Now MUSKET-RUSTYKNIFE. RUSTYKNIFE also with SPEARFINGER as a small projectile of death given long, sharp nails. And then CHOKE, BURN, BEAT, SPEAR — methods of death. EVE paired with JOANA indicates the overarching name and purpose of the thing. Fern could obviously have been president of this company. And perhaps she still can. “Leader?” she barked to Teebestia. “Wayne as in Bruce?”

Teebestia was looking for an opening to produce a copy of the red book from below the counter, slide it toward Fern as physical answer to a tough question. And so here it was. She had a stack of them down there.

“You want me to, study this?” Fern said, picking up the book and looking at the town on the cover.

“Start with references to a certain Biff Carter within and work your way out from there.” 3 customers walked into the bar named Sherwood, George, and Rutherford. She had to excuse herself with this.

“Whad’ll — it — be?” she asked them as if she had three heads instead of one, speaking, in turn, to the first, the middle, the last.

A dart shot into The Mouse.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0108, MARS, Ohio

00430107 (deep)

“What did you just call those rocks over there?”

—–

“Cleveland,” Fern repeats to partner Lichen what Asylum bartender Teebestia said to her while they were standing with their backs to the hole, gazing up at it. And the co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill happened to have the same name. Fern quickly determined it couldn’t be chance. They had to confront Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland with the news.

—–

“Little Big… right up on those rocks… was *taken*. Flung into the far corners of space against his will, his better nature. (Old) Mabel has been looking for him ever since. She thought the hole would provide the answer, or at least relief from her suffering. So she jumped… and came out the other side. Black to white; space again. The hole was a portal to a ship of vast dimensions. She didn’t find her big brother, per se, but found what happened to him, why he never returned. He was *assimilated*. Grumpy — you listening to me? You found that second list, said it was just on the floor when you finished dusting those bookshelves in back. But, truth be told, you’ve *had* that list, probably for a long time. What you didn’t know about is the other, matching list, our first but your second.”

Former porn star and current nudist Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland tried to retain a face of stone but failed. The facade broke down, he started crying even. In the animated blubbering, the huge package down below swayed back and forth like a swinging bridge disconnected on one side and in a heavy gale. He often wondered how it would be displayed when he passed on. In its own big, long jar of formaldehyde at some kind of porn flick museum? He didn’t want that future for himself. He wanted… more.

“I was told,” he said between sobs, “that it would make me *immortal*.”

A phallus! Fern realized. The Martian rocks represent his own. She needed to take a better look at them with this information. Where are the balls, for example?

Built right into the corner of the compound, as it turned out, the whole thing towering over the Asylum bar itself. But the overall smooth, classical phallus shape still lies unhewn and unexposed beneath a rough rock exterior. The sculptor, named TENNESSEE, still had much work to do. Trouble is, it had been over 100 years since she started.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0107, Castle Town+, MARS, Omega

00430104

He looked at the paper that had fallen to the floor from the bookcases in back. He quickly phoned Fern.

“Listen, I have news.”

Fern thought at first: Barry’s back from his sabbatical, But, no, it was another list, printed on Asylum Inc. letterhead again.

“How?” Fern responded to this. “We were just there. We looked *everywhere*.” The thought passed through her mind now that Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland, a nudist originally from rough Grandpa Cliffs across the channel, was playing an elaborate prank on them. She pondered this more as Grumpy explained he was cleaning up, getting ready to lock up, just dusting the bookshelves as he does at the end of every working day, when the thing simply fell out, about at the location of the “Around the World in *1000* Pictures” book (not 2000, as we’ve already explained). He thought he’d just dusted the book but couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he had it spread out in front of him on the bar counter. He described what he saw to Fern.

“It looks very similar,” he said. “26 words again, just like with the first one. Looks like a whole new set of words, though. And alphabetized again.”

“All the letters of the alphabet?” queried Fern.

Grumpy checked once more. “No, looks like some are missing this time.”

“So we have groupings of words starting with the same letter,” Fern said. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

—–

“So here they are. I took the first and placed it next to the new one so you could compare. Whaddaya think?”

Fern eyed the new set of 26 words with hoax firmly in her mind now. Grumpy playing games with her, just to try to show off what he thought was his own intellect too and put her in her place? But the words would tell her, the patterns they make.

“Diablo and Draco — did you see, Grumpy?”

“Umm, see what?”

“They’re reversed in the alphalist. Only two ‘D’s, swapped with each other. She eyed him now, looking for signs of feigned surprise. The surprised expression coming from the big, nude man in front of her seemed genuine, though. He’d simply passed over the reversing in his scan of the list.

“And, look here, Greengrow and Grayback — same thing if you spell Gray as Grey, like if we were English instead of American.” UK and US united as one, she thought here, lovely red-headed, pinkish skinned Wendy a vision in her mind. Or maybe UK and France is a better match, Fern quickly amended, considering the bar’s name they were in and the Churchill that had to be involved. “But, see,” she refocused on the colors green and gray instead, poking the printed words with her index finger, “this has something to do with war. This has something to do with *the* war. Green-Gray, sometimes colored Green-White for reasons I can’t quite remember right now.” She waved off the attempt. “Never mind that: Asylum is involved in the war. This Asylum Inc.,” she summarized, “is maybe a weapons manufacturer, or maybe something to do with military training.” Brainwashing, she realized. They’re brainwashing men to become soldiers. Just like…
—–

“Describe ‘hole’,” she asked the bartender in the city of Mars where Old Mabel disappeared from.

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00430103

“Those books in back aren’t for the general public,” spoke nudist and co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland to Fern and Lichen later on. “I only let friends back there, people I know, people I can trust who won’t sully the pages and so on. And I know all the books as well. I had ‘Around the World in 1000 Pictures’ not ‘2000’. That’s a later, expanded version I didn’t purchase. And I don’t take donations — not directly. I buy books. I *know* books.”

“Pure enough,” said Fern to this, still scanning the list before her on the counter. 26 words for 26 letters in order from A to Z. But Asylum isn’t among them — didn’t start it off. Instead: company letterhead at the top. She’d done a little research before confronting Grumpy with the list they’d found. Asylum Inc. was started by one Wayne Bruce in 1972 in Nightsity, California. Thing is, Nightsity doesn’t exist. Not in *this* reality. In 1988 it supposedly moved to Jasper County GA near Atlanta, apparently another lie.

Here’s a Google Street View of the address from the letterhead. Nothing.

The most confounding thing of all: When Fern and Lichen returned to the bookshelves around back to check for additional evidence, “Around the World in 2000 Pictures” was no longer there. Instead, a copy of “Around the World in 1000 Pictures”, brown colored instead of blue for the former, was present in the exact same spot, just like Grumpy said he bought. Even ultra-sharp Fern couldn’t figure this out in the moment. Not yet. It would take the closing of one eye and the opening of another to accomplish.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0103, C2077, Castle Town+, Georgia, Google Street View, NIGHTSITY, Omega

Seven (Dan sim)

Here I sit and think about my outstanding pinkness.

How did it come about? Well, it was *stolen*. From Baker Blinker. Way back in the day. Model 1.0 you could call it. Now I am considered to be a savior of some sort. The white horse leads, the black horse steers.

I came here…

… in a boat.

But not that one.

Maybe here I can get away from testers Fern and Lichen. Be my own body in my own person. That’s the hope.

Mama T. and calf will help me.

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00420616

“It’s simply beautiful here, Barry. But –”

“Why did I wait so long to show you this?”

“Well… *yes*.” It could have help swayed my judgement, she thinks. She could still change her mind, but… a contract was signed. Wendy’s Hot Dog Restaurant is a go! Except switch hot dogs with hamburgers and meat byproducts to just pure beef. Okama talked her into it, just as he talked himself into giving up the dream of taking over the Dream Emulator band and kicking everyone else out except maybe classically trained guitarist No Lag V, which they usually just shorten to No Lag. He’d assume the mayor’s position of Kangarootown instead, recently vacated by disgraced Golden Jim, fired because he’d called the wrong person the wrong name, it seems. Anyway, Okama = Mayor, Okama invites Wendy to open her restaurant in his former K-Town store (basically just a store for mouse traps, he said, waiving off the inconvenience), and then giving her a 25 year month lease on the place for 500 lindens a month. That’s the contract signed; too good of a deal to pass on; had to act fast, she felt, lest he or she changed his or her mind. And her affections returned to Bastard — wherever he is up there on the Red Dead planet. St. Dennis, she’d heard for a possible location. She hadn’t given up hope that he not only lives but thrives, and is just waiting for the right time to invite her up too. Hmm, but she’s locked into a lease now. She better think about a second in command just in case.

“I was waiting for the right time,” Barry finally answered, allowing Wendy’s internal monologue to unfurl in a proper manner. “I thought–”

“We could go steady?”

“Well…”

“Barry. I still have Bastard — you know, Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate.”

“But… he’s dead,” answers Barry to this.

“No, I refuse to believe that.”

“But… they found his *skeleton*, the Red Dead crew did. They *buried* him… out to sea.”

“No. Not true. I *sense* he exists still. I’m just not sure how.”

“All those rumors about him surviving and living in St. Dennis are just that. Fiction — fable. The skeleton in the boat was *his*. There was even his trusty sword to go along with it. Wendy — face it.” He makes her face him. “He’s gone.”

She was tempted to slap him for the stubbornness. But after all, as Okama Majo also pointed out, *he* has Hucka Doobie now. She substituted the slap with that harsh declaration.

Barry quickly looked away, almost as if he’d been slapped anyway. “She’s with someone else, I’ve heard. A Marion Star Harding. Never met the guy. But he predates me, even. Last I heard he’s in Gaston. Do you know of Gaston? I had to learn about it. I learned it from–” He stops. He realizes the irony, the *synchronicity* of the matter.

He recalls piecing together a document about the place. From wadded up papers strewn about his shed near the Pink Motel. Home.

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00420515 (centerpoint)

“Honey, get out of the shot. I’m trying to take a picture of that ghost over there!”

—–

“So this is where we’re going,” Mabel said to Teebestia, who had removed her mask since the facade was dropped, like water off a duck’s back.

“We *all* do,” the mechanoid rattled. “Eventually.”

“Riight.” Mabel was pondering how to get out of this. Really hard (!). “What happens when I wake up? I mean, when I get to the other side.”

“You’ll see your brother,” Teebeestia spoke plainly. “Reunited at last.”

I must be dreaming, thought Mabel. She goes to the edge, stares down into the hole, sees light at the bottom, way way down. She’ll be killed, yes. But the light will take her, swallow her. (Almost) all water removed. Just like a mechanoid. There will be little remorse for a life lived fully, quietly, in contemplation on the world at large. *Worlds*.

“Soo… this is how you got to be who you are.”

“Yes,” Teebeestia clipped rapidly. Death was good for her. She had a diseased heart, a diseased mind. The hole was a way out.

Mabel looked around the landscape for perhaps the last time. So much had changed about the Dawg Pound since their childhood, growing up with Winnfield — happy happy days. But the Cleveland Rocks up there remain. Perhaps, at least in part, as a memorial for Little himself, she imagined, the last place she saw him before he was taken. By the Universe. The mechanoids at least do that for him while shifting around everything else. She can’t really blame them, though. Climate change, she knew. “Oh, Little,” she lamented. “What have your Green-Gray Wars done?”

She shifts her attention back to the hole. Taking a deep breath… she jumps.

The bones rattle on.

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