As Dr. Nightwing continued to stare out the window at the southern Okemo Canyon view and contemplate possibilities, the 13th miraculously fell out of the sky right in front of him. Duncan Avocado. Landing without even a scratch upon his body.
—–
“Let’s talk about this,” suggested Indigo to her side.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0616, Purden/Snowlands^, Rubi^
Dr. Nightwing had traversed the whole of Okemo Gorge many times now. But the so-called Murderkiller hadn’t struck again in several weeks, November 27th to be exact. He was sure the perpetrator would employ the deepest and longest canyon in Snowlands for body dumpings sometime, perhaps as part of a climactic spree of some kind. But how to police it all? Luckily there was the ONSR (Okemo, Nakiska, and Southern Railway) running through its center.
12 stops existed along the railroad, almost the same number of murders already perpetrated by the Murderkiller in Snowlands (13). He understands 12 shouldn’t be forced into 13 so easily, but can’t help himself. And certainly the 13th and last is being highlighted through various, recently exposed details. On *this side* that would be Schism Santa, torn limb from limb by the rogue yeti on a lake isle in Schism and then deposited in the gorge running from the lake to the Southern Sea. How many body parts were found? He recalls 7 — he’ll keep that in mind. But his ruminations keep coming back to that island for a particular reason.
And he must always hold in mind that the killer yeti is in all likelihood merely an outward disguise for something far more villainous and conniving. He knows this through Audrey; he’s learn to trust her intuition. “This is *not* a yeti rampage,” is one of her recent mantras on the subject. “Yetis do not kill 13 beloved Christmas figures over here, then go over there and murder the same amount. This is the work of a mastermind.” In fact, it was Audrey who coined the name Murderkiller. 13 killed over here, you see, then 13 murdered over there. She lists all the names out in that direction: 12 young women on The Cross, with the 11th and 12th begin Ruby and Indigo (as previously illuminated). But the 13th? Also a man in that case, she’s determined from all the evidence. One Duncan Avocado, an escaped slave from the southern part of the Omega continent — Dixie it is slangly called by some, after a similar splinter nation off the old United States of America that was dissolved in the 2030s, he believed; 2036 comes to mind (the United States, not Dixie). But then the topper: Audrey also uncovered a lake island in connection with *his* death. 13th mirrors 13th in that respect. What could it mean? They’ve had long conversions on the subject the last several evenings, sandwiched around their most popular of nighttime activities. His back remains a little sore today.
He can’t follow all the Omega continent leads and patrol the Okemo Canyon at the same time — his *own* hunch for the location of 12 or 13 *more* killings to come. He realizes he must have a confederate — a *companion*. Audrey is a logical choice, what with her brilliance of mind. But there’s also the muted Mystic Girl to consider. Hmmm. Maybe both? he then realizes. He can have more than one companion at a time. Nothing in the Cosmic Rulebook he plays by states otherwise; he’s checked the related sections many times now. But here’s the problem: these would be his 12th and 13th companions overall, if so. He dare not put a lady in the target of a ruthless killer by slapping a number 13 on her back side. However, he also most definitely needs a 12th. So — bottom line (he decides) — he needs to choose. This would be his right hand person to his left hand working over here.
—–
“I just want to pause here again,” says Indigo to the quickly scribbling Ruby on her right. “So that’s 13 *killings* in… Snowlands. Then 13 *murders* on the Omega continent and its cross.”
“*The* Cross,” chips in Ragdoll across from her.
“Yes. And then 12 or 13 more in the Okemo Canyon? Is this what Dr. Nightwing has projected? Or maybe sees in the future?”
Ruby gnaws on the eraser of the pencil while thinking. “No,” she decides. “We don’t have time to open another can of worms like that in the current novel journal.” She begins to erase the related line. “Let’s… leave it that Dr. Nightwing is puzzling over the similarities of the 13th killings in each direction while patrolling the Okemo Canyon.” She wipes away the eraser shards. “We don’t have to go into detail about what he’s doing there.”
“We don’t?” queries young Ragdoll, eyes alert with surprise, then relaxed. “I do like the idea of the Murderkiller. And the Killen Ponds.”
“Killen Ponds?” exclaim Ruby and Indigo as one. Where did *that* come from?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0615, Purden/Snowlands^, Rubi^
“The treasure remains safe for now, Breven. All things will be reset in the transition between 11 and 12. Are we ready?”
“Caaaaaaaaap.”
“What’s that, my flightless friend?”
“E.”
“Oh. *Cape*. Right you are!”
—–
Ruby finds more blank pages at the end. “And that appears to be it, my friends. The treasure remains safe; everything is wrapped up neat and tidy.” She pauses. “I suppose.”
“What about the Murderkiller?” inquired Indigo to her left. “What about *me*. I’m dead!”
“Yes,” points out Ragdoll on her right. “And I wasn’t even in this one. Disappointment!”
Central Ruby ponders on this. “Maybe — just this time — we can handwrite into these blank pages at the end. You know, create our own ending. Since we’re not quite satisfied with this one.”
“Unlike 10. Perfect!” remarks Ragdoll.
“And 7,” offers Indigo. “My favorite.”
“Right. Well… any ideas? Indigo, you mentioned the Murderkiller, and I agree. I was also killed, you’ll remember.”
“But then,” indicates Ragdoll in her more high pitched, youthful voice, “Axis, I believe, states you can be brought back to life through cloning. Your leg.” Ragdoll gestures toward Ruby’s wooden leg. “How *did* that happen, by the way? I mean, outside the books themselves.”
But Ruby refused to talk about that in detail, saying it involved a moment shared between Axis and herself and she would tell them more later. It would actually be much later. So they went back to the topic of the Murderkiller. Ruby summarized.
“We — being the user as a collective — originally wanted to call him or her the Alphabet Killer, since 26 deaths seem to be involved, same as the number of letters in the alphabet. But turns out this title had been taken by another sickie in the past. So Murderkiller was eventually chosen, because, you see, 13 beloved Christmas figures were *murdered* in Snowlands — perhaps all men if we admit that snowman Frederica is actually a transvestite named Frederick…”
“Interesting twist,” states Indigo.
“Yes. And then 13 women *killed* elsewhere, perhaps all on this Cross that is a central setting for 11.”
“I am the 12th.” Indigo points to herself. “And you are the 11th.” She redirects the finger toward Ruby. “Frodes.”
“Laffoon to Frodes, right. We should have never left the laughs and buffoonery of Laffoon, I believe the text states.”
“And that’s directly on The Cross,” added Ragdoll. “I’ve studied the Omega continent in the meantime. Lineside is in the middle. Like a dividing line between north and south.”
“Mason-Dixon,” agrees Ruby. “So much more could be developed, starting with that Bypass used to railroad captives back to Dixie.”
“Like Duncan Avocado,” declares Indigo.
“The 13th,” chips in Ragdoll. “But, queerly, not a woman this time. Maybe a switch with Frederica somehow?”
“Good. Good, guys.” An inspired Ruby goes around the corner to retrieve a pencil, then returns to the table. She begins to lay out the reality of an extended ending, qualifying the plan by saying they can always erase anything they don’t agree with.”
“So it has to be a consensual reality,” expresses Indigo. “All shared.”
“All shared,” joins Ragdoll.
Ruby puts graphite point to paper. “All shared,” she echoes. And begins to write…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0614, Mountain Lake^, Rubi^
“Stop *staring* at the man, Baker Bloch thought about Horace Wise. It’s like he’s never seen a black person before.
“So,” Duncan began, obviously conscious of the riveting gaze, “looks like we’ll have to start without our Mountain Lake representative Ms. Well.”
“A *wo*-man,” spoke Horace Wise incredulously from his side. “I think not. We already have [delete rest of sentence].”
Baker Bloch breathed deeply. Looking at him, Duncan decided to jump in first. “First of all, we’re African-*Americans*. Just like you Horace.”
Horace Wise finally broke his stare, sighed, and waved his arms around in despair. “The Virtual Chel-sea Hotel, the finest building, most likely, in this whole, wide conti-nent. Represented by *you*.”
Alright, that’s it Horace,” states Baker Bloch angrily. “I’m evoking class *5* status by rights of being the *author* of this novel — a *Collagesity* novel, after all — and saying that your Philo is disqualified, disqualified, *disqualified* from the race for the treasure. Now — *get out*. It will be between me, *Duncan* here — a man like yourself, thankfully, or I don’t know *what* you’d call him — and then Lou, our representative apparently from the Mountain Lake region of the Omega continent.” In his rage, he left out the remaining candidate at the table: Teepot’s Jeffrie Phillips.
But Horace Wise didn’t leave immediately. “You’re taking all this serious-ly. The” — he looks over at Duncan — “*black* man here. Then a woman. *Wo*-man.”
“Yes!!” Baker Bloch’s yell could probably be heard all the way over to Horace’s hometown.
And this is probably what a lot of people were like back then. And could still be. Yes, probably were around in good numbers still. Philo is *history*, but history repeats.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0509, Mountain Lake^, Myron^, Rubi^, Teepot^^, VHC City^
“I assume you’re here about the treasure hunt,” spoke Collagesity representative Baker Bloch to the stranger sitting beside him, breaking the awkward silence.
“Y-es,” proclaimed Horace Wise in a surprisingly stilted voice (to Baker). “We think we have what it takes in Philo to complete the task — wrap everything up neat and nice-ly.” He looked at Baker directly now. “Take it *home*,” he furthered.
“Philo, huh. The retro-village? Just over there?” Baker Bloch points in a southeast direction from their position atop the Virtual Chelsea Hotel. And, yes, he was already trying to be slightly dismissive of the haughty tone set. In defense mode.
“We are *not* re-tro. It is just that most people around us — on the continent — are from the *fu-ture*.” Horace Wise scanned his neighbor with protruding lower lip. “Like your-*self*, apparently. What fair village or town or city do you represent? Are you a class 4 burg? 3? Dare I say: *2*? We are proudly a 4, since we span two sims now, Myron and also Catal-pa. We actually, in a way, share the Catalpa-Tessock sim with VHC City, another 4.” Horace Wise paused. “I assume VHC City is in the hunt as well, since we’re *here* — at the Chel-sea. I wonder where their represen-tative is, though?”
“I represent Collagesity, by the way,” a now truly irritated Baker Bloch said. “Class 2 burg, I suppose we are. Considerably less than a sim. But we have the forest to boost us up.” Baker waited for Horace Wise to ask questions about the forest but they never came. Instead, he roosted on the class 2 aspect. Instant disqualification in his mind. Just like the case with Rodentia — all the rest. The many “others.” The wannabes in his mind. Like stars you can’t see with the naked eye in the sky. Don’t matter; nothing to see.
“Hmph,” instead came Horace Wise’s simple, cuttingly dismissive reply. They sat together even more awkwardly after this, waiting for others to show up. Baker Bloch dare not look in his eyes again.
George liked it here on the peninsula Duncan assigned him to keep an eye on. This meant Core-Alena in whatever shape she happened to be in at the time. This included The Between, a slither of land representing a neutral point between Virtual and Reality. This meant, well, anything else in and around the peninsula. Just keep your eyes peeled, requested Duncan.
And something had happened tonight, George then realized, peering around. The Seven Crate was gone from its former position behind the Magenta Girls’ beach house.
First the VEN off the boat moored just offshore several days ago, now the SeVEN crate itself. Better get this information back to Duncan as soon as possible, George considered. Maybe… right now?
—–
“I *told* you not to come here, George.”
“I’m properly disguised — in costume.”
“Nevertheless. You’re still a boy of 13 at heart. This is an adult portal.”
George glanced over at the center of it all again. “Milk. And cookies.” He pointed. “Funny.”
“Stop looking over there. You don’t know *what* will show up. Just stare straight ahead.”
“Okay.”
“Tell you what, let’s just get out of here.”
“But I just arrived,” protested George. “Ohhh.”
“Let’s go back to the apartment.” And so they did.
—–
“Okay, I feel a lot more comfortable now with you being here. So… start at the beginning. When did you find the crate missing? After the boat name changed, I know. But just go through the events of the day leading up to it.”
So George unfurled the events of the day leading up to the discovery. Core-Alena and he had had breakfast together at the beach house. “English muffins, ummm,” George remembered. “Core-Alena is a good cook, especially for a tree.”
“That’s a racist and bigoted response,” reprimanded Duncan. “Trees are no different than people. There’s trees that are good with cooking, good with music, good with science. Just like people.” Duncan stared an apology out of his young ward.
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Now continue.”
“Well, we finished breakfast, and then I helped with the dishes and we sat around and chatted. Core-Alena — well, you know how she is. Always complaining.”
“Watch it,” warned Duncan.
“Alright.” George nodded here. “But she started on… talking about how she got killed again.”
Duncan paused with this, turned and appeared to look out the window toward the great Hotel Chelsea (the center of it all *here*) while actually deep in thought. “I see.”
“She mentioned you.”
“Of course she did.”
“And how she’s not happy being where she is now. Mobile. That’s the problem,” the boy guesses.
“Yeah,” admits Duncan, turning back around. “That’s the problem, George.” He shuffles his feet a bit, wrings his hands nervously. “A conundrum even.”
George pauses in turn. “She needs to go back into the ground. Doesn’t she?”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0216, The Straight^, VHC City^
“At least he seems to have gotten rid of some of the bugs,” spoke Fairy Ruby, anxious to get this over. Those red curtains…
“Is there any other way?” Axis looked at his nails, also nervous.
“No. It has to go through him. Prearranged condition.”
—–
“Marriage!?” Cigar smoking Philip Strevor was incredulous.
“It’s just a seasonal thing. It’s either get married or be buried.” Fairy Ruby leaned foward. “Please, Philip. You’ll be rewarded later on. I promise you. Anything you like. Just don’t let me be… killed again.”
She leans back and thinks of the consequences just exposed.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0210, Iris^^==, The Straight^
“So hard to get comfortable in these f-cking chairs,” Buster complained, wishing he would have tried one or two more before Duncan showed up. But he didn’t have time.
“Yeah, I saw your green dot over here and decided just to teleport over, to save you the trouble of sending me an invite and all. So: what’s up, Buster? You said this was of utmost importance.”
Buster squirmed a bit more before replying. “Pot-D is what’s up, Duncan Avocado.” He let the high pitched declaration hang in the air.
“Pot-D?” Duncan thought about it a second. He looked around the restaurant; checked his inworld map before leaning in closer. “Drugs?” he said in a lower tone.
“No, no, no Duncan A. Get your mind out of the slum, er, gutter. I’m talking about a secret society we want you to join. To help us with the investigation of The Diagonal. Pot-D stands for Protectors of the Diagonal. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Duncan Avocado pondered on this as well, then answered: “W-what do I have to do? Sign some papers or something? Um, be sworn in?”
The small vampire shook his head. “No, you’re basically already in. It’s all verbal in this club. Angus Nuffin suggested it, and he’s sort of the boss, the ringleader I suppose.” Buster’s pace was brisk; he wanted to get Duncan initiated and then get the hell out of here. The Chelsea so close, so close. Blue Angel. “What do the initials R.B. mean to you?”
Duncan went into thinking mode again. “Nothing,” he then answered after a spell. “I don’t know anything it’s attached to… for me… personally. Could be wrong.”
“Good. Then you’re on the right timeline — you’d know if you knew. You’re as good as a member right now.” He reached into his xxxs sized jacket and pulled out a necklace, silver in color with a red pendant. “This is yours. You have to put it on now before I leave. The necklace must touch part of your skin. That way we can always be in communication with you. Are you cool with this still?”
Duncan Avocado had been studying The Diagonal in his own way for many months now, and George with him (Duncan and George go *way* back together). He’d been waiting for a new role to show up at his doorstep. And now it had. He didn’t want to miss another opportunity.
“Sure. Why not.” He grasped the necklace from Buster’s extended hand, put it on.
“Argg, daybreak. F-cking, cursed sun. Must split, Duncan. We’ll be in touch. Get it? Touch.” He didn’t wait for Duncan to respond, but just winked out with this, right when the sun’s hateful rays were washing red over his seat.
Duncan stuck around a while and finished his croissant and cup of creamy coffee. Pretty good. Maybe George and he can eat breakfast here tomorrow. Talk about what has transpired.
But what *did* just transpire? he then considered.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0115, VHC City^
Interesting, thought Buster Damm, teleporting into the center of the Tussock sim under the cover of darkness. Right in the middle of the railroad.
He will call Duncan A. once he finds a good spot to sit at the restaurant. One he feels comfortable with.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0114, VHC City^
He wandered around the living room while Misty was preparing herself upstairs. He eventually found the open alchemy book in the locked art deco secretary, as she had planned.
He had to make out what was on the pages in reverse. Oh, he thought while staring at the tree rising backwards from the man. That’s interesting, hmm.
Hmm.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0112, Heterocera, Myron^
Sunklands 