Category Archives: VHC City^

May 19, 2017 · 7:53 pm

back seat dyer

“Ahh, so you two are back already. How was Zoidberg again? How’s the folks?”

“Um, fine I guess,” Fisher the driver of the mini replied. “Who are you?”

“Tronesisia,” the gleaming silver robot lady responded. “New owner of the gas station. Old owner, or his son at least, told me all about you. From the future, eh? Don’t get a lot of those around here.”

“What happened to the old owner? Doggie, wasn’t it?”

“Doogie — the son. Tragic thing,” spoke Tronesisia solemnly. “Father passed away. Son decided to pull out the stake driven into his heart and move on. Took his marshmallow man with him. Now I’m all alone here, without help. Either of you need some dough? I have hours.”

“Not really,” replied Fisher. “No, we’re good,” mumbled Bendy at the same time.

“So fill her up?”

“Sure,” said Fisher. “And you probably already know, since you seem to know all about us, but it takes regular. Premium’s too rich for this old baby.”

“It is a pretty car.”

“Blue like your eyes.” Bendy then flirted, seeing an opening.

“You’re cute mister,” Tronesisia giggled, moving closer and pretend-pinching the fellow robot’s cheek. Bendy rubs it and grins.

“Gas, miss?” Fisher prompts, checking the sun.

—-

20 minutes later, Tronesisia had sold them on the idea of staying overnight at Old Martha Ball’s available shack at the eastern edge of Sister. Furthest away from the town’s vampiric activity, she claimed. Safely tucked away in a small wood on the other side the tracks, she furthered.

Boy was she telling a whopper.


Tronesisia driving Bendy and (especially) Fisher over to their possible doom.

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May 19, 2017 · 7:39 am

busting in

Using his universal pass-through, the littler vampire entered the house. “Buster Damm as I live and breathe, ha ha.” Pitch was use to his free comings and goings.

“Morning wine, Pitch?” Intervention Buster queried, looking at the bottle and full glass in front of him.

“Oh, this is just left over from last night,” Pitch explained. “You know how I am about cleaning up.”

“Who was the dame?” Jealous Buster asked with an edge, taking a seat opposite his bestest friend in the world. “Not that laconic bee woman again? I thought you two were Spitsville.”

“It’s Splitsville,” Pitch corrected. “But, no, it was Wheeler. You know, the lively one who bought the Key Store from Chuckles outside. Not a beaner. However she doesn’t own the shop any more. A wooden man bought it from her. Toys in VHC City, Buster. What’s next? Elves?”

“Hmm. What did you two guys talk about?” Had Jealous Buster skipped over a line? Didn’t matter. Pitch was a super duper pal and would play fair instead of foul if so.

Pitch hurled his morning spitball. “Sister.” He paused.

“Sister?” asked Stifled Buster back.

“Sister. Everything you see around you.” He waved his arm, indicating the house and its windows to the outer world. “There’s a place we should visit on the edge. Let’s call it that. The Edge. Won’t take long at all. A baseball field away at best.”

Nosey Buster had started scanning Pitch’s latest jottings, attempting to understand better. He reads aloud now. “‘The future fisher lives on the edge. Chuckles knows identity but won’t spill. Got that he owns a slavebot who is bent up inside. Coins. Squid and whale.'” Shaking his head, Thursty Buster reaches over and grasps Pitch’s glass of viscous wine, downing it in one take. “Let’s hit the trail,” he said, wiping his tiny mouth with his little black cape. No stain remained.

—–

“No one home, Buster,” Pitch says after calling. Curious Buster wouldn’t be denied. He deployed the universal pass-through again.

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May 19, 2017 · 6:43 am

dead and alive

But Summerhill Nova certainly had her own issues apart from all this new stuff. An estranged sister front and foremost. “Why did you have to go away?” she asked while staring over at her ghost in Eastside Park. They had played here often as children. Baseball was the game then. Dead ball era. She always took the role of pitcher Baby Ruth. Her sister was Butterfingers, an ironic name because she was best at catching. Always hanging around home.

Across the tracks, Pitch Darkly became lively again.

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May 18, 2017 · 7:04 am

Going all nova.

She had a right to know. She *created* all this. Who is this Baker Bloch upstart? Vampires, pheh. There are no vampires in VHC City. [Work] like this could give her town a bad name. Best not to confront him directly yet. She decides to instead track down The Musician. Not hard — he had fallen asleep on the couch of his Ear Bar, exhausted from playing pinball all evening. He was at the green wall. Sikul Himatk. Summerhill roused him from his dreams. “What’s all this about,” she immediately started. “Vampires? Black holes? How do you know Baker? Who’s this Wheeler you run around with? Answers, please.”

The Musician understood who this was after his head cleared, but could give no really satisfactory replies. They were just existing in VHC City as best they could, he explained — just getting by. He and Wheeler now lived in Allen Martin’s vacated apartment. Summerhill also knew about Allen Martin. “Well, what happened to him?” she asked, thinking back to the supposed murder or death (something) at another place she knew well. “Heart attack is all I know,” The Musician attempted to explain. “Wheeler was with him at the end. She said it was fate that he passed through the gate there. Something about seeing a monster blasting through a wall. Didn’t say much more about it. (She’s) clearly upset.”

“Is Wheeler still at the apartment?” Summerhill continued grilling. The Musician nodded. “Let’s go see her. Maybe she has the answers.”

—–

So tonight was when Summerhill Nova learned about Pitch Darkly. It was actually this: Pitch Darkly *pretending* to be Baker Bloch pretending to be Pitch Darkly, as Wheeler explained while they shared a pot of coffee. She had just gained the knowledge herself. The vampire was very real. He had existed in what later would become VHC City for a very long time. Hundreds of years. Maybe over a thousand. This from the mouth of Pitch Darkly himself, now living on the other side of the tracks. Chuckles Greentop partially backed up the story, what she remembered about it. Pitch Black was his property. “And he was also friends with Sikul Himatk,” Wheeler then said.

“I think I know that name,” The Musician piped up on the couch opposite them, becoming fully awake again.

“Well of course you do,” replied Wheeler.

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May 18, 2017 · 5:15 am

Sibling Sims

Wheeler was tiring of the chit chat. “You said you had something important to tell me.”

“More ‘Winesap?'”

Wheeler looked down at Baker’s Pitch Darkly’s extended hand. “If you mean wine, I’m good. So spill.”

“It was such a good name I couldn’t wait. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything over at… where did you say you were?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh all right.” He put his hands behind his head and made the announcement. “It’s Silver. I’m sorry (!): Sister.”

“What is?” Wheeler asked.

“The sim. The name of the sim we, I, couldn’t determine before. It’s really clever. Want to hear my logic?”

“Oh sure. I’m here. Drinking suspiciously viscous wine with you.”

“Well, first off, the sim in question is kind of the sister to Bemberg. Together they hold about 80, maybe 90 percent of VHC City. The town’s kind of split between them. Brother and sister, maybe.”

“Ok, that’s understandable I suppose.”

He removed his hands from his neck and leaned forward. “Now here’s where it gets really clever. Take the last six letters of the actual name, rearrange them — not adding or subtracting any letters — and you, voila, get Sister. Go ahead and try it.”

Wheeler worked the problem out in her head; took her a moment. “Okay, that’s kind of cool, admittedly — starting to make more sense.”

“And there’s more. Has Chuckles told you about the Seven Sisters yet?” He nodded his head in the direction of the perpetually reeling fisherwoman outside.

“I don’t think so,” Wheeler said without turning around to look as well. “What are they?”

They’re pools in the sim I’m rather insisting we now call Sister. You have to go through the blue door. The Musician may have already found them. Anyway, you pass through that door and soon you are upon an inundating, grassy plain dotted with these small pools. Trouble is, there are only six pools out of seven present now. The seventh is gone. The seventh *sister* is missing. Where is it? is what I’m asking. What is it? Can you guess?”

Wheeler scrunched her mouth up, indicating she couldn’t.

“Black horse. Oh, drat, sorry again, black *hole*. I’ll quote to you from a famous music song directly related to all this. Let me make sure I have it right — wrote it down in preparation.” Pitch Darkly pulls out a piece of paper from his ragged black coat and reads:

In the constellation of Cygnus
There lurks a mysterious, invisible force
The Black Hole of Cygnus X-1
Six stars of the northern cross
In mourning for their sister’s loss
In a final flash of glory
Nevermore to grace the night

Pitch Darkly then stabs the paper on the table several times with his forefinger. “The Oracle indicated this.”

—–

Meanwhile, The Musician had moved through the pools called Seven Sisters and up a sewer ladder giving access to a green wall marking the southern line of the property formerly known as Pitch Black. “What was hidden by Harrison Head before is now exposed,” he said in a confident voice, looking at this similarly green picture at its east end and thinking back to the new collage called “The Point of It All” he had seen earlier in Bemberg’s Clown Central.

“The monster swallowing its own tail; perpetual. Cardboard Derek Jones was right all along (about Greenup).”

—–

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May 16, 2017 · 5:38 am

Around Town

Baker Bloch marveled at the constantly changing furniture in a VHC City store called Prim Possible.

Wheeler mulled over multiple realities surrounding the death of Allen Martin while sipping expresso at News and Views across from the famous hotel.

Snowmanster kept spinning around and around in his CB Dylan Dresser at Bemberg Towers Apt. #6, unable to enter this dimension.

Across the tracks in a tiny two story house, a fly got stuck in Pitch Darkly’s wine red nightcap.

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May 13, 2017 · 4:51 pm

OPD

“No Woody, you cannot be a Musician in this story as well. Now put that away and get ready. It’s time.”

“Hello my love,” Old Man Allen Martin said. “For the last time.”

Wheeler could not help. She just had to watch. And, yeah, it was painful. Very painful.

Then it was done. Correct reality locked in.

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May 13, 2017 · 1:30 pm

Still The Key

“No crossing this lake, my love. Good fishing, though. Probably worth the risk.”

“Perch?” Wheeler logically guessed.

“Yeah,” admitted Chuckles Greentop. “But fighters here. Tough because of the gators. I think that movable, more realistic looking one is a croc, actually, despite the description. I decided a while back to name it Dundee, after the movie.” She calls over to it. “How’re you hang’in today Dundee? Alli G. treating you right still?” She then whispers over to Wheeler. “They’re lovers, you know. Different species by my reckoning, but still do’in the nasty. And I want to be first in line for one of those impossible crocogator babies. I’ll put it in one of my outer pools.”

Wheeler glanced over her shoulder. “How’s your face holding up?”

“Fine. Close enough to a clown’s face to work. Better, maybe, because it’s more confusing. ‘What is you?’ they may be uttering, haha. Thank you for that. How ’bout yours?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I told you, that’s the trick, my fiend friend. You *come* already as a clown. That way you won’t *turn* into a clown. You’ll learn the tricks here. We can fish together sometimes in this remote pool, then. But no further in this direction. That pool and attached monsters are there for a reason. I’ve seen them on the other side. This is where we communicate. Maybe today will be one of those days.”

Wheeler starts to shiver. Chuckles notices.

“Don’t be afraid, love. They’re as scared of those crocogator thingies as we are. This is the Pool of Coahoma, the separation of the barely living from the completely dead. Once you cross that pool or even attempt to, there’s no turning back. You’re one of them.”

Trouble was, Wheeler thinks she’s already been beyond. And then she gets instant verification.

“Welcome back Wheeler,” says a smiling Woody Woodmanson, appearing from around the bend.

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May 13, 2017 · 10:39 am

“patch on his uniform which”

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May 12, 2017 · 9:13 am

Central

Waking up in the morning on his old couch at the Ear Bar, The Musician wasn’t sure if the whole episode was real or mere vivid dream. But here ’tis.

—–

Baker Bloch and Hucka Doobie decided that The Musician should go look at the newest collage located in Clown Central. “The Point of It All.” Hucka escorted him there.

“Mish mash of stuff,” The Musician opined. “Like the ravings of Chef/Inspector Petty last night. I had to leave.”

“No. The picture tells a tale. Look. There is your inspector. What is he examining?”

“I don’t know,” said The Musician, following Hucka Doobie’s pointing hand. “A monster?”

“Yes, a crocodile or alligator. Petty wishes to know about monsters. But he must become *relaxed*. Not Petty, but Allen Martin.”

“I don’t want to talk about Allen Martin right now,” The Musician said firmly. “I’ve figured something out. I’m confused.”

“Allen Martin’s heart might give out. He must relax. How does he relax? Wheeler.”

“Yeah, see, that’s what I don’t want to talk about.”

“Okay,” relented Hucka Doobie. “How about up there above the inspector. Chuckles Greentop, no?”

“I don’t know. I saw her face transform into something like that. Then I saw it again in the basement of [delete name]. Now I’m looking at it again. Which I don’t want to.” He looks around. “Where are we?”

“The Point of It All,” Hucka Doobie answers. “Here lies seed information. Sometime between 2013 and present, this room formed; closed off from the rest of the underworld. Yes, like a seed planted. That is OD, of course, off the wall but then back on and then off again. OD is free. OD is *here*.”

“Ooo-kay,” The Musican mutters, tired of the puzzle-speak. “Let’s just move on from that since we’re going to play this game. Alright, I’ll give it a try. Beside that monster OD is the ‘Emerald Tablet.'”

“Very good,” encouraged Hucka Doobie. “And what does it represent? Harrison Head seems to want to say something.”

The Musician straightened his posture, eyes staring ahead instead of darting about. Sikul Himatk.

“We must enter the next sim. Through the blue door. Keys.”

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