Category Archives: Blue Feather Sea^

00440407 (change)

“Don’t forget about Lichen’s 4 Stomach Tour,” I tried to ground Fern.

“Of course not. But back to immediate business. Black Wall.” Then she forgot. Again.

“Right, right.” I shook my head internally while nodding on the outside. Fern didn’t pick up on my doubts, which was a little disconcerting itself. Lack of recognition. Brilliant in so many other ways. But not irony — comedy in another form. I knew we were entering dangerous territory.

She drew more diagrams in the notebook before her, a gray Mead 5 star spiral with 22 holes and approx. 5×7 inch design. “Pre-1906,” she said, still looking down in a pause between scribbles. “Probably around 1893 or maybe even dating back to 1886, hmm. Anyway (she shook her head), we’ll see soon enough. So the Black, the White, the Green will all be in their proper place and not all mixed up during this period. She punctuated the page before her at the appropriate spots, apparently some kind of crude map as I understood now. “Auburn was still Slaughter with its Slaughterhouse Hotel, or close enough, before the scaredypants changed the name.” She scribbles some stuff on top of what I took now as Auburn on the map, near the old conjunction of the Green and White rivers as I knew from previous discussions. “Everything was right. We can even go there, you know — this Slaughterhouse.” She circles Auburn which she’s changed to Slaughter, with a little cartoon house with teeth drawn atop of it to reinforce the link. “Thanks to the magic of Our Second Lyfe. There we’ll meet Middle. Are you grasping this yet?”

“This… has already happened?”  I guessed, thinking of the snake, the tail.

“The Wheel is the middle of the Tarot, or at least the end of it (The Wheel, not the Tarot). 10… you met Tin at another hotel which is perhaps the same hotel — motel — in Room 10. You have arrived.”

“*You* have arrived,” I said. “What happened next?”

“I… drew my gun and opened the door”

“Yes?”

“She turned.”

“Right.”

“Then… black out. Loss of power.  But I recognized her. Tin for sure.”

“Ten,” I said. “The Wheel.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s where Lincoln starts his latest Brain Daze. Not 5 days ago. We’re looking right at it in the beginning. Sunset Motel in the Badlands again. Then he goes and hops on his motorcycle and heads back into town from whence he came, or at least the Rancho Coronado suburb. Leaves it at another service station there after walking around a while, finding stuff, interacting with people.” I end my quick review of the BD, wait for Fern to chip in. But she wasn’t there any longer. Where’d she go?

—–

“Are you Lincoln?” she said at the start, knowing it was truth.

“Yes? How’d–”

“You’re heading the wrong way. You need to go further into the desert.”

(to be continued)

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00440405 (Big Ear (Breakfast at Tippany’s))

—–

“Thank you for meeting with me [delete name].”

“Did I have any choice?”

“Not really,” Jer Left Horn answered. “Now about my brother.”

—–

“What did my brother tell you?” Benny Right Horn asked right off the bat.

“That you’re a liar and don’t trust anything you have to say. You’re a Democrat. That’s what he called you.”

“Well he’s a Republican,” the right horned one of the brothers responded. “They lie even more. They lie *all* the time, not just some of it.”

“He said… that only one can continue. The other must end. What does he mean?”

Benny pondered this for a second. “That only one of us is the true Horn. Where the message came through. Problem is, no one knows which is which. Tipping point,” he ended his point.


Breakfast Aisle

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00440402

“No you don’t understand,” she said calmly but firmly after the proposition. “I’m through with you now. You can go back home… the North Pole or whatever. Some circle of ice. I have someone else to meet. And a name change involved — tricky business. So… shoo.”

He shoos. RosE T. takes his place across from her.

She tried to be inconspicuous when listening in, but *this* Rose was indeed curious how the discussion would go. She already had a twin next door with the same name. They bickered all the time about who to call what. A 3rd would *definitely* not do. Tin knows this, she understood. Tin will set her straight. If she wants to stay. Because otherwise… blood may be on her hands.

He walked into the next establishment over, determined to succeed with his proposition. “Buy a pretty lady a drink?” he said to the tender. Rose, he observed. Name seems so familiar, *she* seems so familiar. But of course, he realized, recalling the twin not 50 feet away. This is the sticky name change situation Tin mentioned. I understand now why she didn’t have time for me. Potential blood on her hands. Pretty Roses always come with pricking thorns.

“Yeah, not going to happen,” said Rose T. firmly but calmly back. *Now* what? Tin thought.

Then, knowing this particular Rose got her name from a Zombies album, she figured out another angle of attack.

(to be continued)

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00440313

“Oh Lichen. Why did you have to take me so far?”

By the time they climbed up to the higher plateau all the snow had melted from the night before. And Lichen had turned into A. Pond the true traveling companion as Fern was now Dr. Kelp.

“F-ck Dr. Kelp and her two timing ways,” wrote Rose T. in her journal that night, paraphrasing something similar from the morning entry. Two a day until she catches up, she’s determined. Catastrophe set her back.

(to be continued)

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00440309 (Rose T.)

She resided in Dairy so she thought it was appropriate to start her long delayed *diary* here. To begin: renaming the place after the book. Aisle of Diary it is from now on in the writing. Or Isle — either one perhaps, depending on, let’s say, the weather. Sunny right now. Isle, then.

Dear Diary,

Today I begin my life anew. Beautiful day here in the Isle, let’s call it. Edward D. is cooking up breakfast, no dairy. I’m allergic to dairy now. Milk, cheese, all of it. My diary makes it so.

I want to first talk about Dr. Kelp and how the two timing f-er stabbed me in the back and replaced me with A. Pond. I want to talk about the lie that is Edward D., because I made him up, name just off the the top of my head back there. Let’s see, 5 sentences back now. Oh here he comes now, breakfast in hand. “Thank you dearest!” I say to him, putting down the loaded down tray beside the keyboard in front of me, planning to nibble on it for the next hour or so. Writing and dining, two of my favorite activities. 5 sentences, 5 bites (so on). I don’t do dairy. I sip on the glass of milk he also provided (“Thanks again, dearie!”).

The breakfast turns into a sandwich loaded down with at least peanut butter as the sun becomes square and black, Skippy and Jiff both chipping in (skip). Aisle it is.

I think of po man’s George Washington (Carver) not for the first time today. Nor the last.

(to be continued)

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00440306 (Jesus Lake, etc.)

Is *this* how I wound up here? Fern pondered from inside the crate, back in her normal garb. Box drop?

Is *this* the true savior? observing Edward thought from his dimmer view of the world within the larger of the 2 shacks in the vicinity. Cube drop?

If only he’d seen her walk on water earlier he’d be convinced.

“Hello!?” he ventured from the other side of the window. “Can I help you!?”

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00440305

She woke up on a white couch in a strange white building. She checked the map. Still AISLE, good. Her seedier outfit still on, check. Something happened, she knew. She met Tin Lizzy and then everything blacked out. It had been (she also checked the in-world clock)… almost two weeks?! Drugged, was the first thing that came to mind. And what about the other, 3rd Aisle, the Aisle of Palms? Probably destroyed, she thought, since her rent was overdue not by one but 2 weeks now. And she was in the primary core avatar of Baker Bloch who had all the money — Mr. Moneybags all the other cores called him, in an affectionate way of course. She’d know if it had been payed. And the total in the account was the same as when she met Tin Lizzy. A disaster, she realized.

Something, *something* had happened.

The environment was so laggy she had trouble walking without getting ahead of herself and then having to jump back. Personalized graphics set to high, she realized, but that wasn’t it. She knew what caused that; was use to moving around in it when she, ahem, woke up here, there and everywhere, AISLE being just the latest in a long line of locations for that type of stuff. But this sleeper was a doozy in comparison.

She turned when she found her way outside the building, spied the emblem. Not Arasaka again, thankfully. But maybe a kind of present time equivalent.

She took a left on the two lane paved road outside the facility which soon led her to the dunes.

(to be continued)

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00440304 (Contemplation of an execution…)

… from a nearby, safe dune.

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00440302

Arasaka has a presence here, thought Fern while happening upon their tell tale logo on the back of a hotel in exploring more of the town, this Aisle of Breakfast and Aisle of Dairy at once. Blood red like a tempting apple.

She thinks back to the first time she saw the cursed thing while riding the magnetic levitation (maglev) rail train into Nightsity, obligatory “apple tree” prominent above the name in that case instead of to the side (put in quotes because that’s Fern’s personal name for the emblem due to the tempting aspect and not a colloquial term). Across the river but the distinct cherry red made it pop out again. And immediately afterwards, her destination for tonight, the No Tell Motel. Another hotel/motel, hmm, she ponders. Could one be the same as the other (again)?

She gets off at the next stop and makes her way back to the Kabusie motel.

They indeed fuse as she walks through the front door, past becoming present. But it took a while to match the outfit admittedly, ha.

“I’m here to see Tin,” she said to the front desk receptionist, hoping she didn’t under-dress. But this was, after all, the seedier side of town, past still mirroring present.

“Last name, please,” he said, staring at the outfit but not looking too shocked, she didn’t think. Had to blend in, she consoled herself again. She *is* at least wearing her black swimming suit under the semi-transparent shirt. All she could think of in the moment. Lichen wasn’t there to help her choose clothing, fashion buff that she is, despite the hick look she promotes with the jeans and mouth straw and all. Poor Lichen, she bemoans again. But I’ll find her. “Don’t have one,” she answers. “It’s a number not a name,” she said, even though she knew it was both, phonetically speaking. “Tin (Ten) — only gave me her room.”

“Right, okay, so… 2nd floor, last door to the right,” he says. Good luck, he thinks. That one looked pure chrome and so most likely a cyberpsycho. Probably won’t live through the night.

—–

Well. Here goes nothing *knock knock knock*.

“Come in! It’s not locked!” Ordinary female voice, phew!

Fern draws her gun and opens the door…

She turns.

“You!”

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00440301 (both sides of the Aisle)

“Hey, don’t drink my drink!” commanded Fern.

“Sorry,” the small bartender apologized, no more than a kid it appears. “I was… thirsty. Not use to customers. Not use to eyes looking at what I’m doing.”

“No more, then! You haven’t got any diseases I should know about now? Seeing we’re share buddies, ha.”

“None that I know of,” spoke the boy. He continued to shake the drink and not drink. Both at once. “Soo, you here for Breakfast?” Pause. “Or Dairy?”

“Both, actually.”

“Hmm,” he said, and poured the finished martini, dry and wet as one. Perfection if he says so himself. But he prefers the unmixed version; likes to taste both flavors separately (gin and vermouth). Darn watching eyes! “Well,” he continues. “How much have you seen so far?” he asked, not wanting to go over covered ground as it were.

“Airport first obviously. Had to come in from *somewhere*.” But Fern came in on a ship, sea instead of air. Has to be both, she figured. And with the captain none other than our Philip Strevor, fresh from a cube drop. Or so he said. Interesting.

“Not much there,” said the boy with his slight Chinese accent, worn off by years of state-side existence. Or so he said. “What else?”

“Well, pretty much saw everything in the rural district close to the void.” Too close, she thinks. “The, um, downed helicopter, the swamp, the dunes, the swimming pool. Very interesting.”

“There’s a plane in the swamp too.”

“Yup, saw that as well.”

“Do you want to hear the story (about it)?”

“Oh sure. Why not. But first, the helicopter.” Philip Strevor mentioned a helicopter along with the cubes, she thinks.

“Same story, actually. Swamp attracted both. Swamp drew them in. Just like a picture it drew them in. Got a taste for aerial. Opposites attract, after all. Water and air.”

This boy’s just spouting boyish nonsense, Fern thought, looking at his mischievous expression on his small face. But whatever; don’t have any other point of information as they say. Haven’t spotted anyone else in town. Just this child. A bartending child. Doesn’t quite add up. “Go on… I’m listening.”

(to be continued)

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