Category Archives: Horns of Hatton^

hot spot 02

She hears him approach, then stop. “Ahh, my heavier, more favorite son has arrived. I knew you’d –” *pop*.

She turns to see what that noise was, then gasps. “You *didn’t*. You *didn’t* just *do that!*”

“I’m not in play any longer Mom. I’m going to fess up to my weakness and beg my former wife for forgiveness. You’ll have no power over me any longer.” Then, throwing the horn to the ground, he left — out the front door this time. No secret passages between horns. No possible reinvoking the Horns of Hatton. It was over for the Heart Queen, plain and simple. She had played her last card.

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hot spot 01

Benny Right Horn stopped while answering his brother. “Grey Scale’s got her countered at every move. It’s about revealing deception and dissipating pain. I’m starting to BELIEVE.”

“Don’t do that,” implored still swinging, still synchronized Jer Left Horn to his left. “Just don’t.”

—–

Where is the 4th? formerly Campbell O’Pine (Opp) pondered nearby, staring at the constantly swinging-in-place, red-yellow-blue cubes. Where’s Grassy?

What have I lost?

—–

“I’ve tried everything,” despairs the Heart Queen deep in her lair a little further north, very near the the actual left horn of the crown. “I’m going to hide the city as a last measure. I’m going to invoke the Horns of Hatton, but not through the King this time.” She pauses to think of possibilities. “But where are my 2 needed sons? Are they still — *in play?*”

—–

“I’m going to end it,” Benny Left Horn mutters while descending.

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flashback friday

The Zindra continent has been through a similar (North-South) war, pondered Grey Scale, leaving Chesteria behind for now. I can pattern my strategy after that. There’s even a direct character link between the two. Dixon 01. Or was it Dixon 02? Anyway, both are dead now. Or are they totally alive? One way to find out: visit the old homestead.

—–

“Dixon? Dixon Klancaster?” she shouts back on the ground.

But both Dixons were indeed dead, having been one and the same. Snowwhite Well appears on the landing outside the squatter home, old and withered now. She’s basically turned into Maw herself, mother of the two. But formerly: married to the two. It was complicated.

“Whatcha want? Tithes? You a tithe collector? I’ve gaven my fair share last month. Now, run along, tithe collector. Or do I have to sic my *chickens* on you. She turned toward Gander, the largest of the bunch. “Been a while since you’ve tasted human flesh, Gander eh? Fondness grows in absence they say, eh?”

“Listen,” bargained Grey Scale. “I don’t want any of your money.” Not yet, she tacks on for herself. “No I’m here to speak to Dixon.”

“Dixon?”

“The former warrior. The vet of the Trojan-Durexian Wars over on Zindra.”

“God *knows* I know where they were *fought*, foreigner. Everyone around here knows. We all lost peoples.”

“I’m sorry,” backed down Grey Scale. “I didn’t know…”

“Anyway. He’s dead. Dixon. Both of ’em. I married ’em. Shortly after the war. But the bees and their massive beehives got them in the end. Not a bayonet stinger, a *stinger* stinger. Irony perhaps — I’ve heard that word applied here anyhows.” She takes a better look at the grey figure standing proud below her. “You a woman of words, sister?” she inquires. “Maybe you can help me with some words I’m trying to read in a section of this here book. ‘Moby Prick.’ You may have heard of it.”

Grey Scale Kimball was up on the landing faster than a fly on wheels. A chance to analyze her favorite book with someone (!). But she quickly corrected elderly Snowwhite Well on something before entering. “It’s *chapters*, not sections. I should know, having read or attempted to read so many of the latter lately.”

“Fine with me, woman of words. Now — inside before the chickens peck at your tail feathers, hehe.” She swats Grey Scale on the behind and sends her reeling inside.

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Cousin Tr-opp

“Whatever happened to us, Grassy?”

“Whatever happened to *you*.”

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tv not tv

Chesteria poses in front of one of Grey Scale’s new statues in town. “Go ahead and get in the water, dearest,” requests snapping Grey Scale.

“Alright.”

“Ohh. So cold!” she protests.

“Believe me, you’re still red hot,” returns her ruler and lover, watching the water soak into the clothes. “Hold on!” *snap*.

For Grey Scale, it was about reinforcing colored over black and white, Letters over Numbers. The former ruler is sad, but she’ll get over it.

—–


Aliens.


And chickens.

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Granted

Kevin had a nosy neighbor with the initials SCP who liked to peer through his windows at times. So he covered them with clouds.

The addition confounded and confused his easily confounded and confused pet Red Panda Fox Cat Man, rescued on December 13, 1874 (AL) from insidious gypsy witches on a swollen steamer just off the coast of Fiji. Or was it Ireland. More on them soon.

Like many residents of Horns, Kevin A. had a strange, nay compelling fascination with chickens. He often slept at the dinner table so that he could more easily enter their fowl dreams and frolic amongst them at times. He thought the eating of cocks was borderline cockamamie and often mentioned this to his “Kevin brothers” C. and E., munching and crunching away on either side of him. He sometimes arranged the carcasses in ritual poses also learned from witches to more interestingly translate between fair wake and fowl sleep (Fairmount and Fowlerton).

Which reminds me that he must fill up with gas and air today across the street at Wolfy’s, fuel and tires running low on his new 1955 Porche 550 Spyder Convertible purchased from Marcus Fox Smartville day before Tuesday on what he considered a sucker of a deal, curses be damned. Only 50,000 lindens plus 5,000 for shipping. Stamp it: BARGAIN.

He is established here; he really cannot go back to Regaltown. I’m not so sure about Space Ghost, however.

—–

“I wonder what happened to Kevin, Space Ghost?”

“Kevin who?”

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Beaver

But Kevin A. stayed in Horns of Hatton even though the trailer was lost. He seems to have another place there. Another ensconcement.

Open up that mouth and let’s take a look at those teeth.

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the power of one

“It all ends with the chicken,” Grey Scale responded to the still defiant Queen before her. “No Mor,” she insisted.

“But…” She shook her head in continued defiance, “you’re no more president of this here South than I am. It’s a technicality you’re talking about, a *loophole*. It doesn’t really exist. It won’t stand up in a Court of the Land. Neither mine *nor* yours.”

“I am president,” put forth Grey Scale Kimball in a matching tone of finality. “The loophole, in my opinion — in my *decree* — was set up by fate. You state that *you* set up loyalist Space Ghost on that property called ‘Ghost land’ due to fate. I am saying to you in solid return that, although this is *technically* true — another loophole in a way — it was also fate that I discover the traitorous move. Trailer traitor,” she finished for now.

“So lemme get this straight,” the Queen shot back. “Lemme get this straight.” Her eyes were in the air now as she had assumed again a state of high haughtiness in line with her royal position. “*You* were elected head of the Council over in Regaltown.”

“Yes.”

“Then since Regaltown is the old capital of the South, before the coming of the grey and white elephants, then your power is transferable to Horns of Hatton because the Head of Council there was once the same as the Head of Council here.”

“Still is.” Grey Scale continued to mirror the fixed position of her foe standing before her. Her *defrocked* foe. She pointed to herself. “Me.”

The Queen waved her monstrous red hands in the air and stomped about the floor a bit, uttering cusswords I won’t repeat here with such words as “unbelievable,” “unfathomable,” “unconscionable.”

“Duly elected,” broke in Grey Scale in the middle of all this. “DU-LY…” She motioned for the Heart Queen to simmer down. “ELEC-TED.”

And that was basically the end of it. Space Ghost’s illegal trailer on the west edge of town derezzed and owner banished back to Regaltown. The Queen’s mutinous club gathering at Cpt. Americus’ Between Land cabin on alternate Tuesdays and Thursdays dispersed. No scripts allowed to run at the King’s tomb; no more worshipping of the dead, of the past. Grey Scale had found an opening, an *Achilles heel*, and taken full advantage of it. She was ensconced.

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ghosted

Hucka Doobie was chatting to pass the time. “You know you’re colored about the same as a chicken, Baker Bloch. Maybe you should think of becoming a chicken man yourself. By that I mean opening up a restaurant, perhaps a chain. Maybe you should begin to think up a name. Blochbuster Chicken? You could even steal some signs from that old, defunct VHS tape renting outfit, the one that went belly up.”

But Baker Bloch was still thinking about his father instead of chicken, although the 2 will always be connected now in his mind. Banished back to Regaltown. Could this possibly be the end of the Horns of Hatton tale already?

Hucka Doobie studied his worried face. “Aah, still thinking about dear old pops. He’ll be fine. Kevin A. too — Kevin Orchardsity, all three of hisselves. Come on; cheer up. The Queen’s story can continue on without the King and his tomb, without Space Ghost’s trailer.”

“But the parcel was called ‘*Ghost* land.’ Fate.” Baker Bloch sighed. “I just feel — something will always been missing here.”

“And then Cpt. Americus accidentally jumping in the watermelon tub with the *real* Queen (!) Awkard indeed! But I don’t think the Queen was present at the time. By that I mean she was AWOL.”

“AFK,” corrected Baker Bloch.

“Um, like the chicken, then.”

Baker Bloch expressed confusion, then realized: “Oh, you’re thinking about KFC. No, it’s like the former president. AFK. They’re talking about renaming the whole of Bay City after him.”

“JFK, then. The (former) president, I mean,” responded Hucka Doobie. “John Fitzgerald Kennedy.”

“Yes, you’re right — that’s it.”

“Well there you go. Something else to think about. Another Ghost.”

“Everybody in the country laughed about it,” [Carolyn *Kennedy* Crusey] said. “There was no city out there.”

Who voted Mor the mayor? No one, she said.

“That was just purely for something to put in the paper,” she said.

How did it change from Bay City to JFK City?

It was shortly after the assassination, she recalled. Across the country, people were renaming all kinds of things after the late president. Plus there was another guy out there at the time named Kennedy, (no relation to her or JFK) who came up with the idea, she said.

I wondered out loud if they’d hatched the plan while drinking at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first piece of Alaska legislation born that way. Maybe that was how Mor was “elected.” Maybe they dreamed up the dome city, too.

“We never did find out what happened,” she said

Mor eventually moved to Anchorage and started spelling his name with a second “o” and an “e,” she said. She couldn’t remember why.

The last newspaper clipping to mention the city was a 1973 story about Alaska ghost towns. It called Bay City “an alleged village” with a population of 0 in the 1970 census, that might have been renamed to “The City of Kennedy” after the late president.

“But,” the article said, “there’s nobody left to verify it.”

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h is for home

Roth Voomer never found his hands. But he found a home. Horns of Hatton. Although he lacked horns, the locals liked that he always had a hat on. The name Horns of Hatton, according to legend, came from the fact that original settlers had horns big enough so that hats couldn’t hide them, or else they poked through the hats and that became a fashion. So the Horns remained even though they had a Hatt-on. Others speculate that this only means some kind of Ur settler, perhaps attached to an Ur homestead, was part goat or ram, maybe also making him (or her) a Capricorn or Aries. Probably the latter (ram/Aries).

Roth was sub vice deputy in charge of mainland marine. Basically what this means is that he had to take care of the local whale. Up in the air it was, always flying in circles around his provided house. His home in the trees. The Queen instructed him to feed the picky, carnivorous whale every two months, but not one of the local villagers. Go over to Tipton for that, she said with a laugh, and pointed northeast. So every couple of months, Roth had to take a royal vehicle over to this town about 5 sims north and 4 sims east of Horns to club or stab or shoot a couple of locals over there and bring them back for food. The Queen said Big Blue — the name of the whale — didn’t like bones so he’d have to de-bone the bodies before offering them up. She provided the royal dungeon underneath the palace for this kind of activity. Roth always had trouble de-boning the hands, but this was because it always reminded him of his years growing up, his father, his brothers. The War Against the Savants took his hands but not his head nor heart. And now the remaining 2 out of 3 natural assets had also found a resting spot, perhaps a final one. Treehouse.

Ahh, he misses the old Queen a bit. But he’s met the new ruler (Grey Scale), although he can’t quite remember her name (Grey Scale). If only he could think of it — right on the tip of his tongue (Grey Scale). Ahh, oh well. But nothing has changed much. He’s heard rumors that the whale may be in danger, but dismisses them as just part of the instability of change. But he doesn’t yet know how intensely Grey Scale (Grey Scale — that’s it!) hates the color blue, especially something big and ever-present. You can see the flying whale from about anywhere in town.

“Hi up there.”

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