“Long night again, Joey?”
“Ahh yes, I *need* this.” The kangaroo has spoken.
Category Archives: **VIRTUAL SL
Wild West
He kept looking toward the window beside the door at me instead of the action in the ring. In the ring.
“New around here?” asked Lichen Roosevelt, tending bar in this here town until her big break as a singer comes, national anthems being her specialty.
Axis-Windmill kind of looks toward her, kind of doesn’t. “We’ve met many times before, Marilyn,” he deadpans.
Marilyn? she thinks. Hadn’t heard *that* name in a long time. “Well… can’t recall. Many, huh?” She keeps wiping the wine glass in her hand, although it’s perfectly transparent now. She looks through it at him, watching his distorted steely eyes move here and there, sometimes toward the door, sometimes at her, sometimes in-between. But not at the action. Another lift, another slam to the canvas for Joey. Poor Joey Avatar. Looks like a rain of pain coming tonight. How did *she* get into this mess?
“That’s right,” he finally answered Lichen. He walks toward the door. He opens the door, telling me to come in and join him. He indicates the tables to his right. We sit down, no words between us. We watch Lichen tend bar. The action in the ring (in the ring) wraps up. Victor Eugenia O’Neill moves toward the bar, decided what kind of drink to order for Joey to make up for breaking a couple of her nails tonight. Usually: so gentle, so careful. Must have been the full moon, she reckons. Grasshopper should do it, extra mint.
O’Neill
Standing on the edge of the ring, Venusian Joey Avatar wonders what she’s gotten herself into.
0316
She prayed before the interview in her new dress. She knew if the backing stained glass windows depicting some kind of holy scenario behind the cross were truly transparent she could see Star Rd. just behind the church, and then perhaps even Starlight just around the bend, on Packer St. she believed (it was Nemo Av.). Not Star Rd., though. Queer, she thought, but then tried to focus. “Lord,” she said just beyond a whisper, trying to not take his name in Vain for a change, “give me the strength to do well in the interview, the courage to show who I really am, fiery passion burning deep within.” They’ll have to put me out by taking me in, she inserts mentally, trying to frame the situation in a correct manner.
Something happened then and there — a miracle perhaps, but from which direction to be determined. At any rate, the police had to be called in, newly appointed officer Molly Jackson first on the scene, since her interview had been in the morning. “Wha – what happened to the *church*?” she asked in still praying Elisa’s direction. Only the stained glass remained. It was a depiction of the Lord’s crucifixion and ultimate sacrifice. Elisa needed to learn this — and Molly too. The In-Between.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0316, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Squared Root City-
flutterbys (red, blonde, and blue)
She was in Between and she had to stare at it. The chair would face no other way. Turtle Hill, or, in olden days, Turtle Butte. Before the terraforming messed up the mesa effect and made it round and soft instead of square and rough. The center of the Maebaleia continent, some say, yea, some call it the center of *everything*, with religious overtones implied. And perhaps it was. In olden days again. Nowadays these Hills of Bill are emptied out of meaning, devoid of framework, like a void picture in a gallery of no design or wealth.
She sat reading a fashion and furniture magazine in her new-ish apartment in Squared Root City, waiting for Starlight to open so she could peruse the clothing again for that interview over at the fire station this afternoon. Because she considered herself to be one hot item and had to be put out. You keep your friends close, like Molly Jackson here, also a town newcomer (dancer), but you keep your enemies even closer, like the fire department. Soon everyone would know her burning desire for stardom. She would set the night sky ablaze with rockets’ red glare.
Molly had designs on wealth and stardom herself, but not with a fiery dress; instead: cool and calm and collected. She would bide her time in the shadows of the police station and attached department, blue replacing red. She would dance to the tunes of white Guy Lombardo but only after midnight and on the dark side of the moon. The situation seemed to call for it. She got up off the couch formerly shared with red garbed Elisa and moves to the window to stare out between the two stars just below toward both departments, considering balance.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0315, Hills of Bill, Lower Austra, Maebaleia/Satori, Nautilus, Squared Root City-
00300314
Ah yes, much better match. Even if she did wear an ill fitting mask. He’d give her a lecture later on, after they knew each other a little better. Ah, heck. He’ll do it now. It’s the holiday season after all. She’s trying. She won’t be offended, he figures.
“Phyllis?” he starts.
“Berta, actually. Remember? Phyllis is my twin sister.”
Shoot. Wrong holiday girl after all. Back to the drawing board.
“It’s okay,” she says to the obviously downcast Chet. “We’re really clones, you know,” she confesses. “Basically one and the same. We just use the sister story to throw the police off the track of…” She hesitates. She doesn’t know him well enough to talk about Dr. Mouse yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0314, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Squared Root City-
choices
I sit down, trying to gather some local color. I brighten up the place (smoky blue sky).
Tulsa was taking orders from a white couple nearer the front door. I could tell there was some tension — a bit, but noticeable, at least to me. Peggy and Wanda played with their cell phones at the table nearest me, not engaged in conversation at the moment. I tried to glance at what they were looking at, Peggy at least, who had her back to me. Some site about jobs — they were looking for jobs in this town. They were tense. No: just more focused. The other white couple in the room: well, they were all just kind of normal.
I decided to manufacture a friend for Wanda and Peggy and have him sit at their table with them. Let’s go with Chet. Chet was dressed to the hilt for the holiday season, anticipating December 1st like it was his birthday or something. Wanda had known Chet since college. Peggy was Chet’s girlfriend for the moment, at least until he dumped her for Phyllis. But that was in the future — no more going forward into the future which is also the past. We are *here*. Chet walks up. Ah, another core — not me. I can stay seated; I can still listen in.
Wanda giggled in Peggy’s direction after he sat down. “Isn’t he so cute with his mask and all.” Of course I’m wearing a mask, thought Chet. There’s an f-ing pandemic going on. He had the urge to leave. He wasn’t being respected, like he was some kind of Christmas dupe instead of their friend. He decided then and there: he was going to start dating that girl Phyllis he’s had his eyes on as soon as possible, as soon as he gets out of here. He’ll give it 30 minutes. Peggy didn’t say anything back to Wanda’s little remark. She kept playing on her phone. She wished she’d brought a mask herself now. She didn’t want to get sick just before the holidays (!). Chet was thinking about the holidays, in contrast — all along. I’m going to celebrate it like it’s f-ing Halloween, Christmas and Easter rolled into one (!), he decided on Thanksgiving Day, watching Uncle Bert come down with it afterwards. Then Aunt Jermima. Then Cousin Lute. And with a new baby’s sex to be decided — they weren’t up for it! Uncle Bert never got back up. He was 82 and more susceptible than the rest, having married beyond his age. He went to the emergency room; said his cat bit him. Infection spread; virus weakened the immune system. Gone in 2 days. There was a wake but Chet didn’t go. Instead he went upstairs in his house and decided to wear Christmas garb for, I don’t know, until Arbor Day maybe. Yeah, he got the tree out as his mother demanded, but he got a lot more out of that closet. I can’t really say he snapped, because about a 1/3rd of our great country is bonkers now and at least he wears a mask in public places. Tulsa was uncomfortable with the white couple she was serving because they also weren’t wearing masks in a public place and it put pressure on the owner to say, “don’t wear masks,” while serving them; “makes them uncomfortable and put-off,” he decided. He’s gone over to the dark side, Tulsa thought. She has about 30 minutes on her shift. Won’t be coming back, she punctuates the post.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0313, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Squared Root City-
Meat
“F-ing complicated!” he said about the map he stood upon, and all the pins dotting it. Nautilus. The 1st continent. The last continent. Where the Outside gets In.
“Calm down, calm down,” she said from the side, just around the corner. “You know about Marilyn and the alternate national anthem. You know which US of A is peering down into the translucent cube — hypercube, actually — from the Outside. It’s one that has been frozen in time. You have your pattern,” she finalized, looking steady into his eyes now, fully emerged. I couldn’t tell her hair color. I’m going to go with white (for now). I knew this was a 3.16 situation and that a return to Squared Root City was up soon. “Give it some time to mature,” I said, trying to calm myself this go around. Unable to keep stabilized, she receded. I moved forward — past Collagesity. Forward into the past, perhaps.
I start a new folder for my inworld photos and pin it to my Quick access. (photo #) 1950. Here we go!
—–
Ah yes. Starlight.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0312, Collagesity Fordham-, Lower Austra, Nautilus, NORTH, Squared Root City-, Upper Austra
purple mountains
“Shame about the queen being kidnapped and all,” Brend spoke to Alysha one floor below where they learned about the news. “But it’s not of our concern.”
“Except for the Samhain,” she corrected, feet finally getting warm now before the fire.
“And the witches,” he added, also attempting to drive away the cold of the library stone.
“And the Abbot I suppose.” She sighed, resigned to the fact that it is every bit their concern. Except for the queen. Because they knew this was about Marilyn at the bottom of it. The writing could now not be seen.
—–
“Funny how they spelled Dairocha wrong in that newspaper article. It’s like the powers that be are hiding something.”
“Hmph.” Alysha knew she was hiding something as well. Knowledge at the castle core that Brend had “conveniently” forgotten about. The “l” was changed over there.
—–
In Enigma, Marilyn began the national anthem.
“O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain…”
00300310
“New in town?” Bart the bartender asked, wondering if she heard him over whatever was playing in her headphones. He had to try. She was so cute with her blue-green skin and orange tipped antennae, just typing away without a seeming care in the world. He’d dated a Venusian over in Tinsletown and considered it a once in a lifetime opportunity. Now he may have another (he dreamed). But… no answer. Headphones must be blocking. And she hadn’t taken them off yet so no chance of non-filtered chit chat. Been sitting here playing on her notebook, jeez, I guess going on 2 hours. Slow night, Bart the bartender thought. Wish I could get *something* out of it… no tips coming in. He again studied the orange tips of the antennae. She glanced up with those big orange eyes to match, sensing the stare, but then quickly down again, absorbed in whatever she was typing. He could say he’s closing up, but in reality he had an hour left on his shift, before the bar shut down when the musical group started playing. The Rolling Joints tonight, fresh from a gig at the Progressive Rock Museum’s place over on Roost Peninsula, or so he’d heard. Yeah, you’d have to be smoking some joints to believe they were progressive, he thought humorously. Another one of those 3 chords and the truth sort of bands to his ears, what he knew about them.
It was a club that catered mainly to colored people, but “aliens” of all kind were welcomed. “Bigots not allowed,” read a big sign outside the establishment. Northern Nautilus, as a whole, was progressive in that way. Take the Rolling Joints, whose music was kind of foreign to the complex rockers over on the peninsula but invited anyway. Takes a tapestry to know the world, he was always taught by his forward looking mamas and papas in Donutland just off the west end of Highway 12. He’d heard differently about other parts of the mainland, especially Jeogeot and southern Maebaleia. And, of course, Lower Austra, but not quite the same way. Bigots only to the northern parts of the continent and their ways. Tolerance in other parts of the metaverse was acceptable. Strange folks those Lowers, he thinks here. And the Uppers have their own peculiarities. But us *Northerners*. us non-Austrans — we’re the best (!). Can’t be beat. If only we’d stop building and then tearing down all those castles we’re peculiarly attached to.
The band’s entourage started moseying in the front door, preparing to set up all their needed gear. The Rolling Joints, he thought, marveling at the sight. Maybe pretty soon we can attract The Beetles themselves, or at least a John Lemon solo act. The door has been opened with this lot, bless their at least progressive hearts. More can come in.
Then lead guitarist George Timebomber arrived and the game was *really* on. The Venusian immediately shut her notebook, appearing to sense his entrance without turning. She removed her headphones and walked over. They kissed. Darnit!
—–
“I’ve been listening to your new album all night, waiting for you,” she said to him in her dry, Venusian way, as if her mouth had been filled with cotton. “I *love* it. I’ll print my review tomorrow in the ‘Daily Castle’. I think we’re looking at an…” She hesitated saying “escape pod”, thinking of her own way of getting here. Now she can help another with a kind of parallel problem. Three chords and the truth, pheh, she could have thought here. She’s counted at least six on track one alone! He belongs here, not touring the metaverse that is our world, Our Second Lyfe. He needs to turn local, which is every big rocker’s dream after all. In olden days (she’s heard), it use to be the opposite. Queer times! she thought here. Who would want to acquire *fame* and all the attached trappings?? Popularity waning fast, The Rolling Joints were ripe for a successful disbandment.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0310, Nautilus, NORTH, Rooster's Peninsula
Sunklands 