Iggy Stooge stares into the central sim of Blue Junkyards from the edge of his parents’ property. Is this really where he wants to settle down now that he’s been rejected by Baker B. for the current novel? This backwater place? He had dreams of city life in Regaltown, in Horns of Hatton even, the capital crown jewel of Maebaleia’s South. Not the Deep South: that was instead Cassandra City, but of similar size. He could have been police chief, fire chief, even mayor if Baker B. so chose.
But this bayou? He’s not a flatlander at heart and he knows it. There was one other option: return to Pipersville, where time is more fluid. Not as much as Golden Sink (hence the reasons for the auditions there), but still — the bomb and all. Another sinkhole (like Golden Sink).
He rezzes in his repaired tv head once more to ponder the possibilities…
… and then eventually heads back home. Or his parents’ home actually.
If only they weren’t so infatuated with those darn butterflies.
—–
“What color breakfast do you want tomorrow, dear?”
“Blue, green, whatever,” Iggy Stooge replied unenthusiastically, thinking of Pipersville instead.
Sunklands 