Category Archives: Nautilus City

pre-Lamb

“Could be that the next photo-novel will be all about (the) Nautilus (continent), Hucka Doobie.”

“Good. That is fine.” She pauses. “Speaking of which, we need to get over to Rooster’s Peninsula and wake up Jacob I. He’s due for a return as well.”

“Okay. Sure.”

—–

So they traveled about as far across the continent as you can get until they reached the Progressive Rock Museum at the neck of Rooster’s Peninsula, so named because a dude named Rooster once lived there in a giant castle called Rust Never Sleeps, enigmatically enough. Rumor has it he was part of the Lemon Conspiracy against the Blimey Linden overlords. Nautilus was riddled with ’em. But much of their work and their ways has already gone the path of the dodo. The Prog Rock Museum keeps on progging, thankfully. It’s the way we can bring Jacob I. back and get more of his story — why he came to Collagesity in the first place.

“Wake up Mr. Mower Man,” Hucka Doobie speaks down gently. “Time to come back.”

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Octopi

—–

“They’ve been out there a long time, Golden Joe. I wonder if the deal will go through?”

“Have you ever thought about traveling to the center of the sun, Marion,” she deviated in her deep, metallic voice. “It’s actually quite nice.”

“I remember Philip mentioning that concept once. Philip something.”

—–

“Alright, I won’t split hairs any more, Cooper. We’re both tired; 50,000 lindens it is. Now spill your contents on the table here and let’s count it out.”

“Okay.”

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another angle

Roger Pine Ridge kept looking at the flickering white glow beneath the water that he knew was Anton. Shoes stolen; mission accomplished. Like finding the ruby slippers of Oz, he thought. Anorexia’s gonna be pissed off as hell.

He looked over at the green robed woman beside him, face harshly illuminated by the glare of the flashlight she held. Scars. “I’m just waiting for the significant other to finish up inside,” he explained from his chair. “How about you?”

—–

Cyberpaperdoll walks out of Fae’s Boat House with 50,000 lindens in hand.

“Come on, Biker,” she said just above a whisper toward the closest Pine Ridge chair. “Time to go.”

“Don’t forgot to sign the guestbook out there!” Jim the Pirate Bartender called from within, a request they most definitely ignored while leaving.

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I am Kelp.

Yvonne — not there.

—-

Doflia (formerly Doreena): check.

—–

Cerdunk… submarine??

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the evolution of the ring

“I’m just waiting for the significant other to finish up inside,” spoke Roger Pine Ridge from his *self named* chair. “How about you?”

But metallic green robed Junbug said nothing and kept reading her book of spooky stories. There were codes inside.

—–

“I’m glad the Floyd Man is gone, Owlshead, because my book is now not full of glitches.”

“Do you have *any* clothes around here that’ll fit me?” the small green being now seated opposite her replied, “because I’m f-ing cold as old mold, *shiver*.”

“Okay,” Junbug relented. “Hop on back up and let’s go see how Anton is holding out. This was just a test anyway.”

—–

“I’m thinking of changing my name again to Kelp, Sidechick… Anton. Whaddaya guys think?”

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Anson Anton

“Well? How’d it go?” asked Jim the Pirate Bartender about Marion’s exploration of Anson. He was nosey that way. Regular customers usually liked it. Strangers sometimes put off. Like Marion Harding. But he relented, wanting to abate rumors while telling the real, *checkable* facts as much as possible.

“Nothing much there except a hull,” he tested. “No autos within now for certain.”

“We *know* that, Mr. Hardware,” Jim said, speaking for the bar collective he felt he presently represented.

“Harding,” Marion corrected about his name.

“What about Anton? What’s he look like these days? Use to come in here you know. Alternated between a bloody bucket of nails and a naily bucket of blood. Rough drinks both. Usually dove back into the sea pretty wasted. Surprised he didn’t actually drown he was so sloshed.”

“You know that’s impossible,” Marion corrected again. “You know we can all breathe under the water. Above the atmosphere, under the water. Survive fire and flood — although there is that rumor about a volcano on the Old Continent where avatars could actually perish.”

“But look at your friend Stinky Brinkman you spoke about earlier. Riddled with bullet holes. You said you were there at the funeral and another gunfight erupted, with three more dead. Then at *their* funerals nine more dead. What was the total at the end?”

“138,” replies Marion in a level tone. “138 avatars killed so far. Chain reaction, yeah.” He shook his head, thinking about Stinky more than any of the others. “But they aren’t really dead, see. The *core* remains to rise another day. Actually,” he then reconsidered, “there is another way to truly die. You can deactivate yourself — obliterate the core. I’ve been told it’s possible but I’ve never known anyone to actually do it. The problem might be: when you deactivate yourself that way you rub yourself out of existence, so no one remembers anything about you, past or present. It’s as if you never existed in the first place. Working theory mind you.” He took another sip of his Brewmeister’s Quarterly, still being careful not to drink too much. Because that’s when he gets in trouble with the revealing.

“Well I never,” Jim replied, wanting to get back to Anton. He wiped the counter in front of him a bit and collected his thoughts again. “I’ve heard he’s only a beard these days. Anton, I mean.”

Close, Marion thinks. But then utters: “I didn’t see him. No autos, no Anton.”

“Impossible,” returns Jim. “There’s a green dot on the map up there. It’s usually there. It’s gotta be Anton. We’ve had ships pass over the wreck and examined their NAR (Nearby Avatars Radar). Anton: usually the culprit. In fact — let me check my own map right now (Jim’s face went blank for a moment) — well he’s not there now, but *usually* is. Sometimes, anyway.

A cyberwoman walks into the bar and settles into a stool two down from Marion, paper airplanes whirling ’round and ’round her head. Spy? he considers. Jim keeps talking about Anton. Marion wishes he would really shut his yapper now.

“Maybe he’s totally invisible. He use to be whole, like when he came in here. But then there were reports of just a beard and a coat, just a hat and some pants. Maybe he really is gone, man. Dead even.”

“Is this Anton a boy of about 10 years old,” Cyberpaperdoll then inserted.

“Um, no,” Jim answered.

“Well, never mind, then. Paper plane cocktail if you will.”

—–

What Marion actually saw:

Shoes buried in the sand — uncovered. And the left one holding something small and green and almost priceless he soon found out. About $500,000 lindens worth of almost priceless. Enough to leave Second Lyfe altogether if he wished. But, truth be told, he only wanted to get back to that ice fishing shack over in Horizons-Spica. He dreamed about it almost every night.

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Rodeo 03

“Octopus jar?” exclaimed Baker Blinker the next morning to Baker Bloch while they shared coffee at Perch.

“Another portal,” he said, and sat back.

“I’ve been a baaad Santa this year. Let me tell you about it, Mr. Bloch.”

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New Mystery

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Anton

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“So this is another one of your disguises Wheeler.”

“Yes. Baker Bloch,” she answered. “But call me Wilson (when I’m like this). Or Wheeler — whatever. So… you have information about Doreena.”

“She is called Doflia now,” states Keat Owens. “Reborn on January 15th of this year. She has Mad Max hair, (and) Apocalyptic Female top, shorts and boots.”

“She has turned into a monster,” Wheeler-as-Wilson speculates.

Not really. Come to the map with me. “We can teleport through the pin.

—–

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“Not there,” states Keat Owens. “Let’s check Yvonnee.”

—–

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“Often right here, but it’s late in the night, almost dawn. To quote Billy Corgan: ‘They only come out at night.'”

“Close enough. Speaking of which,” says Wheeler. “I must begin preparing for the next Table meeting.”

“So you’re going with the forward Pumpkintwisters direction?” Wheeler nods. “Over the backwards Billfork direction?” Wheeler keeps nodding. Keat Owens reapplies one of his hands to his chin in a thoughtful manner. “There’s one more avatar we’re keeping an eye on, only known as Anton. I don’t have a direct landmark yet but he’s in Anson. Obviously another one named for their inhabiting sim. We’ll have to approximate (the landmark).”

—–

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Not what they were expecting.

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—–

Afterwards:

“Damn! Crashed again.”

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Just after that:

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VW(X)

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“Yes come in. Quickly, quickly,” another Keat Owens implored from within the fairy house. “There’s mysteries to solve. No doddling dear — there’s been enough of that. Well, come in,” he said again. “Leave the golf club outside, yes.”

Old Mabel goes up the stairs and then leans the iron gently against the house just outside its railing. Taking one last glance over at Keat Owens Joker, she passes through the door she just opened.

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—–

“Yes, well…?” a similarly rushed Baker Bloch asks later at the Joker’s Wild Bar. Furry Karl was still under the weather. Rhoda remained the bartender for now.

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“We stared at the Nautilus City map for a while. The position of Doreena, Yvonne, and, um, this new person or entity we haven’t heard about before named Anton, were marked with red pins. Keat Owens Jack, as we’ll call him…”

“… because his suit is like Jack’s across the way…”

“Right, Baker Bloch. So this Keat Owens Jack then says Doreena has unexpectedly changed her name and appearance, and that this is more work of Mid Hazel the witch. Her “do’n’s” is how he put it. And Spider was in the corner of the small room beside us; forgot to mention that. He’s still spouting out or uttering or speaking those 4 numbers over and over, like you described before when he was with Carrcassonnee.”

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“Slightly before your time here in Collagesity, yes. Interesting. When did you wake up?”

“I was just staring at the pin representing Anton — more at my eye level — and a picture of what you call a Volkswagen Beatle at the bottom of the sea entered my mind. I stared at the completely algae covered car for quite some time. It was sad. Then I was jolted back to reality by the start of ‘Revolution No. 1’ on my player. That’s from the ‘White Album’. The more graceful ‘Long Long Long’ precedes it there. Then afterwards we have ‘Honey Pie’ and the horn laden ‘Savoy Truffle’.”

Old Mabel’s really getting into this Beetles reseach, Baker then thinks. Too absorbed? Well, she’s preparing for the next Table meeting, which is scheduled for tomorrow night if Wheeler can pry herself away from her new infatuation — her New Island. That seems to be a danger: Wheeler may be imprisoned by this new threat named Mid Hazel forever and ever on that island. Baker then noticed Old Mabel is staring at him.

“Thinking about other things?” she asks.

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