Centre

The at least part alien Baker Bloch disguised himself as an apple tree before teleporting into the very center of the Gaston sim.

Just like Earlie/The Musician indicated to him. The sim’s so-called Central Park is not a name be taken lightly.

And whoever sleeps in this Wastelands Bed next to it holds great power.

Baker then decides to teleport over to the site of Leona’s rehearsal last night. Or are they called The Blackstars? Anyway, another sky island…

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blackstars

It’s time for Improvio to strike out on his own.

Hana Lei…

… and Leona too.

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decibels smecibels

Rocky closes up the market and bar tonight and steps outside to look in the direction of the Wanderlust Art Truck. It’s received quite good press in various blogs and other social media outlets,* and the raccoon is certainly glad of the extra business his store has gotten as a result.


Thanks Levi!

He’s saving up quite the nest egg. But as the old saying goes, winter is coming, and the tourists will trickle down and eventually go away as the snow lays thick on the streets of Olde Lapara Towne. He’s frankly tired of cold winters. Peter, Paul and Mary — I mean, Lamb — were smart to retreat down into the much more temperature regulated underground and create Malone Central, he thinks. But that’s disappeared too apparently, as everyone has gone through the sand dunes/sand castle portal into this mythical land of Hana Lei. He thinks here of a particular collage in Baker Bloch’s small art gallery upstairs featuring David Bowie.


“Twisted”

Rocky decides to go back into the store to check again, just to make sure. He passes through the phantom red door into Audrey’s and takes the old timely teleporter to Grasslands. He always seems to bring his gun with him when comes down here lately.

Yes, he remembers now. The last remaining, actual grass of Grasslands, along with the sand dunes portal, had to go away to make prim room for the upstairs art gallery. And local punk band Story Room lost their remaining OLT venue since the theatre space formerly there was also eradicated, and this just after they were banned from playing at Clownski’s after a new noise ordinance was passed by the town council. Our two local bands, lost in a single stroke, he ponders. Rocky thinks of another old saying: Lamb dies with Ram. Baker Bloch tried to prevent it from happening by moving the future focus back into the here and now of the present. Yes, Rocky has his market, has a bar, has a small gallery even. Things are good in October. But even November can get snowy, and the anthropomorphic animal longs to see Santa Claus without Jack Frost always tagging along and nipping at his nose.

He’s not even going to think about how his new novel is coming, and the lack of sales for the old one. Because it’s target practice time once again!

—-

* See, for example, several of my friend Veyot’s recent posts from her “Veyot’s Views” tumblr site (tag = Lapara):

http://veyot.tumblr.com/tagged/Lapara

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Filed under Heterocera, Lapara, Second Life

continuation

Turns out Jacob I. had mistakened Earie for another punk with a queerly similar mohawk who came in earlier that night. “Chuck,” Jacob said, thinking back to the meeting and shaking his head. “Must have been a clown dressed up as a punk. They do that.”

“Tell him to take off his hat,” purred a tinier Broken Heart, sitting on it. “You know you want to see.”

“See what?” Earie asked.

“The I., of course,” replied Broken Heart.

“Oh he’s not interested in that thing, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me Jackie,” said the bone cat.

“Alright.” Jacob looked to the punk presently sitting with him. “How’s that grass treating you, hehe.”

“Pretty good,” said Earie, taking another toke. He’d finish this joint and be done with it, he decided. Has to walk home still, he knew. But how to navigate that whole backyard journey again? Maybe Broken Heart would escort him. If she did, then perhaps he could partake in at least part of another joint. “Good stuff; starting to see Hawaii, haha,” he finally replied to Jacob’s query. “So… what were we talking about? Oh. I have to ask the bone cat something.”

“Hat,” persisted Broken Heart. She tapped her little paw on Jacob’s straw chapeau for emphasis.

Jacob exhaled a lot of smoke in resignation, raising his eyebrow for Earlie while setting his joint down in the ashtray on the table. “She’s not going to give up. But I’m warning you. It’s intense.” Broken Heart jumped to the floor and he removed the hat, laying it carefully on the couch beside him.

Looks like another Big Reveal to me.

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name game 02

Broken Heart led Earie through a series of backyard passages where they met several colorful characters. I’ll get to that story more later. But true to her word they were here outside the Joint Joint, with Jacob I. supposedly within. Broken Heart had further explained that the I. stood for nothing. “Think Harry S. Truman,” she said while striding over some old tires on their journey. Seeing Earie not reply, she added, “or U.S. Grant.” “So his full and legal name is Jacob I.,” Earie replied back, dodging a broken coke bottle. “Formerly Jacob the Lawnmower,” he furthered, alluding to earlier conversation. By this time they were passing through Old Lady Bedford’s clothes line in another tight spot, being careful not to get, well, clotheslined (caught in the neck). At 96 she represented the town’s oldest prostitute, but her only remaining customer was Billy Tokesalot, a nonagenarian himself. Sometimes it took them 10 days.

In the present moment, Earie tried the door to the establishment. Locked. “Don’t knock the knockers,” Broken Heart ordered from below. “He’ll come.” Nothing happened for several minutes. Earie glanced over at the policeman standing beside them a couple of times, but his gaze remained fixed on the window. “Nice night,” Earie finally offered. The policeman didn’t answer; focus unchanged. At 4:45am Jacob I. opened the door, and stared at each figure in front of it. “Broken Heart,” he said, nodding down to the cat-person. Jacob then came back to Earie. “I thought I told you to stay away, Chuck.”

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searching

Red, yellow, blue, he thinks. Is this *us* again somehow?

And across the street: same colors in a row. Right order according to their houses, even. He peers through the window.

Someone shooting up. Grim town.

Nope. Not here either.

There was just a lot of f-cking places Jacob I. could be.

He decides to retreat back to the safety of his Yellow House and try again tomorrow. Too dangerous at night.

Oh no. He’s lost again.

Is that the burning barrel from the night before? He’s unsure.

A scream from the shack down the plank walkway.

Red and blue glasses thrown through a window. He’s close! But so dangerous here. He senses it all around. Maybe he should put on his blue eye again — look tougher. Or crazier may be good too.

Totally lost. “Shoo cat. Ain’t got time for you.”

But the boney feline persisted. “RreeRRW!” it said. That translates to “follow ME!” in cat language.

Then, gazing at Earie’s turned face, it changed. “Blue red,” Broken Heart spoke with an eerie, child-like voice. “Blue red blue red blue red.”

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punks

Earie (The Musician) realized there were still many mysteries to be resolved concerning VHC City — like the relationship of this Sipvicious logo found in the Quincey Educational Building and the famous punk Sid Vicious who stayed in the town’s grand Hotel Chelsea. Chroma and Improvio, being rooted in a basal nature still, desired to visit the infamous Room 100 where Sid killed Nancy. The All Nancy’s ghost found in the Grand Lapara Hotel more recently is mere reflection of this tragic event, they’ve determined. The Grand Lapara Hotel itself, they say, is a reflection of Hotel Chelsea, in that both are modeled after real life New York City hotels. Earie, who has evolved beyond them now, he feels, thinks otherwise. But his main concern right now is not VHC City nor Olde Lapara Town. It’s Gaston-Berry, and finding Jacob I. and attempting to get him to explain what the heck is happening to him currently. Chroma and Improvio made up like hookers? Red and blue lensed glasses? The Lei sisters? It’s a head scratcher, he realizes while scratching his head. So it’s back to the Yellow House to prepare for a downtown visit.

But first, he must dress more appropriately for the location. Some purchases at historical Blackburns Store in Alabama or Georgia aid him.

Did he go too far with the blue eye? Yes, he determined. He did. A bit too alien, and the new landlord specified in her short rental note: NO aliens.

Good enough.

Eat your heart out Improvio, you old skunk.

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Filed under Gaston, Heterocera, Second Life, Uncategorized, VHC City