June 9, 2019 · 10:25 am

Long Drive 01

“You know it all ends here, Mary.”

“I know. Better bust out Buster from that school-prison, then. And some other stuff.”

“Catapult?”

“You bet.”

—–

“Alright, Mary. The plan is, once I get this thing turned around, to shoot you over the top of that wall and get you inside…”

“Right.”

“Where you’ll find a door somewhere and then let me in.”

“Okay.”

“Ready? Oops. Almost forgot. Have to turn it around first. Ooh. Young man, young man,” Pitch beckons to a boy approaching from behind.

“What’s all this?” he asks in a geeky, squeaky voice. “What are you, heh, doing?”

“Never mind that, fair youth of toothy persuasion. Just help me get this thing aimed the right way if you don’t mind.”

“Are you looking for the front door? ‘Cause I can show you that. You don’t have to hurdle your girlfriend over the wall and risk losing her forever.

“I’m sturdy,” Mary insisted from above them. “I won’t break.”

“You probably just missed it. It’s pretty small, heh.”

“Maybe we better do it his way, dearest,” urges Pitch, not doubting Mary’s word but still not wanting to risk his own injury turning the heavy catapult around.

“Yeah, heh, right this way.” Preston Weston says.

“Okay. Come on Mary.”

“Ohhhhh.” She dearly wanted to experience the thrill of it all.

—-

“So here we are. And this is as far as I’m allowed to take you today, heh.”

(to be continued?)

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June 9, 2019 · 8:07 am

Beatlesque

Firesign Theatre material was conceived, written, and performed by its members Phil Austin, Peter Bergman, David Ossman, and Philip Proctor. The group’s name stems from astrology, because all four were born under the three “fire signs”: Aries (Austin), Leo (Proctor), and Sagittarius (Bergman and Ossman).

“Ahh, see, there’s the rub, because mother *did* want me to go to school.”

“Interesting.”

“You know, it all ends here Pete.”

“Stop calling me that Dave.”

—–

Big Wanda yells over the music. “Didn’t you get your symbol!? Don’t you want to know your sign!?”

“Nah!” shouts back Little Oakley Annie. “If it’s anything but Leo, I’d have to shoot the astrologer in the face! Good band, though!”

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June 8, 2019 · 8:02 am

Toppsity

Gabby Truth always slept with the lights on. Wakefulness interrupted unconsciousness constantly. “What was that?” he might say randomly at any stray noise. “Who goes there?”

The picture of swinging teen lovers he use to love didn’t comfort him like before. He formerly slept directly with it, creepily enough. Now it just lays by his bed, unused.

Leaves are closing in, he frets. Bushes. Trumping his freedom at every card play. Unable to connect the dots any more. And what *was* his constellation sign? Fire? Water? The local astrologer had fled invading Earth and hadn’t returned, so no answers there. That leaves Air. Leaves… Air.

Gemini! he realizes excitedly, then distinctly hears knocks right afterwards. Three, then two, then one. Twin Brother Amos. But why this time of night? Oh, he thinks. They must have lost the house. Oh drat, oh darnit. The seed and the house. He’ll have to stay with me now. Oh well, at least the Earth’s gone (Ka-BLAM!). He pulls the covers away from him and gets up, being careful not to trip over the lovers’ painting. He also grazes psuedo-Mossman’s head for luck on his way to the door, per usual.

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June 8, 2019 · 5:25 am

tour (11, 12, 13) 01

“Not much of a south wall on this one, Bettie. We can give it to them.”

“I’ll put it down as a ‘maybe’,” replied Buster’s more unyielding mate.

“What’s next?” she then adds. “Where’s the 12th?”

“Um. That may take some more scouting.”

“Better get to it. Night is short.”

“Not as short as some nights, Bettie. Let’s go!” They take to the air again. Bettie turns tiny and Buster changes into his bat form to speed things along.

—–

“Didn’t take long. I *think* this is it. If memory serves. Pretty weak overall, eh?”

“Dunno,” says Bettie to Buster-bat. “‘Maybe’, again. Is this what they use to call Golden Sink?”

“That or the other one,” he returns. “Now let’s look at Callingwood. I know where that is — know the sim name.” They fly off once more, to the northeast instead of west (I’ll provide a map soon).

—–

“Hold on, what’s this? (Osiliers) Looks like a sinkhole to me.”

“Nah, Bettie. No texture change. This wouldn’t convince them. Plus it’s not supported by surface infrastructure. Although, again, this *could* have been what they called Golden Sink, the 12th. Unsure.”

“I’ll log it in, whatever.” She checks her inworld map and points northeast. “Callingwood’s just ahead.”


Watching flight with volume ON.

—–

“Hmm, Bettie. Just ‘hmmm’.”

“There’s the texture change,” encouraged Bettie. “Sort of.” She looked around at the large, flat “basin”. But they weren’t allowed to call it that. Both were thinking the word, though. Not sink: basin.

“It’s fascinating nonetheless,” a resigned Buster spoke. “Some quite interesting mountain hill country to the north. I suppose, also, this is what Baker Bloch called the Satori Flats. In looking at it again, I agree with that name.”

“Center of the continent, Another candidate. Middle of nowhere.”

“Use to be (small) pyramids as well. Baker Bloch lived amongst them for a little while.”

“Must be the influence…”

“Yeah,” Buster agreed, not wanting Bettie to say the name. Blue Feather Douglas once more.

“And the 13th? — if this isn’t the 13th?” Both, again, were thinking this wasn’t the 13th. Basin or Flats were better names indeed. But that’s what’s so frustrating and fascinating both about the Maebaliea continent and its *depressions* — that’s a generally accepted neutral word for both parties. Now. In the past: a different deal-i-o. It’s all quite complicated, and thus yet another need for the study called Sinkology.


Flying again.

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June 7, 2019 · 7:16 am

past 03

“Before you go, Keith, a word about your daughter.”

“Jenny?” Keith laughs nervously. “What’s she been up to *now*, hee?”

“Nothing that she hasn’t been up to the past 3 months. Listen. Just keep her out of your room, okay? That’s *your* room. She shouldn’t have the keys.”

“She doesn’t,” Keith defended himself. “She just knows the code. She found out somehow.”

“The code is just between *us*, Keith.”

“I know, I know. She just… found out. I don’t know how. Maybe Jim.”

“Tell her that there’s spooks down there,” Todd A. then requested. “Tell her, heck, tell her the truth and that you use to, well, you know…”

“I know.” Keith B. knew that Todd A. was joking with this.

“Change the locks. Change the code.”

“We can’t do that,” Keith deadpanned back. “You know we can’t do that.”

“There’s one other option.” Todd A. leaned back. “You say… she has a beautiful singing voice.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Let’s hit her on the head with a reality pipe. We, the *bank*, will give you a home in the middle of just completed Sandpiper Court.”

Keith shook his head then put his hands on his hips, indignant. “*Really*? You know that’s out of the Fantasy Zone. How will we dream?”

“That’s the price. It’s either that in (the bank’s) estimation. Or the truth about the room. Your truth.”

Keith exhaled loudly, then laughed nervously again, shifting his feet in place. After a pause he threw up his hands. “*Okay*.”

“Great,” exuded Todd A. “And you can keep your job at the bank. It’s too good of a cover.”

(to be continued?)

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June 7, 2019 · 6:38 am

past 02

“Heading down to the basement again, Jenny?”

“Nah. Just hanging around, waiting for Dad.”

“Good.” Todd A. assumed a less rigid stance. “There’s nothing to see down there, you know.”

“I know. I don’t go down there any more.” Jim A. had coached her well.

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June 7, 2019 · 5:05 am

past

As a child, she often came to the “Pipe Room” underneath the bank her father worked at to play. For a long time, she figured this room is how the town got its name somehow. Someone, perhaps famous, perhaps even *infamous*, was trapped in this room with these pipes, she imagined. Witness the bars covering the small windows on the door and the wall.

African-American nudie photo above the lone table. Perhaps someone black, then, she reasoned early on. Maybe Jim A. would know more of the story. But as far as he knew he was the only black that ever lived in Pipersville (he personally preferred “brown”). *And*, he quickly correct, the town was named for an original settler named Piper. Nothing more. “But the room had to have *some* function,” she replied to Jim. “Stop trying to dig up dirt on that place,” he requested, understanding the town powers and what they could do. Something a child shouldn’t know about. She’d learn soon enough, when she was older.

Then, overnight, the town grew a suburb, the aforementioned Sandpiper Court with its three houses. Your Mama’s family moved into the middle of the 3. She began to sing at the local club called The Diamond, owned by this very same Jim. In truth he was trying to distract her from the room and from town mysteries in general. Plus she could really belt out the tunes.

It would be a number of years before she started being called the name she became famous with: Your Mama. Not a child any longer. And she took the name shortly after learning the truth about the room. And Jim.

(to be continued?)

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June 6, 2019 · 8:49 am

beginning

“Tillie! I found something. Tillie?!”

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June 6, 2019 · 8:18 am

satellite

They were back in Maebaleia/Satori after a quick sidetrip to Hana Lei Hidiland. Tillie was sitting in the… catbird seat. She had supreme control now, white arms, right and the other one, covered and protected once more. Notebook remains undamaged. Bumbling Baker Bloch and his bike were positioned a safer distance away this time. “Well…?”

“Do you like my white forest, Baker Bloch?” she called across the distance. “I like to keep trophies.”

“Conquests.”

“Yes. You need me, I need you. Come here,” she beckoned. “Come closer. The computer is not a problem any longer. Forget about it. Come here.”

Baker Bloch edged closer, his bike with him.

“Closer,” she still requested.

Biking Baker complied.

“Ahem, too close.”

“Right. Sorry.” The white distance was finally assumed.

“We need to talk.”

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June 6, 2019 · 6:50 am

one third

“So. We finally meet in this novel. The 2 core avatars.”

“But… you’re…”

“I know who I am, Baker Bloch. Sit down. Let’s cuddle.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Right. Quite white, er, right.” Tillie continued to rub lotion onto her colorful arms.

“Well…?” Baker finally asked. The male Baker.

Tillie sighed. “I guess we’ll have to classify this place as another one of those Hana Leis. But that will bring, let’s see — be a love, dear, hand me my notebook out of my bag.” She glances over, sees the bike wheel parked atop the bag. “Oh dear, love, I hope it isn’t damaged in any way.”

“Sorry about that.” Baker backs the bike up and gets off, reaches down into the bag for the requested computer, looks it over. “Seems to be okay.” He hands it to Tillie, who powers it up.

“Yes. You’re lucky this time. But what I wanted to check was the frequency of the ‘H’ locations.” Light flickers across her pancake face. “Ah yes, you see if we classify this as another one of those Hana Leis, that will bring the total to 19, beyond the 17 for Heartsdale and 15 for Horizons in the 3H Club. Maybe add a 4th, then.” She slides the notebook back into the bag, props herself up with her hands. “Hidiland,” she decides. “That’s it. What do you think?”

“How about just Grasslands,” he returns. “Ahh, a bee!”

“No, it has to be the 4th of the ‘H’s, like the Club.”

“4H Club.” His arms flail again. “Dad gum bee.”

“Yes. Head, Hand, Health,” she recites. “Always forget the 4th.”

“You know what the 4th is.” The bee had subsided the attack.

She giggles, then puts her finger against her turned cheek, causing a temporary dimple. “Meee?” The smile continued.

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