Tag Archives: Amos T. Sandman^*++++

March 23, 2023 · 1:52 am

party continuation

“You better get back to your Edward, Shelley, and I should get back to my packing.” Because even at this early stage he knew it was no good for keeping the Nautilus residence. 1st thing to be boxed was his pride, his ego. $499,000 dollars is a lot of money but he figures he’ll need just that to save the downtown area from the military. Because the alarm *will* be sounded, somewhere and sometime soon. His personal Sandsim police force will be usurped. Suspect 102, as they called her/him/it, must be found and interrogated for the cause.

“I only ask one thing, *Jennifer*,” for he already thought of her as a cash cow and not a real person, “is when you find it — press the button. That’s all I ask for free lodging, food, haircuts, pedicures manicures, anything you like from any of the shops and other locations. Look where noone thinks of looking. They’ve made sure I can’t be the one…”

“… to do it, yes,” spoke Shelley. “So you’ve said.”

“I’m warm weather, Shelley — I meant Shelley back there, sorry. Remember that.”

“Hmm.”

She’s weighing her options. She can’t bring Edward — that was made clear. It would have to be Arthur accompanying her (speaking of ‘hmm’). She’d forgotten all about Lemont, the actor behind the character, when making the decision. “Sold.” She extended her hand for a shake. Too bad he didn’t have a vanilla hidden in his back pocket to meet it with. Just for a joke, mind you. But she was too precious for all that. She *was*… the golden one, the one to make the change. He could see it in her eyes, all umbrella-y and such at this particular angle in the night’s light. All the books in the world resided there. No need for a library, although that’s where he’ll meet her later and reveal himself again.

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March 21, 2023 · 4:00 pm

hearing

He stared down at her place, trying to take in what he’d just heard. The Void wants to negotiate a price, she said — or hissed.

—–

Shelley was touching up his shape again when they heard it coming out of the tunnel. A bike, but a real one this time, a chopper they call them up in the real world I believe. Aztec Warrior? We’ll see.

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March 21, 2023 · 1:32 am

00370312

How appropriate, he thinks. A big purple cube-like thingy has manifest just outside my front door since I lasted visited, sign of The Void of course.

Anyway (he turns), this is the last of my stuff, Nautilus continent home cleaned out. Couldn’t afford it, you see, with the upcoming court battle looming and paying for legal fees, etc. But I know who my real foe is now.

It seems like yesterday I was standing on the back porch with Shelley, inviting her to my sand paradise sim. She came to the party with Edward, who was somewhere just below with the rest of the still raucous crowd, even at half past 1. She explained, fairly early on actually, that her husband was away and he didn’t mind Edward taking care of her in his absence — trusted him just as much as he trusted someone named Keith who was a kind of surrogate father to her, I gathered. Also revealed that she was a writer, which interested me greatly. I happened to be a friend of a friend of one of the upper echelon of Lonelyhearts Publishers over on the *Omega* continent — caught her with a lie on that: she claimed Corsica Prime for the location, where her husband was, actually (she then admitted), looking for roles as big as his ambition and ego, she stated. I’d even heard about one or two of her books, although I couldn’t remember her attached nom de plume. “Jennifer,” she said. “Jennifer Lane.”

He turns back from the memory, red handtruck and hauling the final boxes down to the boat in his mind now. 1st pre-hearing at 7:45 tomorrow morning; gotta give about an hour for prep on that as well. He’ll have to do with around 2 hours sleep, he figures. He can catch up with the dreaming this weekend. Information, pure information. When he can interpret it, pheh. Like last night with the avocado.

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March 20, 2023 · 12:51 pm

flavors of favors

Thumbs in his pockets to make him look cool (for no one), Sandman contemplates his next move.

Bank sounds good. Not a sand bank like he’s standing in but a bank bank. Just over there, Kera being its name. He needs some money to fund his defense. Because he will get sued over this. Might as well dress him like a man in black for preparation. Reno.

—–

“Reno,” he says to the teller of the day, who then gives him $499,000. Because if he had said that other prominent Nevada city he knew it would break him, his town, his sim. Sinsity — Middletown. It was coming. And he was just being dragged along in its wake like everyone else he knew and loved and cherished.

Pockets filled — he couldn’t even stick his thumbs in them any more — he gave now upfront Vanilla a kiss to say both thank you and goodbye and went his way. This was standard procedure these days, more Middletown meddling. What would the price be even next week?

(to be continued)

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March 19, 2023 · 10:11 pm

Sandman

So many books. But so dusty. I’ll just do a little cleaning while I’m here then get down to some serious reading.

But she ended up having a serious discussion with a local on the subject of sand, quartz to be specific, the value of such for scrying to pinpoint. At one point she asked how he knew so much about it, and he turned away, disappointed. He thought they were talking friend to friend…

… but then realized it was very dark that night — no moon — and the party below was quite loud so that would explain why she didn’t pick up on the voice, which was quite distinctive and, let’s say, smoky. Like quartz itself. “Let’s put it that I understand the present,” he decided to say. “Presents actually.”

“Like Santa?” she attempted to joke. Soo close. He revealed himself.

—–

“You’ll never *guess* who I just met up at the library.”

Arthur didn’t want to guess. He wanted answers. He had been reading if Shelley hadn’t. Novel 5. What is a cheese being? he kept asking over and over until it dawned on him like a truth sun over the horizon. Or moon, hmm. He reversed course and drove toward it instead. He decided he didn’t want answers. It’s just cheese, he said to himself. Don’t overreact.

“Who?”

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March 19, 2023 · 6:04 am

00370309

After 36 successful romance novels about Edward and a lot of others, she was rolling in cash; could literally make herself an angel in the floor with it.  But she was no angel. Demon instead — she knew this deep down in her heart, despite what surrogate father Keith B. told her back at the beginning of section 01. She’d sold her soul; ground angel she was in the end. Worthless.

—–

After waking up and reviewing the dream, she decided there was only one thing to do. Tell Arthur about Edward. No, not the *actual* truth. The reality in the novel, 5th in a series. If she did, maybe she could nip what was coming — blooming — in the future in the bud. She had to pull a Barney Fife.

“There’s someone out there in the dunes — do you see it, Arthur?”

“Mirage,” he waved it off. “I’ve seen it too. Then it disappears if you stare at it enough.”

Sure enough, Shelley watches the illusion fade to wavery nothingness. She turns, tired of facing the huge mountains of sand. She’s in the present. Arthur turns with her.

“We haven’t been to that island over there.”

“No. But I sensed you have a point to make. You hardly touched your dinner.”

“You know I don’t like vegetables.”

“Not the point.” He sighs. Sandman, he thinks. Must ask about Sandman.

“I—” Pause.

“Yess?”

“I… write.”

(to be continued)

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March 15, 2023 · 6:06 pm

but the trees are flaming too

—–

Well I can certainly see why he’s called the Sandman, she thought. Better find Arthur, I mean, ahem, *Lemont*, down at the beach. But first… hair.

—–

“Oh I don’t want it cut,” she spoke upward to the dark, animalistic face hovering over her. “Just washed. I can’t cut my hair. My husband would be so disapproving (!).”

“That’ll be 55 dollars either way,” hissed the stylist. They didn’t click, she knew. Best to cut ties early before more energy drain. She can find another stylist later on. Anyway, Arthur *would* be happy. “Don’t change a thing,” he often speaks about her appearance, always making her cringe inside a bit. He wants stasis; she wants change. Yet he kind of controls her, she admits. She’s aiming to change that. The stylist must be more of his working.

“Credit it to the house,” she said when leaving, which caused even a bit more confusion.

——

“Why don’t you get out of that duck outfit and put on that cute, black bathing suit I bought you a while back.” Or was it purple? he thinks to himself, not being able to clearly picture it in rehearsal for some reason. Dark, anyway, he resolves the issue for now.

“Ohh… you know how easily I burn. I’ll keep these on.” She settles back into her chair, pats her hands on her covered knees to reinforce her staying put point. Eating away at the control. One nibble at a time.

Arthur settles back too, resigned to their current attire. “Soo. Tell me more about this Sandman.”

“Oh he’s rich.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” He looks around. Sand everywhere… at every level. Desert oasis he has here. An oasis from… Second Lyfe.

“We met through Edward. At that party his friends threw. One of those nights you were away. How’s the quest to find the ultimate Shakespearian role going by the by?” She hadn’t asked before on purpose. Arthur trusted Edward, she knew. As much as he trusted Keith with her. They were wedded in his mind. But Edward was certainly different from Keith, despite the friendly neighbor persona. Edward had designs. And she was stringing him along. All for the art mind you, she thought. The newest romance novel. I want to make the 5th different from the 4th which is different from the 3rd, etc., improvements and refinements all along. Edward is my sculpture, my newest muse even. I’m still married to Arthur certainly, she keeps pondering. No change there, whatever happens.

It was here she remembers she was married to Lemont. Not Arthur. He stares over at her, waiting for her next lines. Control.

(to be continued)

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January 18, 2023 · 5:13 pm

00360513

She received clarification in another witch house near the Head Line in Hooktip, her old stopping grounds. PCH Forest — many a day she could be found roaming these woods for magical trinkets, practicing magical spells. This is where, for example, she came up with a mate named George, a future husband she declared to him after he physically manifested before her, not quite mature but getting there. A boy 13 to 10 to 13 to 10 over and over (as it turned out), always gaining 6 inches to reach the upper extreme, always with horns or antlers by that time. On sunnier days he could even glimpse 18.


from the files: bigger George. With horns or antlers.

Anyway, the new, proper board’s planchette further indicated or emphasized the importance of the 5 point star to add to the already highlighted ending/beginning Z, obvious reference to her cat Mysti, long long left behind but still the best of friends, we assume. She even named herself that after the cat in one of her incarnations (switching the i and the y), an homage to the past in more ways than one.


from the files: Misty.

Yes, she recalls that. Quite close to here, in a retro town defunct for several years now. Took up all or almost all of Myron, a couple of sims directly west of Hooktip. Arthur was also there in a way. Except she called him Septimius. Septimius Felton, a name which has resurface recently. Darn full moon, darn wandering feet on a full moon. She ended up beside him, which now was a her. But it was still Arthur in a way, in a manner. Too hard to explain to him, though. Must keep that a big secret still — the trip to Red Marsh and Maroonville, sometimes called Redtown because of the overarching sim. Santa was born there, some say — legend goes. Santman.

She also found a book with a golden butterfly on the front, mirroring the name of the property: Golden Hours. Inside she read about herself.

(to be continued)

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January 14, 2023 · 7:42 pm

Redtown

And so, only weighed down by the sand he had to tote along to make it all work, Santman’s career took off, at first rather slow and bumpy but then speeding up as more sand was dropped, symbol of a heavy past — poor as piss-ants they were in the day. Killer of children and babies alike no more. He had achieved Heaven on Earth. And the money certainly wasn’t bad either. Bought his first town over in Montana or Kentucky back in ’68, just before the Robolution that kind of snuffed deals like that out for a while, another type of death. But he personally made it through without having to change into a mechanoid. He figured all those other assimilations gave him some kind of immunity virus.

First he took over New Years Day — easy one. Then he set his eyes on Thanksgiving — about ’96 for that assimilation. Then Valentines Day. Then… Halloween. That was tougher. Had to fend off a lot of upset ghouls and goblins for that one. Then St. Patricks Day. The snakes the snakes. But he made it through with his patented snake popper, as he marketed it later, becomes a saint himself, a replacement one. Good.

Only one really significant holiday stood in his way after that. 4th of Juli, America itself. The Battle of Christmas vs. America begins.

Oh, he thinks in the moment, reviewing his past glory. Forgot about Easter! Dang Peter Rabbit, dang Donnie Darko. Yes America’s transformation into a full holiday state will have to be delayed until he figures that all out. Christmas vs. Easter instead. Red-green vs. blue-yellow, echoes of the Trojan-Durexian Wars creeping in. Perhaps this is even an extension.

(to be continued)

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January 14, 2023 · 10:34 am

00360503: the birth of Santman

“Now this is what’s so fascinating to me,” spoke Baker Bloch, taking over his father’s talk show business. Just until he mends from that broken hip. Should be off the crutches in another day or 3. “So let’s review: you moved from behind the camera to in front because Ricky Cargo got shot in the head with a real bunch of lead — no death here!” he shouts toward the audience, which got a roar. “And so you played in ‘I Love Lucifer’, for 6 years as the male lead — didn’t say lead!” More laughs. “Then you quit that show after they moved the location from the city to the country (Sandman nods here with a soft “um hum”), then you decided to get that age operation to better exploit your chances in the then lucrative child acting business.”

“More money, uh huh. After you subtract all the cost of living stuff, the houses, the pools and cars and, let’s see, women I suppose. Women of the night.” He laughs a bit here and the audience too. They’re still with him. They’ve bought into this whole story. Baker Bloch almost has as much talent in the build up as his father. But still he hopes he gets well soon and returns.

“Let’s see, the next job is then little Richie Pettry in the ‘Dick van Duck Comedy Special’. Aired on CBS for 3 years.”

“Four. Counting the Christmas season. Ran for 6 episodes actually.”

“And I believe that’s the first Christmas season in television history.”

“Television *comedy* history. There was always Bing Cosby.”

“Right, forgot,” exclaims Baker Bloch. “But that started the whole Santa thing. Tell me about that — I know we’re getting off-topic again but the story is fascinating. We’ll return to the child acting soon.”

“Well, that was part of it. At Christmas a child needs, what? A Santa. To sit on his lap, tell him what he or she wants for Christmas.” He gestures placing an imaginary child on his knee during this.

“We all know that *now*. But back then — brand new! You invented the holidays, Sandman. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Well… I can’t take credit for St. Patrick.” Laughs from the audience. He stares out at them lovingly, knows they’ve footed the bills for his many yachts and mansions down through the years.

“Okay,” says Bloch. “Let me cut to the chase — Tommy’s telling me we need to go to a commercial break.”

“I sat on his lap,” says Sandman, getting the core of it. “I… told him… I wanted a duck for Christmas.” Chuckles from the audience, most of them not even paid studio laughers by this point. “I wanted to *be* a Duck (dramatic pause). So he ate me.” Stares even wider eyed at the audience, who have lost it. Everyone knows the story. It made broadcast history.

(to be continued)

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