Blue rose embellished Arthur Kill stands in red ones in Joffy and peers at a picture of three, child carrying blue-ish elephants, with the 3rd also rainbow tinted. That’s the one, he thinks from his thorny position. Better get this back to Marty.
Corsica is an… well, you know the story by now.
Jeffrie Phillips had come to the end of the book. Arthur Kill eyed him keenly from the piano which he had no ability to play. His music was death. Death to Big Black Smoke, death to Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child, death to perhaps Jeffrie Phillips too. If he so chooses. The eyeing continues.
“Well… what did you think?” asks Marty from a nearby stool about the tome detailing the history of the bar and Urqhart in general. Spanking new girlfriend Linda Halsey, fresh from a broken relationship down in Adgatetown on the lower coast, was by his side, holding his arm even preoccupied with her own thoughts at the moment. I wonder how David Newton Jasper is doing, alone with his Chalcedony and other progressive math rock albums? Fine, she then thinks, imagining him playing air guitar again. How many times? She had to leave (like all the others), looks be damned.
Jeffrie Phillips decides to answer Marty since Linda’s internal monologue seemed to be over. “It was… interesting.”
“Do you understand now why we have to eliminate ‘Love Peace’, eliminate the smoke screen that was the Summer of Love, ’66 or ’67 take your pick? There is no Love. There is no Peace. This must be *revealed*.”
Arthur Kill nods agreeably from the dormant piano. This is why he sticks with Marty. Through thick and thin, the cynicism always shines through. It attracts him like a dim moth to bright light. I think of the bug again here…
Jeffrie stares out the dappled window beyond the bikes in the parking lot into the heart of the Indian Lake/Sox Pond basin. Started right here in this bar, eh? 1919 huh — double 19’s. Scandal. Black. Indian… red. White.
Phillips rezzes a local, vanilla style paper without any red atall to take his mind off the quandary, which gives Arthur Kill his cue (*pop*!). Our story must continue elsewhere.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0018, 0416, Corsica, Urqhart
“We *dance* the celebration of life, of victory,” interpreting Audrey [delete last name] declared to lover and fellow dancer Jeffrie Phillips spinning around the same, fire centered circle. “Urqhart has, amazingly, been *fulfilled*. The past can be revealed. Behold!”
Within the fire, a vision appeared about the valley below to Jeffrie. A sim sized lake — or pond — or *both*, filling up that central sink we’ve been mentioning lately, straddling the sims of Urqhart here, then Ensleigh to the west then Malhaven to its north and finally Yia Yuto to complete the (fire centered) circle. Indian Lake, he realized. But also Sox Pond. 1919, the year Big Black Smoke descended upon it and wrought its damage. An important — very important — link between Virtual and Reality in this here blog. Pennsylvania (state) and Corsica Prime (continent). Corsica is an elephant.
“Will Marty be joining us?” queried Jeffrie Phillips, building up quite a sweat trying to keep pace with jumping, jiggling Audrey.
Marty joined them. “I’m happy too!” he proclaimed, starting to dance up a storm with the others. Employee Arthur Kill then appeared behind him, just glaring around. Get this love peace crazy shit out of here, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue because of a paycheck coming up. A big one. Big Black Smoke one.
They danced until the sun came up and then a little more.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0018, 0413, Corsica, Urqhart
I was going to create a post about figures found near Urqhart, specifically two elephants in opposite corners of a house. But news just broke in Urqhart itself. Urqhart Hill, featured in the Marty-Arthur Kill interaction post from a few nights back, has been bought and paganized! The new owner: a Rhiannon, obviously a nod to Stevie Nick’s song “Rhiannon” in some form, and the Welsh legend behind it of the goddess who fell in love with a mortal and paid the price. Also I’ll remind readers that Barry X. Vampire’s subsequently murdered girlfriend Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child sat her ass on this very hill’s grass as Marty observed her from his house just below. The house still stands despite everything being a bit up in the air at the time. And that observation tower has been added. Let’s zoom in on the modified hill. A memorial? We go deeper…
—–
And here are those elephants in the neighboring Annelie sim just to finish:
Corsica (continent) is an elephant. More soon!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0018, 0412, Corsica, Urqhart
He didn’t know where he was. The approaching, grey ghost didn’t help. “You killed me Arthur Kill,” she moaned. Oh — *her*, he thought while watching the spectre waver back and forth, then retreat again. The *freshest* one. This sometimes happens. He must be dreaming…
Earlier:
Big Black Smoke couldn’t resist. The door was open with no one home currently — he’d checked all the windows. The bed beckoned; he’d deal with the consequences later. That’s how the man known *locally* as Big Black Smoke met his end at the terminus of a Dead End Street in Urqhart. Or right next to it.
—–
Hmmm, pondered Arthur Kill, readying for another. A black man like me. Oh well. Duty calls. He enters.
—–
Later, while staring at the rotating tire outside that Arthur Kill buried Big Black Smoke under, a tiny rap at the door. It was Cathy Love Peace Hippie Child, longing for another bed down with new love lust and wannabe novelist Barry X. Vampire, who would escape all this mess and slaughter as fate deemed it. Onward and upward into new peaks to the south west, he wisely decided earlier that day.
—–
*POP* (another one)
—–
Dawn was breaking in Arthur Kill’s dream, driving the ghosts away. But he was in the middle of novel 19, with no story there yet possible. Since this is sort of toward the middle of 18. Or a little beyond. Urqhart.
—–
“That was a short one, Hucka Doobie,” spoke Baker Bloch while staring down at the freshly inserted pin on the Big Map.
“Not over yet,” advised the wise bee-ing just out of sight to the west and/or south.
Aptly named Arthur Kill, just off some fresh kills in Staten Island, decided to hop the ferry over to virtual reality and Lindenwold to see if old boss Marty had any new assignments.
“Sorry everything is a little up in the air at this moment, Arthur,” he apologized about the levitating objects in the yard.
“You moving?” Arthur gruffed.
“Dunno… maybe.”
Arthur Kill stands up, preparing to teleport back to New York City. He doesn’t like to kill time unnecessarily, unlike most things. “Let me know if you do,” he declared without emotion.
“Wait.” Marty was glad of the rare appearance of his former chief assassin and decided to cook up something on the spot. “There’s a, er, *Mouse*. At the end of a Dead End Street. Big Black Smoke. That’s all I got.” Mouse was code for Rat.
“Local?”
Marty looked out at the landscape here, as he had been doing when Arthur abruptly showed up out of thin air. Urqhart Hill, he thought, staring straight ahead. That girl at the top. She’s been there for hours. He can’t stop looking at her. What’s she doing, what’s she up to? Smoking weed? Marty would like some weed. If she stays there very much longer, he’s going to assume she’s using drugs and just walk up to her and ask for some. Not the hard stuff (like before). Just weed this time. She looks the type, yes. A grass chick — sitting in the grass up there. Marty realizes he must answer Arthur Kill.
“Local — right.” Very much so.
Sunklands 