Tag Archives: BEAVER

rave’n

“You were *superb* Mr. Tom Casey. I smell: *emmy-y-y*!”

“Thank you Billy Jean Kidd. Oops. You’re Heidi Hunt Ives now.”

“I am.” She shifted her small weight in the chair. “And how is Karoz down in Chilbotown? Chilbo! as the locals cheerily shout.”

“He’s fine. He’s eager for a return as well.”

“Another eager beaver, cool. But… we must give you a full name. How about Casey One Hole? Reference to both your Indian complexion and a signature kill, perhaps. And how’s this (for a catchphrase): I don’t come from Uranus, I come *for* Uranus.”

“Too gay,” Casey quickly opined. Seeing Heidi scowl, he clarifies: “What I mean is that I’m not a gay character, or at least that shouldn’t figure into the equation.”

“Good enough. Ditch the catchphrase. Keep the name, however. Let viewers ponder over it.”

“So tell me about these prison schematics,” Tom Casey inquired. “What’s my modus operandi and such?”

“Here,” Heidi returned. “We can just pull them up on the screen.” She looked around the large, long room.

“Oh drat, we don’t have a media feed here.”

“That’s all right. Just tell me about them for now.”

So Billy Jean Kidd who is Heidi Hunt Ives explained how the 5×5 layout of metallic looking maps shown in the last Collagesity novel is actually of Montgomery County, Arkansas with its Rubi and Silver villages and the rest — Waters, etc. But it’s somehow also the prison schematics over in Gaston. “Maybe Gaston is actually South Yankton?” she then asks, half to herself and half to Tom. “That would go along with the tropical clime,” she quickly followed. “North Yankton: cold. South: warm… hot. Brazil.”

“I don’t know,” Tom Casey the actor offered. “Oklahoma has to figure in here.” He begins to create his own back story. “I’m an Indian in the past too, perhaps. Hana Lei — check out that Lafferty fellow’s novel, eh?”

“I will!”

“Anyway, we’re in Beaver City, Oklahoma and not Beaver City, Nebraska. The only other one. That means we’re in the past and not the present. Dust Bowl.”

“Beaver as the 7th and last county of Oklahoma before it became a brand new state. I’m trying not to confuse it with Ohio again.” Casey doesn’t get her inside joke. She continues after clearing her throat. “Anyway, I think you’re on to something there (as well). Let’s put all the ingredients together and make a big, whopping celebration cake. Emmy-y-y!” she trills again.

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15 minutes later…

“Did you get the information I wanted, Norris?”

“N-no. Not yet.” He was trying very hard not to perspire, show fear. But Casey drew it out of him. He *fed* off of it. “I guess… you heard about the beaver?”

“The beaver is not of my concern,” Casey said mechanically. His whole tone of voice was drained of emotion. Casey knew that Jeffrie Phillips would soon be reading this blog post and catching up with him. He needed to stay one, preferably several steps ahead in the game. And we’re not talking about Grand Theft Auto here, ridiculous bank heists and shite.

Norris continued to stare forward into the red curtains. He’d been doing this for as long as he could remember. Weeks, maybe months. Years, even. He had *hoped* that Casey would stare straight ahead as well and not at him. But he could repeatedly sense what felt like two laser beams burning into the back of his head. Cheater! Trying to extract the needed information that, yes indeed, he had. Prison schematics.

But Casey already knew this.

The suspiciously tanned man moves forward on his couch and leans toward Norris’ head, his mouth not half a foot from an ear now. “There’s a par three at the back nine of my club,” Casey hisses menacingly, “where the flag pole sometimes goes missing when I make my holes in one.” He withdraws from Norris and gets up to take his leave. “You think about that over the next several days.”

Norris finally couldn’t help himself. “Don’t… *look* at me,” he said weakly.

“You have until Monday to get me that information, Norris. ” Then he was gone, silent as a cat.

—–

Karoz Blogger was next for a visit.

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“Slim to none.”

“South YANKTON!” Eraserhead Man shouted toward the bleached face Norris. “We need INFORMATION! A man named PHILIP STREVOR has returned from there! Listen and this is IMPORTANT! There’s a giant BEAVER there!”

“Don’t look at me,” Norris demanded in a normal register. “Are you looking at me? Because you’re suppose to be looking straight ahead and not at me. Don’t look at me!”

“I WON’T! I’m NOT!” Eraserhead Man rummaged around in his pockets and procured a cigarette, lit it, and proceeded to smoke.  “You don’t mind if I SMOKE, do you?!” he asked while emitting his first puff.

Norris didn’t answer, remained motionless. Eraserhead Man continued his grilling. “He goes by the name of CASEY here! Sometimes Casey the ALIEN! Last seen in GAETA V — get this — like GTA V! GTA I Said! Grand Theft AUTO! One of our INFORMANTS tipped us off! KEDAR! Use to live over in NAUTILUS!” He stopped there.

“I may have heard of him. We may have shared a drink!” Norris piped up.

“Had a GOLF club! MOTIONLESS FACE. Said, ‘I’m yrev very happy to SEE you old friend.’! I don’t have to tell you what color ROSE we’re talking about here!”

“You should leave now,” Norris suddenly demanded. “The holiday entities could be up and roaming about by now. There’s a chance they may come to this lower plane… just a chance but not worth taking it.”

“CHANTS?!” shouted the hard of hearing Eraserhead Man. Norris forgot to pipe up at the end this time. “What KIND of chants?!”

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monochrome

“Well, Wheeler. What’s next for you… us?”

“Call me Kidd here. Billy Jean Kidd. Chroma who is Jimmy has fused with Wheeler and The Musician. The great 3-n-1. Norris.”

“Norris?” the great vampire Pitch Darkly questions. He did not know this name. “Do you mean Morris?”

“I do not,” replies The Kidd firmly, sitting forward with hands on knees now. She stares toward him.

Pitch decides to enter mouseview to get a better look at her.

Such an interesting simulation. Simulacrum. He takes up the thread again. “So, who is this Norris, then?”

“You know. 3-n-1,” she states once more.

“Humm, Sandusky,” Pitch says, nodding. Nodding off, that is.

—–

Blackness again.

Then falling. He recalls a brief glimpse of a large, many windowed building.

Something was lost. Not just eyesight. Earsight; speechsight. He falls and falls, then lands, upright, in the midst of animals.

Solid water. He thinks: ark. But then intuitively realizes this is more simulation and there is a door out of what is actually a small globe. Like a door from Earth to Heaven. He thinks of “The Truman Show” and going beyond “The Wall”. True man.

He finds the door in a logical seam, and faces a different, greener water. Atoll style.

He makes his way to a distant shore via an inflatable mattress.

On the beach, he looks back at the globe with the animals within, but knows the animals cannot see him. He thinks to check the owner of the globe, the inflatable mattress, the water itself and the beach and the rocks. All belong to The Kidd again. He is in her realm, he realizes.

—–

Pitch wakes up. A brief nap, but meaningful. Billy Jean Kidd is still staring at him, wide awake all the time.

“I have removed your cardboard eyes and given you back your sights, all 3 of ’em. All I do for this is to ask a small favor. Only one. Find Norris the Father. Look in Beaver City, Nebraska. Find him and tell him that the time has come to firewalk between Republicans and Democrats. He’ll understand. He’ll come here, then. I know you can pull this off. Else: darkness again. You have all the resources of this island at your disposal. And other entities will be dropping by to help.

“But…” he implores.

“Mary?” Billy Jean Kidd guesses correctly about what is foremost in his mind. “Yes. Her too.” Mary manifests beside The Kidd. Pitch Darkly wonders if she’s grown taller since they last met about a week back.

“One chance out between two words,” she chants.

“Worlds,” Billy Jean Kidd corrects. “You meant worlds there.” Mary turns toward her but doesn’t respond. Pitch blows out air in resignation before shutting his eyes and falling asleep again.

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