Tag Archives: Brevin^*

continuation 03

“Could it be… could that horse be eating — sniffing…

… blue roses? Yesss!”

“I’m so close.”


But Casey One Hole quickly learned he was banned from the 4096 square meter property dominated by the giant tree and its topping house, speculating that someone else higher up was reading the Baker B. blog as well. He couldn’t get beyond the blue roses. For reasons yet to be understood, he would not suffer the same horrible fate as Dixon One preceding him.


“Alright, Brevin. Show me where the treasure is.”




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“The treasure remains safe for now, Breven. All things will be reset in the transition between 11 and 12. Are we ready?”


“What’s that, my flightless friend?”


“Oh. *Cape*. Right you are!”


Ruby finds more blank pages at the end. “And that appears to be it, my friends. The treasure remains safe; everything is wrapped up neat and tidy.” She pauses. “I suppose.”

“What about the Murderkiller?” inquired Indigo to her left. “What about *me*. I’m dead!”

“Yes,” points out Ragdoll on her right. “And I wasn’t even in this one. Disappointment!”

Central Ruby ponders on this. “Maybe — just this time — we can handwrite into these blank pages at the end. You know, create our own ending. Since we’re not quite satisfied with this one.”

“Unlike 10. Perfect!” remarks Ragdoll.

“And 7,” offers Indigo. “My favorite.”

“Right. Well… any ideas? Indigo, you mentioned the Murderkiller, and I agree. I was also killed, you’ll remember.”

“But then,” indicates Ragdoll in her more high pitched, youthful voice, “Axis, I believe, states you can be brought back to life through cloning. Your leg.” Ragdoll gestures toward Ruby’s wooden leg. “How *did* that happen, by the way? I mean, outside the books themselves.”

But Ruby refused to talk about that in detail, saying it involved a moment shared between Axis and herself and she would tell them more later. It would actually be much later. So they went back to the topic of the Murderkiller. Ruby summarized.

“We — being the user as a collective — originally wanted to call him or her the Alphabet Killer, since 26 deaths seem to be involved, same as the number of letters in the alphabet. But turns out this title had been taken by another sickie in the past. So Murderkiller was eventually chosen, because, you see, 13 beloved Christmas figures were *murdered* in Snowlands — perhaps all men if we admit that snowman Frederica is actually a transvestite named Frederick…”

“Interesting twist,” states Indigo.

“Yes. And then 13 women *killed* elsewhere, perhaps all on this Cross that is a central setting for 11.”

“I am the 12th.” Indigo points to herself. “And you are the 11th.” She redirects the finger toward Ruby. “Frodes.”

“Laffoon to Frodes, right. We should have never left the laughs and buffoonery of Laffoon, I believe the text states.”

“And that’s directly on The Cross,” added Ragdoll. “I’ve studied the Omega continent in the meantime. Lineside is in the middle. Like a dividing line between north and south.”

“Mason-Dixon,” agrees Ruby. “So much more could be developed, starting with that Bypass used to railroad captives back to Dixie.”

“Like Duncan Avocado,” declares Indigo.

“The 13th,” chips in Ragdoll. “But, queerly, not a woman this time. Maybe a switch with Frederica somehow?”

“Good. Good, guys.” An inspired Ruby goes around the corner to retrieve a pencil, then returns to the table. She begins to lay out the reality of an extended ending, qualifying the plan by saying they can always erase anything they don’t agree with.”

“So it has to be a consensual reality,” expresses Indigo. “All shared.”

“All shared,” joins Ragdoll.

Ruby puts graphite point to paper. “All shared,” she echoes. And begins to write…

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“Well Brevin. Time to face death square on.”

But upon teleporting in, Fairy Ruby sees there are no more freshly dug graves to examine. She logs out then back in to make sure all objects at the small cemetery have properly rezzed. No difference.

Just three remaining graves surrounding a Halloween Bat Tree. All have been around for a while.

Maybe I better talk to Axis tonight about all this.


“Still playing around with form, I see,” stated Axis after sitting down in the Winter Harvest Chair beside the red clad fairy. He notices the hearts. “I like it — but why did you change your hair from black to white?”

“Death will do that. Scare the color out of you.”

Axis glanced back at the shrunk cemetery surrounding the dark tree. “Did you know I was Halloween Jack before the merger? And Nick, and also Melvin, who is kind of Uncle Sam. The great 3-n-1. Would you like to see?”

Fairy Ruby finished her last bite of cherry tart. “Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Axis focused hard, but found he couldn’t produce the needed entity. “Alright,” he said, exhaling. “That’s no good. Let me try the next one.”

“Melvin?” questions the girl.

“Oh. That one.”

“Yeah. Sorry it turned out a little hunchbacked.” He attempted to adjust his unwieldy arms so that they weren’t as much all over the place.

She looked him over. “Listen. I have an idea…”

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“What do you think, Brevin? Pretty good disguise, eh?”

“Haaatt!” the colorful fowl cawed. “Haaaaaaatttt!”


Dearest Axis,

I miss you so much. I am sorry about the trick back at the fairy forest. Hope to see you soon.

Yours in love,

“Misty?” she says aloud, staring at the signature line.

“Top of the day to you,” called Septimius Felton, sneaking up behind her. “See you’re using one of those fancy future machines again. Typing to your boyfriend, huh?” He laughed agreeably. “But just a friendly reminder…”

“I know, I know,” said, um — Misty (?), shutting down the window. “No future machines. No future anything.”

“Who’s the president?” Septimius tested.

“Garfield.” Pause. “Wait… Grant.”

“I know you’re funning me, Mrs. Dorn.”

Mrs.?, thought Misty(?). I’m *married*? She hadn’t turned around yet. She didn’t want him to see her scars.

“You know the presidents better than I,” he continued. “We almost didn’t make it through R.B. Hayes, though. Almost became a *socialist* country, without a true ruler. But we all got through it. But of course you’re too young to remember all that hoopla.”

“I read all about it in sex ed history class, though,” she proclaimed proudly, reverting to old, classic style bluster.

Septimius walked into the gazebo beside her. Oh it’s *you*, she thought, looking over the familiar, top hat topped gentleman, dapper in a period suit. Does he remember? Does he know? He eyed the fall leaf sugar cookies eagerly. She decides to gesture toward the opposite chair. What would it hurt?

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said matter-of-factly, scooting out the cast iron chair before sitting down, then noisily scooching it back to the table on the wood planked flooring. A sugar cookie was in his hand in no time.

Closed, thought a relieved Misty, staring at the subsequently masticating mouth. He’s at least evolved past Tin Tin, thankfully. He was really quite handsome, she thought. Despite being just a, um, prop.

He cleared his throat, and indicated the laptop with a nod of the head. “About time to put that away, don’t you think. Talk person to person, like it should be. 1920, Mrs. Dorn. And Woodrow Wilsonia is the first female president. Who would have thunk it?”

Who would have indeed, thought Misty.

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