Tag Archives: Chuck Cheese

Scrutinizer Central

“Tronesisia, in her sly way, has led us back to VHC City’s Realm of Orange, also known as Sphere of Influence. George is pictured here peering intently at it in Collagesity novel 4 — scrutinizing…

… and then also here in the current novel (playing Young Herbert Dune in EM’s ‘Urbane Blue’ production). He peers at the orange in each case. Circular perfection.”

“No, you don’t get it, Pitch. I should know. He *doesn’t* peer at the orange, but just outside. Around the outside but not within. That’s what Tronesisia is warning us about.”

“We’ll have to bring her back, Bill. To Collagesity, I mean.”

“Baker Blinker’s old house…”

“Of course. Just like before.”

“But there’s Bendy to consider.”

“Bendy and Tronesisia — or Tronesisia and Bendy — go the way of Fisher and Lisa.”

“Or Lisa and Fisher.”


“I knew they’d let me come back.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Heterocera, Rubi, VHC City

reunion 03

“So is this her?” Ruby asked without a hint of jealousy. The Green (Eyed) Monster.

“Yes. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” I wish I were a 100th that beautiful, Ruby then thinks. Eraserhead Man was thinking at the same time: But not as beautiful as you are right now, Young Ruby. EM is certainly smitten (!).

“This is Smithy’s House,” EM then declares. “Not finished. We also don’t know who’s going to play Smithy. Maybe the man in the bright green coat who came on the set earlier. But maybe not.”

“Where are all the others, Pencil? (for that was what Ruby always called EM since their days back on New Island — Pencil)

EM points to his eraser topped noggin with a stubby arm. “In here.” He waits an appropriate beat. “Nah, just kidding. They’re in the southeast corner of Fishers Island. Doing my bidding.”

“Gwin included?” Ruby tried to word her thoughts properly. “She… returned to the set?”

“Yes. Sorry you can’t play the part, Ruby. But we have something special cooked up for you. Did I ever tell you I have a doppleganger too? Some call him Penn Mann. Some just penhead, because he’s quite irksome. But lately he’s been sporting a pink mohawk and disguising himself as a she. Under this guise (he’s known as) Chuck Cheese. Sometimes Heidi, which I suppose indicates his ability to hide well. But we’ve struck a deal. Man to man-as-woman. I get the southeast corner of Fishers Island, he gets Wallytown of Fishers Island.”

Ruby pondered on this new information. “Then who gets Fisher?”

“Ahh, so logical, so precise you are. Yes, our Orange Boy. Orange itself. That is the conundrum. To answer that we must first go back to when Herbert Dune was just a boy on the threshold of adolescence. Or just beyond, I guess. Rounding a corner. Seeing something earlier on that day that he didn’t understand. A flesh and blood woman turned into a doll. Heidi — or whatever she or he’s called — insisted that he — or she — direct the shoot.”

—–

“Do you have the orange makeup on all over the appropriate spot, Chloe?”

“Yeees.” Chloe Price was being paid quite handsomely for this scene, but still her voice had an edge. She was nervous. She never had done anything close to a nude scene for a film, never exposed her midriff for anything. Oh, there was that pool scene in “Life is Strange”. But that was all innocent fun and games. This is different. She could back out… but she was already inside.

“Alright. Young Herbert Dune — George — you come around the corner just there and then spot Chloe. You slink back around the corner. Chloe doesn’t see you. The case is opaque, not transparent. Here… let me set the mood better.”

—–

“So the case is darkened. All except that circular opening. And then, Young Herbert can’t help himself, takes another look. The legend of All Orange is born.”

—–

“I’m giving you back your 50,000 lindens, EM. I couldn’t do it. Director Heidi took my place. She was a better height for it anyway.” Chloe Price huffed. “You don’t know *what* I went through in ‘Life is Strange’. Creepy stuff. I couldn’t do it,” she reinforced.

EM pats her hand. He’s finally breaking through that tough exterior. “There there, friend. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to here on *my* set.”

That day, Chloe may have fallen a little bit for Eraserhead Man as well.

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Filed under *Second Life, Ruby's Empire/Fishers Island, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island, Wallytown/Fishers Island

bananas

“I’m telling you Baker Bloch. It’s a battle between black and white. Lodges. I *need* a gun.” Heidi pointed her loaded weapon at Baker’s brimmed hat, oh so tempted to shoot it off just to reinforce her message. Instead: “Change over into the other director. I want to speak with my doppleganger on this.”

“Alright.”

“You’ve changed, Penn Mann, er, Heidi. You know you have.” His voice was strong and nasal.

“I’ll admit it. I’m still here to bargain.”

“I’ve seen this version of you before. You’re a magician… *musician*. That’s it. I’ve heard about you. You use to hang out with that scallywag…”

“Bargaining, please.”

“Okay, getting down to the brass tacks it is. I want the inn for starters. Horne. I’m going to bring back the Ice Cream Boys.”

Heidi/Musician turned around in his seat and looked at the large structure representing the inn, then turned back to Eraserhead Man. “Done.”

“And the blue coffee shop behind me. The one with the golden hands that serves such excellent expresso. I need coffee to make my brain function well for the shoots. *Tangents* we must go on… explore. Plus,” — and here Eraserhead Man turned in turn, then turned back — “it’s a portal.”

Heidi/Musician looked straight ahead at the blue structure framing Eraserhead Man’s eraser topped head at the time. “I think that’s a given. Anything else?”

“The orangerie,” Eraserhead spoke plainly and without hesitation. He knew this could be the sticking point, but had already made up his mind about the terms. This was make or break.”

Heidi/Musician expelled some air. “I have my people pushing me in a different direction, Pencil. Expand beyond Wallytown and the spaceship, they’re saying in my ear. Give Heidi a larger role… expose her to the limelight more. Feature Dr. Ice Cream more.”

“That’s what *I’m* trying to do. Feature Ice Cream more. Icy, delicious ice cream, mmmmm.” Eraserhead Man rubs his lead painted belly here for emphasis. He licks his wooden lips. He keeps licking his lips, staring at the doppleganger director opposite him. Slower and slower…

“Alright, okay, just stop doing that. I’ll give you your Ice Cream Boys. I’ll give you the Orangerie.” Heidi/Musician held steady the weapon he had pointed at his doppleganger beneath the table. “But I still keep the orange. *The* orange.” His finger was poised on the trigger. “I need both the apples and the orange.”

“Deal,” Eraserhead Man quickly agreed, then spit in his hand and extended it across the table. The gun was lowered. Both got all that they expected and desired today.

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Filed under *Second Life, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island, Wallytown/Fishers Island

transference

“Yes, thank you Penn Mann. But we kind of already *knew* where the mound was on this sim map.” Waste of thin space he sometimes is, she thought to herself, but only huffed outwardly.

Embarrassed, Penn Mann moved away from the map and propped himself back up against the wall beside Dr. I.C. Yourinsides. After considering the next step, he thought into their heads again. “Give me your idea of how Tronesisia — Sissy — and this Rocky being I hadn’t met until yesterday’s rehearsals — fine fellow, though — tell me how they knew about Billy’s secret hideout. Any clues?”

“We don’t *need* clues, Penn Mann. Mr. Director.” Dr. I.C. blew out air again. “It *happened*. Tronesisia and Rocky noticed that there were 3 extra prims on the property the other day. They’re very meticulous about counting, since they leave full building permissions on that property for the various entertainers passing through. They used remote viewing to pretty quickly find the cube, the most solid and rounded of the 3, just under the floor of the nightclub. This led (them) to the other two objects linked to the cube — the copy of ‘I, Robot’ by another Carter person apparently [sic], and then the Jimmy Carter cutout that represents Billy’s *real* brother, or what he takes to be his real brother anyway. It’s all brainwashery, though: the alien disguise, everything. He’s really human through and through in this production. But he’s not really a he.”


“So it *is* you.”

Penn Mann considered this as well. “What about the public urination, then, the pissing with the [delete name]? And Mr. Yellow. Or Yellows, 2 of ’em. He drank the special brew, but is then discovered pissing it back out at that public landing spot for Wallytown, all out in the open and all. But it takes two Mr. Yellows, combined, to accomplish this. What does that mean?”

Dr. I.C. threw up her hands, then figuratively punted. “You take it Spocari Nemoy.”

“Captain,” admonished Nemoy. “Use the title when speaking to me in this war room. I outrank you.”

Dr. I.C. blew him a raspberry with this. “Go ahead then, *Captain*. Give our Director Mann a dose of some more truth. He wants fiction, we give him reality back.” She turned to Penn Mann again. “All this *happened* to us — get that through your thin, ink filled head.” She looked him over. “Which side is your head anyways?”

“Biker Chick,” went Penn Mann on a tangent again in their heads. He had this in common with his Urbane Blue director doppleganger: Eraserhead Man. Without eyes, without mouth, he turned his attention to the black and pink clad woman sitting beside Nemoy, who was markedly leaning in the opposite direction from her, obviously uncomfortable with her presence here. “We seem to need a fresh perspective on this,” Penn Mann thought. “Give us what you think?”

Dr. I.C. Yourinsides spoke up again. “Biker Chick doesn’t know anything; she has just arrived.”

“Nevertheless,” insisted Penn Mann inside their heads. “I am *still* the director of the production, despite what you may think, Good Doctor.”

“Oh Lord,” she exasperated. “Go ahead, then, Biker-Chick-not-even-with-a-name-yet. Tell us what you got.”

“Heidi,” she piped up in a thin voice after a pause. “My name is Heidi.” But Nemoy and Yourinsides both realized it was actually Penn Mann speaking *through* this person. She looks down at her hands, wiggles them around. She reaches up and touches her face, her eyes, her mouth.

And then she touches something else. “How do you like *these* apples?”

Spocari Nemoy started to feel red-blooded again. This is what he didn’t like about biker chicks, among many other things. But this above all else. What would Marlon Brando do? he thinks for not the first nor last time.

He makes a mental note to schedule another regeneration session with Lt. Gunnhead asap.

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Filed under *Second Life, Wallytown/Fishers Island

Alex and Albert

“Still no pot here,” complains a peering Chuck Cheese, out on bail for an hour from the Gaston-Berry Police Station. “Where *is* Alex?” She pauses. “Or was it Albert?”

Quickly checking the world map, she sees a green spot moving toward her own green spot. “Someone is coming. Could have been tracked. Bail time’s up anyway. Got to head back.”

—–

“Good. You’re back on time this time I see. But what happened to your hair?” asks Maury “Jiff” Monroe, the police staff psychiatrist.

“I sometimes take it off at night. Bed time, right?”

“Wrong. Interrogation time.”

Chuck blows out air in exasperation, rolls her eyes, and flings herself down on the cell cot. “15 more minutes down-time? Pleeeasse?”

An acquiescing Jiff goes back to his cubicle waiting for 10:15, when the grilling will resume. First off, he needs to find out about this Alex or Albert. Each bail period, Chuck spills a little more of the beans. It’s almost as if she’s doing it on purpose. Is she? he asks himself.

—–

“Why did he steal her color?” asks a studying Billy Jean Kidd over in Middletown.

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Filed under *Second Life, Gaston, Jeogeot, Middletown SL

back to the ward

The tutu wearing sack of sh-t has returned, Gaston-Berry Police staff psychiatrist Maury “Jiff” Monroe thinks, staring over from his cubicle at Gregg Oden passed out across three chairs against the west wall. He’s going to be sent up the creek a loooong time for this one.

Something’s different about him — it — though.

Of course: the hair.

—–

“(There’s) something about that police station,” speaks Billie Jean Kidd while studying former blog posts from her tower chair.

—–

“Who are you?”

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Filed under *Second Life, ., Gaston

ss

Perspective enlarged, Chuck Cheese finds herself in a strange place again, walking on a spiraling path upwards toward a rocky summit.

“Both of us can’t be women,” uttered Wheeler Wilson at the top. She changed.

“Right you are, Wilson Wheeler,” returned Chuck Cheese. She also changes.

“A pair of suave, swarthy dudes we make, eh?” said Wilson Wheeler.

Earie was thinking about himself: although just as swarthy, not so suave. “I am almost wholly invisible now,” he complains. “I am just an object to be seen right through. You don’t respect me as a person, Improvio. I mean, Pretty Man. I mean: Wilson Wheeler. Whatever.”

“Do you remember?”

“What happened? Yeah. A merger of church and liquor store.” He looks down into the valley to his right.

“We are the Malefic The Kidd spoke about,” continued Wilson. “With sickly, green wings; tucked in the opposite corner of her, um, building. Imprisoned even. Do you feel like you’re in jail? I do.” He indicates his outfit with a gesture. “This suit. The suit of Bowie.”

“Bowie protects you,” counters Earie. “Without Bowie you are nothing here as well. Object.”

“And who are you suppose to be?” he returns sarcastically. “Sid Vicious?”

Earie lays it out as plain as possible. “We are 2/3rds of the punk band Story Room. Banned from Olde Lapara Towne because of the noise, moved to the hidden vilage of Gaston where there was no ban, turned into pretty things there in order to survive, and then confined like flies to its Central Park. Paper.”

“Fly paper, right,” agrees Wilson Wheeler. “We burn to death again every day. Central Park is without dark and always on fire. Core of a volcano.”

“Seed into tree,” Earie continued even more abstractly. He uncrossed his legs. “Atonal punks we are, Wilson Wheeler.”

“Please,” Wilson Wheeler finally countered concerning his name. “If am that you are The Musician.”

He stops thinking about the spot marked with an “X” in the valley below and turns back toward his counterpart. “Then I am Earie…

… and you are Pretty Man.

But I also get to be Chuck.”

“Get yourself a shoulder pet and we’ll talk later,” compromises the suaver swarthy man sitting opposite him.

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Filed under *Second Life, Heterocera