Tag Archives: Crocogator^*+

September 9, 2019 · 5:06 am

in the middle

“Ahh! A monster!

“Oh thank God. A beautiful princess…

“… with a death skull face *panic*!

“What *is* this place?

“And where the hell did the clown go? Over there?”

—–

—–

“Oh God! Lost control! Spinning…!”

—–

“Okay, there’s the Lord,” Crocogator continues, “safe” on the other side now. “But I can’t concentrate on him because of all these *slapping tentacles*. This is not Heaven. It’s Hell!

“And where’s that horrible, gut wrenching ‘music’ coming from?

“Certainly not from over *there*.

“Can’t… *move*.”

—–

“How long to keep him in the cat place, sire?”

“Oh, a couple hollers more should do it.”

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September 8, 2019 · 8:54 am

Middle Game

“I pray that I’ve done good by you my Lord.”

“ARISE.”

“Okay, yes sir,” Crocogator speaks to the booming voice in the sky, his King. He rises.

“AROUSE.”

“Um. What?”

“A ROSE.”

Sacrificee Renaldo O’Donnell stands up from the sacrificial altar, heart beating again within him. He has a new one.

“I will take you to the King now.”

—–

“Not those two silly beings. The real one. Over here.”

“Alright. Thank you again! Thank you so much.”

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June 1, 2019 · 7:18 am

Gno King

Sweet Alice’s father was King Null, obviously conceived before he became all jigsaw-y and stuff and was known merely as Richard (or Ricardo to some). This was the fault of Bishop, his closest companion now that the Queen was dead. Long live Queen Mae, fairest in the land, protector of the realm, instigator of none. But the Bishop — different alligator altogether. A crocogator, even. He pulled a Brutus on Caesar; took away his humanity; made him like he was. Sometimes likes attract as well, and this is the case here. King Null: only his now separated body pieces know the full picture. Let’s listen in…

“Move over,” Bishop commanded. “You’re in the center again.”

Typical.

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May 13, 2017 · 1:30 pm

Still The Key

“No crossing this lake, my love. Good fishing, though. Probably worth the risk.”

“Perch?” Wheeler logically guessed.

“Yeah,” admitted Chuckles Greentop. “But fighters here. Tough because of the gators. I think that movable, more realistic looking one is a croc, actually, despite the description. I decided a while back to name it Dundee, after the movie.” She calls over to it. “How’re you hang’in today Dundee? Alli G. treating you right still?” She then whispers over to Wheeler. “They’re lovers, you know. Different species by my reckoning, but still do’in the nasty. And I want to be first in line for one of those impossible crocogator babies. I’ll put it in one of my outer pools.”

Wheeler glanced over her shoulder. “How’s your face holding up?”

“Fine. Close enough to a clown’s face to work. Better, maybe, because it’s more confusing. ‘What is you?’ they may be uttering, haha. Thank you for that. How ’bout yours?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I told you, that’s the trick, my fiend friend. You *come* already as a clown. That way you won’t *turn* into a clown. You’ll learn the tricks here. We can fish together sometimes in this remote pool, then. But no further in this direction. That pool and attached monsters are there for a reason. I’ve seen them on the other side. This is where we communicate. Maybe today will be one of those days.”

Wheeler starts to shiver. Chuckles notices.

“Don’t be afraid, love. They’re as scared of those crocogator thingies as we are. This is the Pool of Coahoma, the separation of the barely living from the completely dead. Once you cross that pool or even attempt to, there’s no turning back. You’re one of them.”

Trouble was, Wheeler thinks she’s already been beyond. And then she gets instant verification.

“Welcome back Wheeler,” says a smiling Woody Woodmanson, appearing from around the bend.

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May 12, 2017 · 9:13 am

Central

Waking up in the morning on his old couch at the Ear Bar, The Musician wasn’t sure if the whole episode was real or mere vivid dream. But here ’tis.

—–

Baker Bloch and Hucka Doobie decided that The Musician should go look at the newest collage located in Clown Central. “The Point of It All.” Hucka escorted him there.

“Mish mash of stuff,” The Musician opined. “Like the ravings of Chef/Inspector Petty last night. I had to leave.”

“No. The picture tells a tale. Look. There is your inspector. What is he examining?”

“I don’t know,” said The Musician, following Hucka Doobie’s pointing hand. “A monster?”

“Yes, a crocodile or alligator. Petty wishes to know about monsters. But he must become *relaxed*. Not Petty, but Allen Martin.”

“I don’t want to talk about Allen Martin right now,” The Musician said firmly. “I’ve figured something out. I’m confused.”

“Allen Martin’s heart might give out. He must relax. How does he relax? Wheeler.”

“Yeah, see, that’s what I don’t want to talk about.”

“Okay,” relented Hucka Doobie. “How about up there above the inspector. Chuckles Greentop, no?”

“I don’t know. I saw her face transform into something like that. Then I saw it again in the basement of [delete name]. Now I’m looking at it again. Which I don’t want to.” He looks around. “Where are we?”

“The Point of It All,” Hucka Doobie answers. “Here lies seed information. Sometime between 2013 and present, this room formed; closed off from the rest of the underworld. Yes, like a seed planted. That is OD, of course, off the wall but then back on and then off again. OD is free. OD is *here*.”

“Ooo-kay,” The Musican mutters, tired of the puzzle-speak. “Let’s just move on from that since we’re going to play this game. Alright, I’ll give it a try. Beside that monster OD is the ‘Emerald Tablet.'”

“Very good,” encouraged Hucka Doobie. “And what does it represent? Harrison Head seems to want to say something.”

The Musician straightened his posture, eyes staring ahead instead of darting about. Sikul Himatk.

“We must enter the next sim. Through the blue door. Keys.”

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May 12, 2017 · 1:28 am

“The Point of It All”

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May 7, 2017 · 12:09 am

Merging tracks

“Ahhh! That face!!”

“We app-re-ci-ate your time in our fair ci-ty,” OD continued in its clipped manner, suddenly detached from the wall and looming larger. The wegee planchette had stopped spinning. “We have ass-im-il-at-ed the bird, zip, the man known as Mar-tin. Sanc-tu-ar-y is with-in reach. You can go ab-out, ping, a-bout your way. Thank you for vis-it-ing and come back again ver-y, zip, fair-ly soon.”

The Musician fled the scene, running upstairs. Wheeler stood her ground. She pulled out a large, futuristic gun from her coat. “Get back on the wall, buster. We’re not finished here.”

—–

Meanwhile… Allen Martin appeared to be dead at the very same spot Renaldo O’Donnell lay early.

But then he stood up. “Just a pose ball,” he muttered. “No murder atall. And my son… all that change and attached grief for nothing, it seems.”

He moves around the corner to the next area, being careful to head *away* from his apartment (unlike Wheeler earlier). A break room?

Maybe the stupid people responsible for this charade. The thought crossed his mind that VHC City is just a giant stage set for some kind of film being made. Horror story?

He then sees something more interesting appearing in the next area: a purple spheriod thingie. No: green; no: blue. He checks the description of the now golden object. Jeez God, he thinks, an “alien egg tree.” This *is* a horror story.

He walks between pipe and chair to take a closer look.

Nothing else really that odd about it except the name. And a dead end in this direction. He’d have to retrace his steps.

But then, a monster bursts forth through the wall in front of him, turns around, then leaves through same. A giant crocodile, it appears!

He may have to go back to the apartment to get his heart medicine before advancing further.

—–

Allen Martin then heard a female voice call his name from the direction of the “break room.” Wheeler.

They met in front of this gate on the far side of the room, the Fate Gate they would later call it. From this point on they would move forward together. Holding hands again, they passed through.

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