Queer, thought Baker Bloch, back to exploring Blue Junkyards. I recognize this butterfly ship from Rosehaven. And (as he’s checking): owned by an actual Rosehavener (again: !). Well, in that nice Designing Worlds video on the region fleet commander Wildstar Beaumont did say his ships were deployed throughout Our Second Lyfe. I guess this is proof! Far far away from Rosehaven I would assume we are.
So another synchromystic link between Rosehaven and The Waste, since Blue Junkyards’ name is very similar to The Junkyard sim of latter.
And this just after I moved my Rosehaven Yarn Shop over right smack next to the *Yarn*a sim on Corsica last night (thanks Green Squirrel and Huma!).
Queerer and queerer. Maybe we’re not done with Rosehaven in the *present* yarn.
“This is *not* the centre of Rosehaven, dear sister.”
“Sshhh,” she implored in a lower tone. “Keep it down. They could be out there… watching.”
“Father’s people. Maybe even mother’s.” But she said these almost as questions.
“Both are dead. Both are gone. We must move on. Mother only lived on through the father. We must be in the now and present. Meditate with me, sister. Learn my wise ways. You won’t be so anxious.” His voice was slightly muffled and watery; hers clear and metallic.
“You shouldn’t be so talkative if you’re so relaxed,” she shoots back, then peers through the window again.
“The cave should have been the meeting point. I told you to meet me at the cave. You’d feel safer there. But no, it had to be the peasant’s village. Father’s old hideaway where he went to woo his wenches. Maybe that’s why we’re so different. Two different mothers. Maybe even two different fathers.”
“You *know* why we’re different.” She didn’t have to finish the rest. Both knew that Merry Gouldbusk physically took after the father and he after the mother. But inside, roles were reversed. For the boy (Ingo) was in danger of becoming as cold as the father given time. For the girl: only melancholy futures.
Merry Gouldbusk stared at the sphere encapsulated face of her brother. “Do you ever remove that thing?”
“Not even to eat,” he replied quickly. “I… get insights. I want to share some of them with you. About the dividing.”
“All ears,” she said, folding her ears toward him with her golden fingers. It was an old game they played. Ingo still smiled at this, which was comforting.
At the Jaeger’s Hat, Rosehaven tourist Donald Farr gets a big laugh out of a jukebox style gramophone that comes to life and sprouts arms when touched. The castle scene behind the sentient record player is actually a false window, which becomes important a little later on. Reminds Donald that he’s made friends with a Rosehaven castle owner recently, and wonders if it is the same structure he presently calls home. King Tull (or King Tully). We’ll get to him soon as well.
In looking behind him now, I realize that the false window of 10×6 panes, if extended into a square, would represent 100 panes that have become one through the castle.
Donald enjoying his second house whiskey at the Avalon Estate irish pub and dance hall, the first being so refreshing. Good thing he’s not driving, walking and teleporting being his only means of transport while on vacation. When did he have to be back to work? he ruminates through the inebriated haze. Perhaps never, hehe.
Hmm. Donald remembers a building that could be rented on this parcel before, which now is vacant. He had his eyes on it, but the rent is a little steep for his traveling budget. He just wants a place to rest his head between exploring jaunts. Perhaps one of the nearby cottages is available now. He’ll go check there next. He can only impose on King Tull (or Tully) for so long. Plus it’s pretty much a fur piece from anything out where he lives on that mountain. He’d like to be closer to the center of all things Rosehaven, and the cottages fit that bill.
Darnit! The edge cottage that had been available for several days was now rented. He missed his chance! Music is heard within — a ragtime tune being played on an out-of-tune piano. It draws him in; there’s a welcome sign as well. Plus he’s still a little drunk and uninhibited. Is this a private parcel? He didn’t care. He felt it should be his.
He opens the door and walks inside…
…. to find himself staring at himself.
“The missing building!” he cries while twirling about.
In the middle of the night, Donald Farr sometimes visits neighbor Chuck Close and talks about how he wrecked that plane and killed all those people 5 years ago.
But he always ends with something to the effect that it all might have been worth it just to get here.