Tag Archives: Earie

zilch

George liked it here on the peninsula Duncan assigned him to keep an eye on. This meant Core-Alena in whatever shape she happened to be in at the time. This included The Between, a slither of land representing a neutral point between Virtual and Reality. This meant, well, anything else in and around the peninsula. Just keep your eyes peeled, requested Duncan.

And something had happened tonight, George then realized, peering around. The Seven Crate was gone from its former position behind the Magenta Girls’ beach house.

First the VEN off the boat moored just offshore several days ago, now the SeVEN crate itself. Better get this information back to Duncan as soon as possible, George considered. Maybe… right now?

—–

“I *told* you not to come here, George.”

“I’m properly disguised — in costume.”

“Nevertheless. You’re still a boy of 13 at heart. This is an adult portal.”

George glanced over at the center of it all again. “Milk. And cookies.” He pointed. “Funny.”

“Stop looking over there. You don’t know *what* will show up. Just stare straight ahead.”

“Okay.”

“Tell you what, let’s just get out of here.”

“But I just arrived,” protested George. “Ohhh.”

“Let’s go back to the apartment.” And so they did.

—–

“Okay, I feel a lot more comfortable now with you being here. So… start at the beginning. When did you find the crate missing? After the boat name changed, I know. But just go through the events of the day leading up to it.”

So George unfurled the events of the day leading up to the discovery. Core-Alena and he had had breakfast together at the beach house. “English muffins, ummm,” George remembered. “Core-Alena is a good cook, especially for a tree.”

“That’s a racist and bigoted response,” reprimanded Duncan. “Trees are no different than people. There’s trees that are good with cooking, good with music, good with science. Just like people.” Duncan stared an apology out of his young ward.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Now continue.”

“Well, we finished breakfast, and then I helped with the dishes and we sat around and chatted. Core-Alena — well, you know how she is. Always complaining.”

“Watch it,” warned Duncan.

“Alright.” George nodded here. “But she started on… talking about how she got killed again.”

Duncan paused with this, turned and appeared to look out the window toward the great Hotel Chelsea (the center of it all *here*) while actually deep in thought. “I see.”

“She mentioned you.”

“Of course she did.”

“And how she’s not happy being where she is now. Mobile. That’s the problem,” the boy guesses.

“Yeah,” admits Duncan, turning back around. “That’s the problem, George.” He shuffles his feet a bit, wrings his hands nervously. “A conundrum even.”

George pauses in turn. “She needs to go back into the ground. Doesn’t she?”

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Filed under *Second Life, The Straight, VHC City

In the Pond District today:

Axis found a black and white girl slumped against a Rodentia dumpster but did not know who she was. She didn’t open her eyes.

Tealie woke Jiff up in a bad mood, who did not wish to play right this minute.

So she instead goes to visit the grave of her old friend Matthew Lodenwald. What a blow to the community when he died!

Bob Richards continues to reads scrapbooks of the war and laments how he will never see his beloved Alpha again. Oh dear, looks like Li’l Bob’s jumped out of his crib.

Uncle Doomed drinks Jack Daniels in front of the neighbor’s Blob until passing out.

Lucas Smart tries to figure out how his life went so wrong.

Chris Caveman lumbers out of the Rodentia Underground, worse off from the experience.

In the local arcade, punk band Story Room prepares to play Cruise Control with newbie Grassy Noll, snickering about whether he’ll even make it out of the first turn.

Also in the arcade, Bill (Wheeler) confers with Rocky Racco about her most recent name change and move to Iris. “Heterocera is still at the fore of my research,” she reassures the learned writer. “I haven’t forgotten about Olde Lapara Towne, Collagesity, VHC City, or any of the rest.”

“Good, Wheeler.” He scratches his nose with his free paw. “Did you know that my cousin Tealie now lives in this area?”

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Filed under *Second Life, collage, Heterocera, Pond District

zircon

Bill (Wheeler) spoke over the loud, synchronized drumming. “These guys are nice, Grassy, but I feel something is missing. Why don’t you go up and join them! You played a mean bass steel pan in your college days, didn’t you? The Merrymen wasn’t it?”

“We *emulated* The Merrymen,” the Mmmmmm Grassy clarified. “Played a lot of their songs. But Calypso and the Carribean are far back in the rear view mirror now.” He sighed. “We better head over and meet Catvas I and Catvas II for bridge.  I’m afraid that’ll have to do for our synchronized quartet tonight, ha.”

“Catvas I always smells of bird,” Bill complains. “And Catvas II of fish.”

“You smell of lion,” Grassy continued the grousing. “And I smell of, um, sodden earth? Haystacks?” He looks down at his white, sneakered feet. “Haven’t quite pinned it down.”

“We’ll get to Montana and then we’ll know.” Bill leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Got any more of that wacky weed on ya? I brought some tweezers.”

“Then I’ve got the pony, hehe. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“I dig!”

—–

Bill carefully laid down the now empty tweezers on the seating. “Ahh. Life is good, Grassy. Grass. But all this reminds me.” She waves her arm around to indicate. “I really should get back to that chess game with Ellen.”

“You’re lion *snicker*”.

—–

15 minutes later:

“I wonder what the Catvases did tonight in our stead?”

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Filed under *Second Life, Iris

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

center>centre

“Uh huh.” More buzzing/squeaking from the floor. “I see.”

“What’s she saying?” asked a slumping Broken Heart from the other couch. She was pretty stoned.

“Hold on a minute.” Tina speaks again in her minute, tinny voice, understandable only to Jacob I. in the room. Perhaps it is because he’s closer to her, however, or just actually paying attention. The lawnmower continues to interact with the tiny being. “Alright, I guess we can do that.” Tina replies. “No, we don’t have the equipment or manpower for that, Tina.” After a small pause, Tina squeaks and buzzes for about 30 seconds more. “You take care as well, friend.” She scoots rapidly across the floor and out the door.

“So… what’s she saying?” queries Broken Heart again while remaining in a slumping position. She didn’t even realize Tina had left the scene.

“Jeffrie Phillips, that’s what,” replied a frowning Jacob I. “Centre,” he added.

—–

15 minutes earlier in Gaston’s Central Park, Pretty Man puts on the green ring. Everything changes.

“Over here, punk,” he calls to Earie Chuck after the deed is done. “I made a small detour.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Gaston, Purden/Snowlands, Sansara