Tag Archives: Edwardston/Edward Daigle^*======+++&

March 25, 2023 · 8:37 am

00370404 (party 04)

Edward split the scene, went back to Shelley in the main house still sitting and gabbing with Sandy and Penny. As soon as he could, he told her what happened, coloring it a bit.

Boatman Zach Black, responsible for moving Sandman’s now almost empty vessel over to this more distant dock to make room for newer and importanter arrivals, offered his opinion on what he couldn’t help overhear in his proximity to the situation. “There’s still presents there,” he said. “Those crosshairs indicate. They’re just… hidden.”

“I know.” Sandman knew this fact. Tell me something I don’t know, he thought about the Boatman. Then he did.

“Edward is one bad mofo. I don’t blame you for not messing with him, not telling him off or even pushing him off that ramp. Bad decision if so.”

Sandman knew this too. It was the next thing Zach Black said that he didn’t.

“Wonderful evening we’re having otherwise,” he said. “Not a star in space as I’m eyeballing it.”

Backwards from normal, Sandman noticed. Interesting now. He looked up. Indeed clear. Indeed starless. Bible black.

“Do you know of his new girlfriend, friend?” Zach continued to talk. “The golden girl he’s been calling her. Even though she’s married to another. Did you know that?”

Sandman didn’t know this. Please continue, he thought, peering up again.

(to be continued)

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March 25, 2023 · 7:34 am

00370403 (party 03)

“There’s only one present left, Amos,” he continued. “*The* present.”

“I see.” He didn’t look away from Edward’s eyes. He spotted it in his peripheral vision, which was good enough. Red and green, he viewed. Rectangular. Life itself. Just under the front seat board. Right where he would sit when he got back in. Right between his legs it would be.

“It’s time to open the box, Amos. Everyone else has taken what they needed, which is everything. Leaving you nothing. Open the box.”

Sandman now knew that the lone box in the boat was empty. The Void, then. Could be another empty box inside the first but that would be it.

“You’ve had your fun,” Edward added. No mention of Shelley here because Amos T. Sandman didn’t know Shelley G. Struthers, wouldn’t know her from Eve beside Adam.

“It’s time for me to leave, Eddie.”

“It sure is,” Edward shot back.

“Well… step aside please.”

“I will. On one condition.”

Deep breath. “Okayy…”

“The you take that empty box over there back to your empty shell of a sim and deposit it where you can’t get to it.  Also: put a big red button on it, like you’d find on New Mexican police intercoms. Make it look important even if it isn’t. Can you do this for me? Amos?”

Sandman wanted to tell Eddie to stop calling him that but bit his tongue. He had to see this through as smoothly as possible. Else: sunken boat, he knew, he gathered. No more presents at all. Time erased, even, along with attached-at-the-hip Space. End of existence. Just that important.

(to be continued)

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March 25, 2023 · 7:00 am

00370402 (party 02)

By the time Shelley and Edward had arrived, Sandman, as most called him, was on his 3rd rosé served by Rose. He missed a clear look of Shelley in the dying daylight, although he had an interesting face to face with Eddie, as he called him, later on. Before this, he started confessing to Rose about some of the situation. “Presents,” he began, shaking his head. “They were all in my mind.”

“There, there,” she said, then popped the cork again and hovered the bottle over his nearly empty glass. “Another?” He waved it off. “Better head home soon. Nothing to see here.”

But before he was able to get back to the boat, Edward, having separated from Shelley, stepped in-between. “Amos,” he said, using his first name instead of last, the only one I can think of to do so. Perhaps the only one who even knew what it was.

“Eddie,” he responded. So it had come to this.

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March 23, 2023 · 2:45 pm

00370401 (party 01)

They were preparing food, of course, when the call came in. Raven and Key needed for a catering assignment. Money not an option, because this was for the big bosses, one of them anyway — I’ll get an actual name asap. All activities at the well established Wooboostook pub would have to be halted for a night. March 23rd was the date. The day the music died.

Soon they were prepping food in a different place. Nautilus continent. Near but perhaps not in the Lemon Free State, advertised as the last vestige of the old empire within now Lime (Linden) controlled Our Second Lyfe.

“Edward should be arriving soon,” spoke Sandy Hook to Penny Mart up front, champagne on wait to be served for the occasion. “Said he had a new girl who wasn’t his girl, tee hee.” “Typical,” offered Penny from the chair, wishing he would get the f-ck here so she could have that drink. Also she was starving.

Amos T. Sandman arrived from next door in a party boat loaded down with his many presents, but he was not the one they desired despite of this. The time: 6:05. The night was young, very young.

Darn. Not even noticed, he thought, grand entrance ruined.

“Hello,” he said. No response, even though her extended legs were almost in the way of getting up the stairs in front of him. What gives? he kept pondering as he approached the house. Who is this party *actually* for if not me?

The presents were snapped up right and left as his back was turned to them. He had nothing left to give.

(to be continued)

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March 23, 2023 · 1:52 am

party continuation

“You better get back to your Edward, Shelley, and I should get back to my packing.” Because even at this early stage he knew it was no good for keeping the Nautilus residence. 1st thing to be boxed was his pride, his ego. $499,000 dollars is a lot of money but he figures he’ll need just that to save the downtown area from the military. Because the alarm *will* be sounded, somewhere and sometime soon. His personal Sandsim police force will be usurped. Suspect 102, as they called her/him/it, must be found and interrogated for the cause.

“I only ask one thing, *Jennifer*,” for he already thought of her as a cash cow and not a real person, “is when you find it — press the button. That’s all I ask for free lodging, food, haircuts, pedicures manicures, anything you like from any of the shops and other locations. Look where noone thinks of looking. They’ve made sure I can’t be the one…”

“… to do it, yes,” spoke Shelley. “So you’ve said.”

“I’m warm weather, Shelley — I meant Shelley back there, sorry. Remember that.”

“Hmm.”

She’s weighing her options. She can’t bring Edward — that was made clear. It would have to be Arthur accompanying her (speaking of ‘hmm’). She’d forgotten all about Lemont, the actor behind the character, when making the decision. “Sold.” She extended her hand for a shake. Too bad he didn’t have a vanilla hidden in his back pocket to meet it with. Just for a joke, mind you. But she was too precious for all that. She *was*… the golden one, the one to make the change. He could see it in her eyes, all umbrella-y and such at this particular angle in the night’s light. All the books in the world resided there. No need for a library, although that’s where he’ll meet her later and reveal himself again.

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March 21, 2023 · 1:32 am

00370312

How appropriate, he thinks. A big purple cube-like thingy has manifest just outside my front door since I lasted visited, sign of The Void of course.

Anyway (he turns), this is the last of my stuff, Nautilus continent home cleaned out. Couldn’t afford it, you see, with the upcoming court battle looming and paying for legal fees, etc. But I know who my real foe is now.

It seems like yesterday I was standing on the back porch with Shelley, inviting her to my sand paradise sim. She came to the party with Edward, who was somewhere just below with the rest of the still raucous crowd, even at half past 1. She explained, fairly early on actually, that her husband was away and he didn’t mind Edward taking care of her in his absence — trusted him just as much as he trusted someone named Keith who was a kind of surrogate father to her, I gathered. Also revealed that she was a writer, which interested me greatly. I happened to be a friend of a friend of one of the upper echelon of Lonelyhearts Publishers over on the *Omega* continent — caught her with a lie on that: she claimed Corsica Prime for the location, where her husband was, actually (she then admitted), looking for roles as big as his ambition and ego, she stated. I’d even heard about one or two of her books, although I couldn’t remember her attached nom de plume. “Jennifer,” she said. “Jennifer Lane.”

He turns back from the memory, red handtruck and hauling the final boxes down to the boat in his mind now. 1st pre-hearing at 7:45 tomorrow morning; gotta give about an hour for prep on that as well. He’ll have to do with around 2 hours sleep, he figures. He can catch up with the dreaming this weekend. Information, pure information. When he can interpret it, pheh. Like last night with the avocado.

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March 19, 2023 · 6:04 am

00370309

After 36 successful romance novels about Edward and a lot of others, she was rolling in cash; could literally make herself an angel in the floor with it.  But she was no angel. Demon instead — she knew this deep down in her heart, despite what surrogate father Keith B. told her back at the beginning of section 01. She’d sold her soul; ground angel she was in the end. Worthless.

—–

After waking up and reviewing the dream, she decided there was only one thing to do. Tell Arthur about Edward. No, not the *actual* truth. The reality in the novel, 5th in a series. If she did, maybe she could nip what was coming — blooming — in the future in the bud. She had to pull a Barney Fife.

“There’s someone out there in the dunes — do you see it, Arthur?”

“Mirage,” he waved it off. “I’ve seen it too. Then it disappears if you stare at it enough.”

Sure enough, Shelley watches the illusion fade to wavery nothingness. She turns, tired of facing the huge mountains of sand. She’s in the present. Arthur turns with her.

“We haven’t been to that island over there.”

“No. But I sensed you have a point to make. You hardly touched your dinner.”

“You know I don’t like vegetables.”

“Not the point.” He sighs. Sandman, he thinks. Must ask about Sandman.

“I—” Pause.

“Yess?”

“I… write.”

(to be continued)

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March 18, 2023 · 9:28 am

downtown again

“Oh I want *something*.” They’d walked right past the haircut place without speaking. Arthur knew better now. And the tattoo parlor didn’t offer a temptation any longer. That was yesterday’s story — sorry; forgot to record. So today — tonight — was the next store up, but nothing seemed to be for sale; all a jumble.”

*This*,” she decided despite the seeming lack of ability to purchase, which Arthur then pointed out again. “This,” she reinforced. “We can find the original creator. Not your bitch,” she read. “Not yet.” The neon cat in the moon seemed to be staring at it too, convincing her. She just had a dream about one.

“How about the fingers making the heart over there,” Arthur tested.

“Nah. Lame. *Gushy*.”

“Hmm.” He’d been uttering that a lot during their, was it a vacation? I guess it had to be. Or a second honeymoon after renewing their wedding vows. Edward might clarify. If we could find him.

“Ahh, got it,” she then said after checking. “All this stuff is by the same creator.”

“Hmm.”

“Just stop it. We’ll have to come back when it’s set up.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

“Next store up?”

He looked at his watch. “Not until tomorrow.”

“Oh *phooey*.”

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March 14, 2023 · 3:40 pm

alchemical research

Keith let me borrow his beach bungalow while he was out traveling (he said). I caught up with my reading more than my TV watching, since his set was shite — something out of the 50s, or 60s at best. Black and white, even. I could watch reruns of “I Luv Lucifer” or “Gulliver’s Island” (at best), or finish off my stack of romance novels with Satan sometimes at the center of the plotline. Here I am seen choosing the latter; self portrait of course, because I came alone, Lemont still looking for roles on the Omega continent Shakespearian in scope and depth. Good luck! I’ve even started my own novel, or I should say, my 5th novel, the other 4 already published under a pen name by Lonelyhearts Press up in Corsica Prime. I haven’t quite got up the nerve to tell my rather straight laced hubbie about those; kind of r rated and with lots of lovers on the side. This one is projected to start with an innocent enough letter from an imaginary boyfriend and perhaps wannabe husband. ‘Nother one. What is this attraction to the opposite sex I have? Or, better, their attraction to me? I have a Venus in Cancer and a Mars in Leo but that only answers part of it. I must protect myself — that’s what Keith said just before he handed over the keys to the place. “Find yourself here,” he said, boat already warming up at the dock. “Get away from all influences. I’ll give you some spending money.”

“I don’t *need* any spending money,” I protested. “It’s not like Lemont and I have gotten a divorce or anything.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Keith said, and patted my knee, making me wonder. When *is* Lemont coming back? “Edward is right next door if you need anything,” he added while walking off and leaving a couple of hundreds on the table up front. And that’s how we met. He really liked the letter; said it sounded exactly like something he’d penned. I was so pleased that… well, I’ll save it for later in the novel.

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February 26, 2023 · 10:14 am

harnessing the energy

They renewed their vows before really, actually heading out into new life, her in black and pink this time to better match his blue and black. So speaks the magical Abra-cadabra laundromat, the place of the clothes. Cold, damp basement no more for Lemont Sanford, now truly in control and not subordinates Arthur Kill and his more sophisticated cousin Kill van Kull. At least for a while, for this morning, for the next hour.

Their new, good friend and 3rd wheel Edward Daigle performed the ceremony, since he was qualified that way, as he also explained in one of their basement escapades out and down on Cable Isle, the place Arthur Kill was buried, at least for a while, a morning I believe. About an hour. Before Wheeler went down in the grave after him and swished or mopped away all the heat and fire and brimstone with her magic swishy mop and told him to rise up and then go down. For a particular reason of course. “Basement,” she indicated, pointing toward the slanted cellar doors nearby after he unsuccessfully attempted to just dust himself off and exit through the front gate of the dinky cemetery with its one or two plots — wouldn’t work, Wheeler knew. “Await me and my orders. We have an important choice coming up. Which (she eyed him keenly) *cousin* will you be?” She knew it could even be both at once. The basement has that power.

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