Tag Archives: FAIRY BLUE

Jasper control

“Edward on the left, Arthur to the right. My two boys.”

“Yes, they’re very nice,” said Thomasina, staring down at them. “But… these are 2 boats, Jennifer. The same boat, in fact, by the looks of it. Just doubled up.” Thomasina wondered if she purchased them from the same place but didn’t ask this.

“Yes. My two boys.” Jennifer started to look confused. Why didn’t Thomasina understand this? 2 boats, 2 boys. What could be simpler? Takes two to know after all, she thought. Everyone knows that, every single person in the world knows that.

“Let’s begin again,” Thomasina decides while putting down the photo and re-scanning her notes on the table. She pounded her bat softly into her now empty left hand while she did, thinking mode on. Shortly: “You were born November 2021.”

“Yes. About.” She knew the exact date but didn’t like to show off her eidetic memory. Best to hide certain things from the world. She’s starting to rethink the whole Edward-Arthur reveal. And what is this batty outfit Thomasina is wearing? What did it mean? The obvious?

“You *were* Jenny Lane and then you grew all up, became weedy but not in that way.”

“Dabbled in some pot back in the days, yes. Plants were there so I took the opportunity.” Last time: July 10th 2007, she knew but didn’t say.

“Let’s not worry about the far past right now,” said Thomasina, sitting up and looking into her eyes again. “Let’s set some rules, or reinforce some rules. In the *present*.” She had several others in line at the gate already. Grammy was done (SODA addict — cured with a coke can filled instead with rancid urine) but more came. Guard Tank or Bazooka Ferguson had his hands full. Thank Gods for Steven, a needed distraction. But troubadour songs only go so far. “You tried Rank, now stick to File. Like here. NOd if you understand.”

Jennifer nodded. As long as her 2 boys were with her she’d make due. She could write her novels, she could live her lives.  She would escape the column *sometime*. Thomasina seemed to read her mind here — probably was.

“As long as Constantynople is a thing, you must abide by this rule. Try the up and down, *stay* in the up and down. Not even right and left any longer — that’s gone.

Jennifer thought of the overnight disappearance of Nightsity. Fantasyland was still there, though, in Bionaz Gulch. She asked about it. And also Dottieback, the many individual locations there. After all, these were directly east and west of Constantynople.

“That was for the last photo-novel,” replied Thomasina to this. “You might have missed your opportunity. You are going very fast with your writing but maybe not fast enough. If you’d just… stick to the plan.”

—–

So Thomasina changed forms and took her to Kenosha, the top of it all, the eye of the pyramid. Her extra pair of eyes rolled heavenward to reinforce the deal. “Gotta get back,” she said. “I’ll leave you here to start.”

—–

10:01 AM. But she stared anyway.

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00380610

They switched horns with each other, Ben with Jerry, becoming Benny and Jer again. Jer gets up after the transformation, says he has to check on his bars, even the Zero, even the Nine. Beyond the visible compendium. Larry would not be happy. Or Lawrence.

—–

The scene is set. The return of Thomasina Boyy.

—–

“You’re nervous aren’t you?” the old woman beside me on the waiting bench spoke. “Why don’t you feed the pigeons to take your mind off your worries. Steven will be back soon.”

I checked but no animation in the bench that would allow such. And laying on her lap, another one of the few options, seemed inappropriate, although I *was* sleepy. The end must be near. Yes, down there, unseen to me in the moment. Because she was me.

I thought of the visible compendium again, the 1 through 8. Jer, left horn in place again, becomes the owner of bars, Kedas and others. He wanted me to don the Crazy Blue and perform the cancan, old fashion style. How dare he (!). I’d slap him if he were here beside me instead of this old woman. I wanted to get a name. So I decided to bring up the lack of that animation she spoke about.

“You call me Grammy,” I finally got out of her. I recall her from the Newt pharmacy, striking provocative pose after provocative pose for the apothecary in an attempt to get SODA. Most likely why she’s here, and it turns out one in particular did the trick. Call it her cancan moment.

—–

His break over, Steven returned to playing the guitar across from us, entertainment and also a needed distraction. The policeman guarding the gate to the inner sanctum, Tank I believe, mysteriously clapped in slow motion to the beat, about 1 per every 4 to 5 measures, I reckoned. It’d been 1/2 an hour already, maybe, yes, 45 minutes (as I checked my watch). Ten till 2 now. At least the meeting didn’t take place in the cursed fairy blue light of middle late morning. Else I might be doomed, designated for Hell and Devil alike. Hellville. Joining the Hills, or at least Grant. But Mike is trying to save them by roping my parents into the story, of all people. “Lemon!” he said earlier, stuffing that one in Mama Wheeler’s mouth. “Lime!” he then said, doing the same with Daddy Newt (named for the sim and not visa versa). “Speak!!!” he then shrilled after telling his own tale, but the fruits were still in their mouths. He removed them, causing the cascade of words we talked about before which still didn’t satisfy him. Guess what he uttered next.

(to be continued)

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fishy

“So how long you going to keep up this ruse? *Pitch*.”

“As long as it takes,” he replies generically, shifting his long legs nervously again. “Do (he indicates behind him), do these *people* have to follow you everywhere you go?”

“The Eightyeights? Of course. You know that.” She paused, thinking about what to say next. “Bad luck to stare at the ocean this time of day, though, they believe. Have to face away. Like the bear.”

“Ted?” He dares to glance back in its direction, centered in the sandy passageway that runs between the two halves of Sunklands Institute.

Another pause. “We can call him that. Or her.”

“What’s with this Tiki curse anyway?… riddling the town. Saddling it.”

Wheeler paused longer this time and decided not to even answer Baker Bloch, currently disguised as thought-to-be obsolete VHC City originating vampire Pitch Darkly. Married to Mary instead of Wheeler. The reason for his being.

“You can’t keep postponing the inevitable,” she said after staring into the hateful ocean for a while, bright in the fairy blue light. The light of the Devil, some say. 10:01. The Eightyeights couldn’t handle it, thus the turning. Wheeler was, in contrast, soaking it all in. Pitch was just glancing all around, shifting his feet and legs and arms. And glowing eyes. “You’ll wake up next to Mary one morning, perhaps one much like this one, and realize she’s just a symbol of something bigger. ‘Mary me,’ I said so long ago that I can’t recall where and how.”

“Boston?” Pitch said, and then corrected himself. “No, not Boston.”

“Not Miami,” Wheeler also offered. They both sat there, trying to remember the circumstances surrounding the event. It was also the day he met Mary; he did recall that. Reel reel reeling them in. Just like now.

“Caught another one!” she cried gleefully just over at the newly placed dock.

“Wonderful dear! A *whopper* this time!” he observed.

“Just like your story,” Wheeler hissed over through folded hands.

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