Tag Archives: Gardener^*+!

00390211

“April May June passed so fast April Mae Flowers. Now it’s July…”

“And we’re resurrected, yes,” replied Herbert Glenn Gold’s wife of 47 (?) years. “Waiting for action. ‘Annnnnd…'” she attempts to joke like a director. “Remember what happened last time.”

“Um hmm,” Herbert murmured while nodding, wondering where his pudding is. How could he eat his pudding without his meat, though? Strange thought.

“So much promise over on the Jeogeot continent. So much disappointment. House *deleted* after, what was it, 1 month?”

“At that,” Herbert Gold replied, even a bit more disappointed than April Mae over the affair. Speaking of which; he should bring this up now, before we get too far into the story. “I saw Merry Hill Gouldbusk the other day. Supermarket,” he continued. “She had 2 apples and one banana and then excused herself to the cashier and got one orange and slotted it between the 2 foods before the whole thing was rung up, all the items in that order. She was trying to tell me something. She didn’t seem to recognize me, though. I was shocked.”

“Gold face still in place?” April Mae only asked with a little venom. She was use to such sidetracking. After 48 (48!) years you learn to put up with a lot. And fantasizing about a woman half your age is not at the top of the shit list, not any more.

“Yes. Red hair still too.” Herbert stopped here, thinking back, which April Mae spotted. Still worth a hundred dollars? she wanted to ask but held her tongue. Long time ago now. They had bigger worries now, like how to cope with growing old. They had to stick together on this one. She’d seen Mr. Platinum, she’d seen the future. They could not turn back the clock.

“When did you get so tall, dear?” she diverted. She looked right. “And where is our favorite painting on the wall, the Blue Panther? The one we stole from… oh, I can’t recall, hmph, I can’t recall them all.”

Herbert slouched down and then answered the second. “I believe the farmer boy is bringing it over later.”

“What farmer boy?”

Herbert reconsidered. “No, I think it was repossessed. By the Blue Panther and his, erm, agent. Back at the end of novel 36. They came huffing and puffing up the hill to the house. Hill House we wanted to name it. But not after Merry.”

“Of course not,” April Mae waved the idea off. She tried to remember the repossession.

—–

Later in his study he remembered it was a gardener and not a farmer that his wife had had an affair with.

Later on the john, April Mae remembered that the art was destroyed instead of repossessed.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0211, Apple's Orchard, Constantynople, Nautilus, NWES Island^, Rank & File

Somoco: Gothic-Deco

“Well it’s just lovely, dear.”

Like you, he thinks. He’s still smitten with her beauty after all these years. To him, she hasn’t aged hardly a bit. In his eyes. “We’ll get you some new art,” he explains about the missing piece on the wall, stolen from a gallery somewhere they both can’t recall the name of at this point. “Turning over a new leaf in this here newest version of Collagesity we are. Crinimals no more.”

“No more,” vowed his wife Lovey, the former Ms. April Mae Flowers, together the Clyde and Bonnie of Second Life art thievery. She reaches across the table to hold his hand. A team still they are, just on the right side of the law this go around. But then her mind starting wandering back to one particular piece specifically, the one that earned them their nickname of Humanvillians at the time of the steal. She was picking up on the psychic vibe of the community in her gifted way (so many residents with “gifts”!). Intuitively, she knew about the cave, the railroad, the train, the castle, the deity within who needed to return home so badly, whether it be Missouri or Kentucky or Oklahoma or some other state, even a state of mind.

“I’m glad that man I killed in Collagesity is still floating in the pool back there. A constant reminder of the errors of my way. We’ll keep him there.”

“The… gardener,” Herbert Gold, in turn, reminded his wife, thinking they really *both* killed him. Since he was his rival for her hand back in ’72. The Zoo Year; all the monkeys let loose; everything *bananas* (flying about). Who knows who did in who at the time, or who cheated on her husband and/or wife during any particular stretch. That Zoo needed to be closed, become a fossil. That Zoo was also Boos, the gallery, the collages. Did I say ’72? I meant 2017. 2016, actually, although 7 is a funnier number than 6. Sepisexton.

At the bottom of the hill below Herbert and Lovey’s new house, Sepisexton pulls in with Paul. They’re here about the art.

“Just up there,” she points. “Let’s go,” Paul says, ready to spew some acidities.

(to be continued)

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0613, Jeogeot, Middleton^, Towerboro

00360604

“Yes this will do just fine,” Lucas spoke, looking down on the body floating in the pool beyond the top of the waterfall. “Nice view,” he added.

“We’ll have to charge you the same price as the Julia House. I’m not sure we can rent both at the same time. Conjoined, you see.”

“Twins, yeah,” said Lucas to this, still a stranger in town but hoping at least to get to know one specific resident quite a bit better in the coming weeks and months. Baker Bloch. Who’s showing him this Falls Shack, he called it, a quite leany affair but better suited to his needs. He knows he’ll be able to talk Baker down in price. After all, this was absolutely the most poorly built structure in Somoco. “10 lindens a month,” he said, turning around and staring at those oh so dead eyes directly. He didn’t tack on “take it or leave it” because he intended to go up — exactly 5 lindens.

“Make it 15,” Baker Bloch relented, and to that Lucas nodded. We have our first “permanent” resident, a mysterious one. This young man — boy really — was not what he seemed.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0604, Jeogeot, Towerboro

00300615

“She’s coming mum, sire!” called the gardener through the window, having nothing to do now except be a watchdog since there wasn’t a garden in this new location. Only flat plywood covered with a light snow.

“Do you think she found him?” asked Herbert Gold over to his wife, often his partner in crime. The latest theft: “The Blue Panther” by Horace Go Lightly of Spain’s France, prized for its use of cobalt in a thin veneer.

“Doubtful,” replied April Mae Flowers, out on bail from Collagesity jail and thus able to help her hubby with setting up the new house. She just had to have the “Panther”, bail or no bail. She talked her husband into it. As she always could. A team once more, just like Baker Bloch and Wheeler thanks to Nauty. Googling the safest and most efficient way to commit the crime, they bought a fishing pole and lifted it out of a transparent ceiling. Suc-cess!

“She’s pulling in now, sire, mum. She has something in her boat. She has *someone* in her… boat?”

The house never stood a chance.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0615, Crisp Sea, Nautilus, Wild West

Snowlands >

“*There’s* our tea, April Mae. I thought I was going to have to ask to send your (6 prim) *gardener* away.”

“I’m not quite finished with him,” defended his wife of 7 years about keeping her vacation pal around a bit longer. “You have your smoking guns. What do you care?”

Herbert Gold couldn’t say anything to that. He looked down at the steaming hot tea in front of him. He’d have to wait to take a sip. April Mae put her own cup to mouth and slurped noisily, taking a deep draw. She was use to hot. She grew up in central Jeogeot.

“Well… I *do* like the house. It’s in the middle of everything, it seems. Middle of Meribel, middle of Snowlands. You know I’m use to middle, growing up in the center…”

“Yes,” interrupted Herbert. “I know.” He watched her slurp more while his own tea still wasn’t ready for his own mouth. “I *am* glad you like it, despite all else. But…” Herbert hung his head down. He couldn’t say it. April Mae said it for him.

“I know,” she attempted to comfort. “Rosehaven was perfect, I know.”

—–

He was going to dream of someplace else tonight. He was determined about it, did all the right preparations before bedtime. *Not* Rosehaven. But, as he was told, *negative* suggestions didn’t usually work. He couldn’t tell himself, over and over, *not* to dream about Rosehaven. He might as well say to himself to dream about it then. Instead he decided to suggest someplace warm. That would let Rosehaven and its current, wintery landscape out of the picture. But it brought into play some possibilities he didn’t particularly care about. Like jungle. April Mae would be at home there. Not him. So he decided instead of “warm” he would use the word “temperate.” He looked it up beforehand to make sure. Temperate climates indicates *mild* temperatures. Not too hot, not too cold. A goldilocks clime. He finally fell asleep at 2:01 AM…

—–

“Aah, North Yd. Shouldn’t known.” But North Yd was no longer a wasteland village but simply a wasteland period. The Tiler Church was no longer here. Zoidboro didn’t have a place to preach any more.

Yes, he realized. He was looking for Zoidboro. And possibly his guy-gal pal Patrick Starr as well. Better head up the cliffs to see Sally. Both of ’em. Get the scoop on what happened to North Yd.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0017, 0206, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara, The Waste^^

surprise

“A what?”

“A rock star,” husband Monsieur Gold repeated to his wife April Mae. “I could tell it was me because I was driving the narrow boat-plane again.”

“Steve, you can take away these dishes now. We’re done.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Go on with your dream you had, dearest.”

“Well… I was also a cannibal. Ate human flesh. Involved a haunted hotel with a secret story room.”

“Storage room,” April Mae corrected.

“Yeah.”

“That’s interesting. Cannibal, eh? Like Claude. Down in Schism.”

“I suppose.” Why is Steve the Gardener serving us our food today? Monsieur Gold asked himself. *This* must be the dream. He decided to test it.

“What day is this?”

“Wednesday, dear. You know that.”

But it was Monday. And Steve the Gardener didn’t have a wooden hand yesterday.

“How was your trip to the cemetery? I forgot to ask you.” *Why* did I forget to ask her? he thought again. Was the cemetery even *real*?

“Fine. You’ll be glad to know the ex is still dead and in his grave. Won’t be resurrected anytime soon.”

“That’s good. Vampires are the worst.”

“I know. Try being married to one for 736 years.”

“Claude again.”

“Yeah.”

But Claude was a cannibal dog and not a cannibal human, so logically he could never be a vampire. Monsieur Gold grabbed a knife from cleaning Steve’s wooden hand and cut his own wrist, sawed at it even until his hand was severed from it and dropped to the floor in several, sickening beats. Yet there was no pain. Monsieur Gold then grasped Steve’s wooden hand, popped it off in one swift action, and then attached it to his own wrist, wriggling the fingers satisfactorily. April Mae acted surprised but not shocked. She looked at the now handless Steve. “He knows about us,” is what she came up with.

But Monsieur Gold never woke up, which was much more surprising. He lived with his new hand for the rest of his life. And he never saw Steve again after the gardener/manservant gathered up the other hand under the table and left the mansion in a huff.

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0305, Purden/Snowlands^

isolated

They had finished their meals and were eating dessert by sunset. Hardly a word had been passed between the husband and wife all the time. Finally, after several spoonfuls of gelatin instant pudding: “Who’s in the cave with Mabel and Tessa, Herbert?” No immediate answer from her husband, so April Mae ventured some guesses. “Could it be… Jethro? Bauer?”

Monsieur Gold set his spoon down rather noisily on the table with this. No, not *Jethro*… *Bauer,* he thought, but also admitted to himself that he was blocked in that direction.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant.”

They ate in silence for a spell again. Then: “I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,” spoke April Mae. “I haven’t been in almost 3 weeks.”

“Suit yourself,” came the quick followup. “Make sure you fill the narrow boat-plane with gas before bringing it back.” He dare not request the other thing in his mind; that she *please* *please* be careful with it this time and don’t run into that God cursed dune again, which just happens to be jutting up in the middle of God awful nowhere for some reason. Away from the rest of the Omega continent peaks.

—–

“I think I’ll take the gardener with me this time.”

“Why don’t you do that.”

Leave a comment

Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0301, Mountain Lake^, Purden/Snowlands^