Tag Archives: GREEN AND GRAY

War

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“Wow, it’s really quite desolate in here,” says Wheeler, truly impressed with the views at Purden Center.

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” states a standing Snowmanster behind her, giving up the attempt to coax Core-Alena into speaking with them. “I think it’s a no go today, Wheeler,” he continues. “Sometimes that happens with the daytime talkie trees. They have good days and bad days, just like the rest of us. The night trees are a bit different, a bit more psychic and often, um, darker. Sinister I guess I should put it.”

“Where’s that dummy of yours?” Wheeler asks crudely of Woody Woodmanson.

“Dunno,” replies Snowmanster. “Perhaps in the gorge looking for frozen corpses. That’s where the Santas often dump them.”

“Interesting about all these Santas, some good some bad. Some kind, some evil. But mostly evil. That’s not what I’ve heard about your Christmas from sources.”

“Yes, they are probably the most popular demons of this Second Lyfe. Snowmen like me are up there as well. I think my snowy fiend-friend Chucky still lives over in Meribel.”

“Well let’s just go see the college over there,” suggests Wheeler. “Instead of just dawdling here getting cold. Let’s go see another ‘snowy’. Let’s *move*.”

“Alright, alright,” says Snowmanster, matching the tone of Wheeler’s voice. He then kneels down in front of Core-Alena again. “We’ll be back my friends. We need your help now to tell us where to go, what to do.”

“Please help us Core-Alena, you’re our only hope,” Wheeler mimics in a high pitch voice, and then titters. “Star Wars” was known all over the galaxy.

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—–

Snowmanster was vastly disappointed to find Meribel College apparently no longer existed, grounds vacated. All that remained was Three Star Tree formerly standing outside the witches’ dorm. Three black stars. Wheeler stared at it for some time, deep in thought.

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She could kill Snowmanster right now, she machinated, slash his throat at almost the exact spot where she similarly killed Plain Wayne all those years ago. She helped Mid Hazel then and now the old witch is returning the favor in the present — finally. She failed the first time with the fire, but Snowmanster must die. He must never be reunited with his true family Spongebub and Snowbob. Because that might end the Green-White War which must go on forever and ever. And ever.

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Facets

I must tell the full story of the Facets sometime in this blog. I admittedly lost track of them because, for years, the Collagesity town directory has incorrectly listed them as the Fawcetts. Tom is the custodian for the TILE Tower over in Rubi, once again not to be confused with the Temple of TILE in Collagesity North now. His wife Margorie runs a small museum out of their Gloomy Gus home next door, a duplicate structure to Baker Blinker’s only about 100 yards away to the west. Like many entities who live in or near the woods, the Facets are true demons, although, like so many as well, they desire to become non-possessed avatars one day. But casting out harmful spirits almost always comes at a price, and there’s only so much money I have to spread around. So for now, they’re stuck next to the forest, unable to move far beyond its boundaries. But look how happy they are whilst inside! The unburdening from constrictions there can be likened to hard core nudists with the sudden freedom to shed clothes.

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Dancing Facets.

Here they are on the top floor of the TILE Tower, enjoying the view of Collagesity with demonic status locked back in place. Can you dig it?

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The centerpiece of Marjorie’s museum is a familiar object to regular blog readers. The Facets have designs to procure the matching LUCKY sign from former Rubi neighbor Furry Karl the bartender, by force if needed.

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Wonder where the war between the Greens and the Grays started? Well, in a way, it began right here. The battle for LUCKY.

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“Suck on *these* lucky charms, hoop boy.”

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Information

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“Turns out Unch and The Librarian might be one and the same. Keat Owens The Librarian is, underneath it all, what’s called a giant besalisk, a 4 handed version. It’s the involved salamander lineage that doesn’t allow him to be burned, thus the perfect nemesis for firestarter Jerome T. Newton, who we also know now is another version of Wheeler. The ash grey marble hands were a prop.”

“This just gets stranger and stranger,” returns Old Mabel. “The Woods are too peculiar. They could easily drive one mad with their continual twisty-turny ways.”

“Yes,” states Baker, also noticing that Old Mabel didn’t mention anything about moving *away* from said woods. She was engaged for certain.

“I want to know everything about The Diagonal,” she then said.

—–

“Here, let me just clear off some of these beer cans. And: voila.”

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“How long did you say you’ve had this?” asked Baker Bloch.

“It came with the place,” clarified Furry Karl the bartender. “Let’s see, that would be 2005. Old Kringles.” He chuckled, thinking of the good demon he bought the bar from while it was still over in Rubi. “Quite the character. Wore a cow bell around his neck at all times.”

“This must be from the original village. But I thought it was destroyed.”

“Nope,” states Karl plainly. “There it is. You can see it with your dead peepers right in front of you.”

“Could be a copy, a duplicate,” speculated Baker.

“Well, could a copy do *this*?” Karl touches the object and produces a shower of shamrocks.

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“Maybe,” says Baker.

“No, this is the sign. *The* sign. The one turned over and thrown aside during the ’68 robolution. A turning point in our history and time.”

“You said robolution there, Furry Karl. Did you mean revolution?”

“It was what it was.”

—–

Old Mabel dug deeper into the mystery of the belalisk at the town library. Journal 2 contained some information, but she was determined to find more. A particular pattern in another part of the book also caught her attention this night of playing “stay awake as long as possible to avoid dreaming”. The book just fell open at the page while she was trying to push it away from her to lay her head on the table. A yawn quickly turned into a gasp. “The portal in my dreams?”

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But it was too late. Already sound asleep, the monsters arrived quickly.

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Little

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Cleveland Rocks had forever been the most holy place in the Dawg Pound for Mabel and Little, ever since they were little kids. It harbored the grave of The Host with The Most (alternately: Host Charming), who also heavily haunted the craggy knoll and its receiving bridge. The twins had withheld taking Baker Bloch to the sacred rocks until now because they knew it was all leading up to this finality.

As explained later by Mabel, a ghost of The Host had manifested to Baker as he passed over the bones of Those Who Do Not Rock while walking the bridge, quickly fading. “If he did not approve of your presence here,” Mabel says, “you would be tossed from the bridge by a gale of wind into the ravine below, your skeleton collected and then hung with the others, a *most* unfortunate end.” But the twins had faith in Baker. They knew he would not perish — destiny.

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And yet another manifestation, seeming to say, “Congratulations. You rock!”

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Baker also passed by this fading representation and through the torii gate to join Little on the rocks.

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He did not get up to receive Baker, but simply greeted him by name and motioned to the pillow next to his own in the gazebo.

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Little stared at Baker and then at his own, sneakered feet. “We’ve even named the white butterflies here,” he started. “Big and Old, after our other titles. For you see, my full name is Little Big (as Mabel’s is Old Mabel). I’m about to grow up, Baker Bloch. Oh I didn’t want to. I’ve fought the urge to fight. But it is time. You are here. You must take Mabel as your own. It does not matter whether you are married or not — Mabel would obviously prefer the former — but you must take her. Away from here.”

“I don’t understand,” said Baker Bloch. “What’s happening to you?”

Little held his stare steady now. “I am going to war.”

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As Baker was absorbing this proclamation, a small, silent ship descended from the sky and landed on Cleveland Rocks to their side. Little took a long time to even look in its direction, instead searing thoughts into Baker Bloch’s mind with all the intensity a fledgling soldier could muster. Thoughts of he and Mabel chasing the white butterflies on the rocks and almost falling off not once but several times. Pictures of the compound at different times of the day that he’ll never lose. Visions of happiness for Mabel as she takes on a new life. And then the awful battles to come; obviously he might never make it back here, might never see and hold his beloved twin sister ever again. “Childhood crosses manhood here,” he finally managed, and stood up to enter the ship through a proffered ramp. Mabel called loud from the temple. “NO!! DON’T GO!! LITTLE!!!”

—–

“We had to set childish things aside,” explained Mabel two days later, as they left through the iris door of the Dawg Pound, never to return. “The factions are fighting in several solar systems at once. It’s Whites verses Greens everywhere. Just yesterday, a new battle broke out at Muff-Bermingham. It was only a matter of time before the war caught up with us, found us in our cradled haven. Little had to grow up and become Big, I had to grow up and become Old. Although we are 119 of your years, that is still young for Martians of our species. We had to move onward.” She put her hands to her helmet and cried once again.

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