Tag Archives: GREEN MONSTER++++

May 21, 2023 · 4:59 pm

ice cream dress 02

She woke up at 8 o’clock, another force of habit,  in her starry tent, still wearing her similarly star studded ice cream outfit — the reason Marilyn knew where she belonged. She checked her legs underneath the sky purple covers. Wooden one still there, ugh. What was she *thinking*? Her Husband assured her that California was safe, and that navels were still in the center of bodies and the supreme deity known as All Orange would protect the rest. “You just have to make sure it shows a bit,” he said as they packed to leave, and demonstrated it on himself, tying his shirt above his somewhat bulging stomach. Outie. Not her cup of tea, but then some of the other parts made up for it. She recalls walking around an art gallery across the road from Rhodenwald with original hubby Axis, staring at the red and green paintings. “‘Green Monster’ — over there.” He pointed. Ruby’s life changed. She suddenly remembered the wall, the tree beings, *everything*. And Wally and its Wallytown still lives, last time she checked anyway. Not far atall from her old sim. Protection at last?

She had to go back, she determined then and there. And, dangit, she thought — checking the inworld map in her head — only a couple sims to the south and east from here. Fate. She went downstairs and thanked ever-bartending Marilyn for the good night’s sleep and trodded in that direction, trying to compensate for the slightly shorter leg and not walk around in circles.

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May 18, 2023 · 6:06 am

scenes

Some call them Clear Lake and Black Lake, although the 1st wasn’t quite clear and the 2nd wasn’t quite black. Separated by only a small dam, they were closer in color than many wanted to admit. And it is here our Annaberg story must continue, kind of a new development since my first visit to the place back in late ’21, just after I learned I could retire the following March. Which, I suppose, sort of makes *my* story the same as Jimmy Dieselengine, formerly of Ossemotor, keeper, at least for the morning, of grandson Pete Pistle, who may be the same as Pete Piper from other places. His African mansion was raized because of his political beliefs. Here:


square of misery

—–

It was 5:18 in the afternoon when he walked into the bank and took out 499,000, a whole Reno’s worth of money as they say in Sunklands speak. Cory Piper, father to Pete (perhaps), still looking for his maw, still banking on the state of affairs to improve and that the wall between Nevada and California would finally be ripped down. Fat chance, I say. Will free the tree people inside for one thing, who some, perhaps many, fear as green monsters. The ones who don’t want east and west merged will block it, I predict. Wally will live.

—-

10 months later and just below, a dog named Spider floats into the Cavern bar from the sky and orders 24 drinks, all with the same 4 numbers just rearranged a bit. All the bits, in fact — every possible permutation. Current bartender Edwin doesn’t know how to handle it and goes overload, which brings a small manager named Bach from the back for aid and assistance. Veiled, mysterious Alessandra looks on very interested, pretending not to be somebody else. But Bach notices before turning his back on the resolved bar situation and going back inside again. Whores of Babylon, he thinks, seeing a bit of black projecting from the white gown’s back, just enough to be tell-tale. What is *she* doing black, I mean, back?

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November 13, 2018 · 8:06 am

art beings

“I want to change further, Axis. I am not happy being me any longer. Look at the women Rhode photographed here. Beautiful.”

“You have changed, Young Ruby,” Axis advised. “You are now Fairy Ruby, a natural extension. And certainly quite beautiful. Natural beauty. Not like these more fake examples in my opinion.”

“Look at what I found on the marketplace,” Ruby declared, and then rezzed a new top. “Another natural extension?”

“No, Ruby. Put that foolish thing away. Fairy Ruby is quite satisfactory to me, and besides, we get to be married to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. At least for a while.”

“Until the end of the season, yes.” Ruby persisted. “But how about this with the top.”

“No Ruby,” insisted Axis, staring at the manifested hair. “You are trying too hard. Let’s go to the upper floors, to the more abstract art. That will cheer you up and inspire you more. Leave these so-called realistic photos behind. They’re affecting your confidence.”

“Alright. But I’m going to test out my new look a little longer.”

“That’s fine.”

—–

“See Ruby? You passed this accident right by. Intermixed red and green again. Back of a Rhode work instead of a front. Sometimes looking at what’s happening behind the stage, for example, gives more information than the play itself.”

Ruby runs ahead, ganders at the front…

… then looks all around the floor. “Huh. I guess you’re right, Axis. Everything is separated out neat and tidy in front. Green in this one. Red over there. Then green with a bit of red but only in one distinct streak, then another two reds and then back to green over here. ‘Green Monster’. The one we talked about before.

—–

“I’m not a monster, you know,” stated synchronized Gregg, sitting at the table opposite Mr. Babyface in their unfinished Middletown penthouse apartment. “I got’s real, true feelings. I like… Bailey’s in a shoe. I like watercolors. Watercolors of Bailey’s.” He pauses thoughtfully in his ranting. “I like you.”

“Oil me up, then.” Accompanied by a small buzzing sound, green Gregg Oden changes over to red Greg Ogden. Mr. Normal.

“Ah so.” But Mr. Babyface had been thinking lately that “normal” Greg(g) could do with a little more monster inside him. Might help their sex life. He dare not try all that out with the monster itself yet; not quite yet. Must keep using oil. No, he must think of other things now.

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October 21, 2018 · 9:30 am

green monster

It’s going to take a lot to convince these good, conservative people of Utah to merge further, Ruby thinks from her rocking chair beside the freshly dug grave. Rhode is cool with it, though, and that’s a foothold. Rhode, Rhoad, Road.

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September 17, 2018 · 6:52 am

gormanbozia

“You admit you are the girl that goes by California.”

“Cal, yeah. That’s me.”

“You have an unregistered navel. You declared All Orange back in 1914, before such things even existed. Do you admit you are also a time traveler?”

“I can admit that. I am allowed. Now… give me something hard.”

Natali Woodhull did not respond immediately. Then: “I’ve lived here since the lemony days. I know a thing about citrus.”

“Good for you Natali. Can I let Rocky in now? We must practice for the big ball 2 weeks from Friday. End of story. Completio.”

Natali paused again. “Not quite yet,” she decided. “As California, you are created by a man named Wilson, true?”

“I *am* Wilson. I am the 28th president of the United States of America born in Staunton, Indiana.” She smiled.

“But… you are a woman,” points out Natali.

“Then: Wilsonia. The feminine form of Wilson. I tipped the scales in favor of me. I am both feminine and masculine. General Grant knows.”

They sat there for a while. They could hear Rocky rapping on the door of the coffee shop, saying stuff like, “come on,” and, “let me in already.” Finally he seemed to go away. Tronesisia nodded her head a little with this. “It’s going to be difficult for him to come back. He’ll get lost in the city lights, he will.”

“I’m sorry. But this is important. There’s a wall in this town of course. In olden days it was called the Green Monster, not because of its color but because it ate green — trees to be specific.”

“General Grant allows glimpse into Navelencia at Orange Cove,” says Tronesisia cryptically, and then reaches down to lift her metal shirt a bit, exposing the orange in question. “Green Monster. It has a hole in the center.” She circles the navel with a silver index finger, then lowers the shirt back and beams blue eyes at Natali. “I heard you used a recording of our signature song for a dance last week.”

“I did,” admitted Natali, hoping Tronesisia wasn’t mad about the borrowing (what was *that* about?). “But just for a particular customer. On a whim, if you will. I got it from Chris.”

“Did it have a certain effect?” Tronesisia’s pace was crisp and precise.

Natali didn’t know. She recalls she was really into it. Trance dance. “I’m not sure,” she offered. “Can you explain?”

Tronesisia got up out of her chair and danced the same exact dance, right there on the spot.  Natali Woodhull’s mouth remained agape at the beginning. How? she thought. How?

And then she began to remember.

There was a ship.

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September 12, 2018 · 7:44 am

dammed 03

“What does it say in your little red book about me? About us?”

“Let’s see,” improvised Jill MacGill through Gwin again. “‘The Story of Doris and Gwin’. Sorry: ‘Gwin and Doris.’ Says here we’ll be married in 2 years. Will stay with Aunt Sally until the crops are harvested. Then we’ll be free to live out our days wherever we choose. But, again, says here: Wallytown. That’s why I need the book. To learn all about our future home.”

“All right, all right,” cedes Doris Drane across from her. “We’ll go back to the library and get the other book. The big blue one.”

Gwin rushes over and kisses Doris full on the lips, then sits beside her, holding her hand. Yeah, this is some *real* acting, both actresses think (hint: they despise each other).

—–

“Smells weird in here. Old book smell, I suppose.”

“Shhh. I’m trying to read.”

“I thought you were just going to steal that book. Not read the entire thing while we’re here.”

“I’m reading up on the part about the wall. The Green Monster. So… shhh.”

Doris Drane kept quiet for a bit, then started again.

“Never heard of a tree eating wall,” Doris rehashed some of what Gwin was saying before. “Glin or Glinda, Gliph or Glyph — with an i and a y. Why do these cypress trees always come as, um, twinned pairs of the opposite sex that don’t, er, don’t know anything about the other half?”

“It’s only one tree,” corrected Gwin. “It can appear at different times in different places and think it is the same. Like I could sit over here and talk, and then we could switch chairs and I could talk over there. But to the tree, it’s as if the switch never happened. They’re always where they are.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Doris noisily scooted back her uncomfortable wooden chair and stood up. “I’ll be freely roaming the grounds if you need me. I’ll check back in about, say, 30 minutes?”

Gwin is absorbed in what she’s currently reading (trees have 2 souls!) and doesn’t respond. But then improvises: “Watch your navel!”

God I hate that woman, Chloe Price thinks. And EM is letting her get away with all this!

—–

I wonder who’s actually sacrificed here? Doris ponders, laying in the center of an elevated stone circle. Trees? Fish? Fish people? Her mind is running wild.

Huh (mysterious floating pylon).

“Hello. Anyone home?” But Doris needn’t had worried because no one lives here.

After waiting the appropriate time, she goes inside and sits at the dining room table. I hope those are candy bunnies on that platter over there, she thinks.

Hmm. 2960. Probably another empty building. I’m not even going to knock this time. Feeling free to roam indeed.

Lemons and lime; that reminds me of something.

This is a little different.

Don’t mind if I do.

What’s this? My foot must have accidentally activated the screen. Doris studied the graphic.

“Gunn Mobile Trailer Park,” she spoke aloud, then saw the byline at the bottom. “Your Darkness.” She settled back in the executive chair. “A game. I love computer games.” So she just decides to start a two person round with herself.

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