Tag Archives: Ingo^*

other returns

“If you take away the Fire Tree it all begins to make sense. We can peer back into a time when the deserted village was full of life and living. The days before Tully. The wonder years.”

“Was that before the mist or after?” Parasol asked, trying to be patient with Ingo’s historic ramblings. She had a meeting with Herbert Glenn Gold at quarter past 10. Yeah, she was pissed at him (hence the full name again).

“Before of course.”

She glanced out the window at the Fire Tree she couldn’t quite see from this angle. She couldn’t wait any longer. Time to *see* Herbert.

—–

“I was wondering where we would meet,” spoke up Herbert. Wonder again, thought Parasol. It was here she realized Ingo was right about the Fire Tree, the village. All of it.

She jumped right into it. No time for niceties tonight. “I want you to *get* her here. I want to trap her like a fly in a bottle.”

“Erm.” He shivered as her feet dangled menacingly above him. As he stood on one. “*Who* are we talking about here?”

“You know who.”

—–

George V. Norris, barely 2 feet tall, prepared to play the harp in his wee abode. “A Bach tune will do tonight,” he squeaked to himself, then reconsidered. “Or is it Buch.”

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truth

“Tea sir?”

It was Alberta the Selenite butler behind him. He was always there, at the back of the hearth. Waiting to serve. Selenite, huh? Mssr. Gold thought. Wonder if there’s a connection…

… for he had just finished up re-reading photo-novel 12 on the house media feed, where the Rosehaven-Caledonia fictional universe was conceived. The one that featured Merry Gouldbusk as Princess-Queen, *not* the actual Princess ruler of Rosehaven. That would be Selena. In the universe of the here and now, where Caledonia is not Caledonia but Caledon, the somewhat larger micro-continent just south of Rosehaven. At the end of photo-novel 12 the two lands were united again, just like in olden days. I’d have to check back but I’d guess when Rosehaven was called Winterfell, the name changed several years ago to distance Selena’s realm from the Winterfell region in “Game of Thrones,” growing beyond cult status at the time to achieve universal recognition. Enough, said the Princess. She tired of telling outsiders that this was *not* a “Game of Thrones” role playing region. And so Rosehaven was born from Winterfell in Our Second Lyfe.

On the official Realm of Rosehaven blog, under the Chronicles header, you’ll find a good number of fictional stories about Rosehaven already, most of a much more serious and detailed look at the land and people populating it than my own. But a cool link is a concept called The Mist (or Myst or Mists, et al), an agreed upon unifying element that actually hides (or can hide) Rosehaven from the rest of Our Second Lyfe for protection (if needed). But like all powerful agents, The Mist has a darker side. Princess Selena herself is a product of The Mist, having shown up at her aunt’s door out of the blue in 2012, a physical manifestation of its trickster aspect, it seems.*

And so now, as a land owner in Rosehaven, I’ve had dealings with the real Princess. Dare I tell her of my fake ruler: Princess Merry Gouldbusk? And then there’s Ingo, her fake big brother who also rules after the death of their mother and father, the King and Queen (also fake).

Then there’s the curious, little detail of a storyline by Merri(Kat) in the official Rosehaven chronicles. Interesting wormholes here, with more to be found I’m guessing. How far have the wayward fingers of The Mist penetrated? All the way to… Earth?


*footnote:
By this I mean *The Mist* is a trickster at times, *not* Princess Selena, who seems to be a decent and wholesome elven type being all around from what I’ve read and heard! Direct quote from the blog post on her origins, then. Serra Anansi, her mother, is the speaker:

A baby in a basket?! The Mist?! And then I suddenly remembered making an off-handed joke at Mr. Drinkwater’s rez day party about having a baby. I do like to see him sweat and try to be diplomatic about such outlandish things and you know how wonderful he is at finding the most ingenious ways to divert the conversation to more proper topics.

I ran to the window, still able to see the very last fingers of The Mist evaporating on the horizon and I called out to it “I WAS KIDDING!!!!”

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castle

“She’s always hanging around, Parasol. It gets annoying.”

“She has just as much right to hang around here as you — us.” Parasol points to Ingo across from her and then herself and then back and back again to reinforce. “You better put your sphere back on. You’re getting weak already.”

“Alright.” He does as Parasol told him. The witch hovering outside the window suddenly flitters off, soon landing on a summit just below. As if the sphere drove her away. And perhaps it did.

She’s at the fire tree now,” spoke Parasol, standing up to get a better view.

“She’s always at the fire tree,” returned Ingo, back in form. “She’s up to something. Norris say…”

“Norris?” queries Parasol (not back in form).

—–

After Parasol left, Ingo decides to teleport down to the tree for further investigation. But no sign of the cat-witch. It *could* have something to do with Purple Wolverine, thinks Ingo, looking further down toward the roughly circular island below and its lone residence. It’s time for a visit anyway. See what he’s been up to. Make sure he’s in line with the code still. What a mischief maker!

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penultimate

“Help Tronesisia. I’m stuck between the floor and ceiling!”

“Get down from there, Duncan,” she pleaded again. “You’re going to hurt one or both of your keyboard playing hands (!).”

Alice Farrowheart walked into the psychedelic records store looking for her husband of 40 years. Ignoring Duncan Avocado doing a one handed stand on a bicycle seat — she’d seen enough of those kind of circus acts this week over at the bot cafe — she spotted the small, grey alien sitting on the opposite side. Oh well, she thought. At least he’s upright. I’ll ask him instead.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Oh, ahem, what’s that?” Ingo pretended to shake himself out a daydream, but he knew full well where he was and what he was doing here.

“I’m looking for Fred. That’s my husband.” She came closer to him. “About yea high; wears a cardigan.”

“Nope,” Ingo exclaimed. “Just us freaks in here today. We *wish* more people would come in and buy stuff. That would allow us to get better instruments, do more gigs. You see, we’re a band.” He pointed around the room, ending with himself. “Her, and him over there, and then me. I’m the drummer. You may have heard of me. Ingor Ratts. I was pretty famous back in the days.”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I have.” But she was more trying to ignore the large red rat that had just emerged from behind the counter. It reminded her of…

—–

“Baumbeer!” she exclaimed while waking up. “Baumbeer was killed by the drummer!” She must get to Black Drake asap. Now where is that confounded belt?

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smarts

“She has received the belt, ma’am, and is testing it out in Marwood.”

“Good, good,” Mid-Hazel returned. “But get her to Black Drake as soon as possible.”

“10-4 on that, Eleanor.”

“Stop doing stuff like that,” she commanded. He never listened. One day Jack Toadswallow would pay for all those non-listenings. The Abyss remembers.

—–

Alice Farrowheart was embarrassed she had to widen and deepen the belt so many times in the options mode. Must go on another diet soon! But she had it on, and she *wasn’t* going to enlarge it any more, despite some of her waist still drooping over the top in the front. So be it! She was what she was (at this point). Not a young woman any longer, although in my day… Alice F. thinks back here to winning Ms. Applewood in ’52. A good year for apples in general, she sighs while looking down her torso toward the belt. She can barely make out the edges. But… it’s on.

Now: to test it out. Think I’ll go to that bot bar on the north side of the sim so’s no one important can see me if things go wrong. Alice F. has studied Mystery Woman’s working of the same. Several options will not be used! Just the one that teleports you to a different place. Shocking, I know.

She imagines the bar very vividly in her mind. And: SHOCK.

She’s there! Initial test complete.

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back in NWES…

“Why are we still here, Alice?”

“Merry, please,” Merry Gouldbusk requested. “Merry Gouldbusk,” she asked in full.

“Sure, um, but, er, all the cameras have left. We’re all alone. Bob Waffleburg’s already started his next production. An adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘Septimius Felton.'”

“Oh we’re still being filmed.” She looked all around at the camera-less vicinity.

“Yeah, so you’ve said before.” Actor Jack Toadswallow stared over at his co-star. *Former* co-star. But lover in this reality, not little sister. True, he was observing her all the time. *He* was filming her, in a way, in a manner. With his eyes.

Something appeared in the distance, beyond the missing piece of wall, perhaps beyond the skyscraper even. Alice pointed it out.

“Look, Ingo.” Jack had given up trying to get Alice to call him by his real name any more.

“Yes, what is it dear?” He still stared, he still photographed. What she saw excited her: dilated pupils. He turned as well.

“W-what is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know Alice, er, Merry,” replies the smaller in stature lover/brother. Looks like some kind of art from my angle.”

“*Floating* art?” she exclaimed.

“Um, yes. Not attached to ground. Attached to air instead. Sky art. Perhaps even skyscraper art,” he elaborated as it then began to float into same, swallowing green, blue/yellow, and red in sharp order.

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power

The personnel in the central police station watched the burning of Club 88 and attached Little Jimmy from a distance and talked amongst themselves.

“Now order will be restored,” said Officer Brennon to Officer Barney, turning away from it for a moment. “*Big Brother* will be restored,” offered Officer Warren behind them (off-camera here). True men these were. They waited for Ms. Tanner to weigh in, the most important opinion.

“There is only one Big Brother,” she finally declared as the fire crescendoed, damage done. Casualties inside for sure. “Big brother Ingo Ratts has been eliminated, like big brother Little Big before him.” Brennon, Barney, and Warren didn’t know who Little Big was but nodded in agreement anyway. The point is: everything was reset. INGO banners had reverted to pre-film INGSOC, which stood for the fictional English Socialist Party of George Orwell’s seminal “1984” novel, and whose totalitarian ideology represented what he saw as the worst possible outcome of socialism in his native Britain.


Hehehe.

The new center of town was burning while the old one looked on satisfied.

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