Tag Archives: Jem^^+++++$

00330513

So here we are, Charlotte. Back at the beginning. Anything different you notice?

“Shhh,” Charlotte requested. “Someone’s fading in.”

Hey, where’d *he* come from, thinks observing Orilia from the bar, always aware of the comings and goings of customers. But this was no ordinary man. Instead: cartoonist, or so they assumed.

He then produced one of the latest from his pocket, unfolding it before their eyes.

“Jem,” Charlotte uttered, recognizing the inspiration.

“Yes?” Jim answered, not knowing if she was referring to one or the other. He then produced another from the other pocket, likewise unfolding.

“Jem,” stated Charlotte more firmly, pointing this time.

Jim understood. Jim L. Brown, with the L standing for nothing. At least that’s always what his parents told him. Actually we know it stands for the number 12, as in 4+4+4. “You… knew her?”

“Know,” says Edward Daigle, chipping in. “We know her.” She’s not dead… yet, he thinks with malice. His stern stare matches Charlotte’s. This was *wrong*. “Nice trick, by the way,” he said of Jim L. Brown’s manifesting act. Magician as well, they assumed. Cartoonist and magician: hand in hand. A combination bourne in the depths of hell itself, they also quickly decided.

Seeing the loathing, he scrambles to explain himself. “You don’t understand, people. I’m here to *help*. I don’t like this either. *John* is to blame, not me.”

Edward’s stare turns toward Charlotte and visa versa. “Twins?” they utter simultaneously to each other.

(to be continued)

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00330116

The next day, Dafney met new bestie Jem for a celebratory birthday breakfast at Ted’s Sweet Shop next to the open market. Both had turned 42, years for Dafney and weeks for Jem, since she was a simulacrum, with a much shorter life expectancy than true humans. Thus the strong desire to see the world and not stay in a dead end bookkeeping job in Dodgey City before it’s too late. Plus the lurid cartoons based on her of course that we’re not suppose to talk about or see, orders of her doctor-therapist.

“How’s Jim?” Dafney began the serious talk after the meal was over, flapjacks for Jem and mustard over easy for the yellow one, a canary today, a freebird. She’s heard that 42 is the year you learn about everything and anything, with no more “mine over here” and “yours over there.” Everything blends, everything rotates around each other, like 6 is the opposite side of 9, the same figure. She’ll start with Jem — they will be as one today.

“Jem’s fine,” Jem speaks in the third person about herself. “I’m here aren’t I? Eating breakfast with you. I probably have 60 good days left for me.”

“No — *Jim*,” insisted Dafney. “The Brown one. Like I’m yellow.”

“I don’t know about Jim, but *John* can go to hell for all I care (!)” He was the one who published the cartoons. Jim is his twin brother. John is spelled with an L, Jim with an A. Both stand for nothing, which is of course the opposite of everything. They suck in life just as much as Dafney exudes it, Jem thinks here, glad for their friendship.

“I’m… sorry.” Dafney begins to cry. Or is it laugh. She searches for the phone again, determined to call Redbird or text Bluebird to see which one.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0116, Jeogeot, Towerboro

00330111

“It was the only place I felt really safe in all of Dodgey City: Charlotte’s dust filled attic with the telescope that she often pointed to the Moon, Mars and other heavenly bodies to also escape the stardust glitter all around.”

“Stardust,” said the doctor, now a therapist. “Interesting term. Can you elaborate further?”

—–

“They made… *cartoons* out of me. It was awful.” The sobbing began again. The doctor-therapist offered her another kleenex from the second box used today. “They thought it was *funny* (sob sob sob, blow nose, sob sob, sniff).”

“There there,” said the dr.-therapist. “Take your time.”

“I — (sniff sniff) don’t *want* to go back.”

“No one’s sending you back, Jem. Take your time,” she or he emphasized again. Probably a she… because of the nature of the events that took place there.

“Those cartoons you spoke about,” she started carefully once more. “Did you…”

“*NO*,” stated Jem firmly, guessing what the doctor-therapist was going to ask, an almost prescient moment. And perhaps it was.

The doctor-therapist decided not to bring John L. Brown of the Browns into the picture today. She looks up at the clock, pretends the session is over even though it is 12 till the hour. “That better be it for today. You can take that box home with you.”

“Thank you,” BLOOWWW.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0111, Jeogeot, Nautilus, Towerboro, Wild West

00330108

The elimination of George.

Harrison remains. *Barely*.

“They got his knee, which knocked out the rest of his leg — sorry. A thumb was missing from the hand but they were able to regrow it with the intact others. Don’t ask about the procedure. It’s messy, complicated. But without that hand, that regrowth…”

“He wouldn’t be able to play the guitar,” the other in the room finished for Dr. Diper, fresh from the surgery. “Thank you.”

“The red and green almost got him this time,” warned the doctor. “Best not to send him back out to war.”

“Oh, we won’t. Denisce just made a bad decision sending him over there. It’s in her name, you know, bad and good.”

The doctor paused with this, then said, “oh yeah,” as he got it. “Denisce. I forgot it could be spelled that way.”

“Almost,” replied the other. Probably Marty at this point, since he’s so concerned with the hand and its dexterity. “Will he lose any chords? I don’t mean vocal chords obviously (Dr. Diper snickers here, since both knew the head wasn’t involved — nice break in the seriousness) but guitar chords. Can… will he be able to play…”

“All your songs,” the doctor finishes a sentence in turn. Like tennis they were this day, battering concerns back and forth across a net that is the separation between people. Good and bad. Sometimes it’s absolutely necessary. “Wellll.”

Nurse Jem comes in, celebratory drinks in hand. Vodka for Diper and a, let’s see, Russian Roulette for Marty, a new drink he claimed to have concocted on the spot back at the hotel after the San Francisco concert in Candlestick Park, knocking it out alongside a couple of new ditties: the embryonic form of “Back in the USSR” and the unreleased and seldom heard “Moby Prick”. A baad song, Georgge Martin proclaimed upon hearing it back in England. “Hey, we’re the f-ing Beetles, Martin. Leave us alone!” exclaimed Marty after the judgment, but then the others admitted it was sour instead of sweet too and he let the matter drop, song unrefined and left in a raw, unprocessed form. They all secretly felt it was about Marty and his character, though, but to voice this out loud would be character assassination. He was just that much of a prick. At the time — he mellowed out later. After he died.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0108, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Canada/Tungaska, Jeogeot, Towerboro

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Curious, Orilia the bartender does a search on his name back at the apartment after her shift was over.

“He is an eagle too!” she exclaimed when seeing the result. Just like Charlotte. Just like… she can’t recall the name of the other one that had flown the coop, far far away from Dodgey City now, they said.  She thinks: Catchup; but then remembers that’s just what they ordered. Extra ketchup for him, just plain ketchup for her. And the time zone thing. Wieerd. Creepy. Just like that book which keeps popping up here and there around town. Towerboro is cursed! she couldn’t help finishing her thoughts with.

—–

“Where are you trying to mail it to this time, Gladys?”

“Let’s try… Fayetteville.” She produces the needed cash from her purse and hands it to Bob who just gives her that stare again.

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00330101

“I’m not ready to let go, Charlotte. I can’t give up Nauty that easily.”

Charlotte knew Nauty was short for Nautilus but she couldn’t help but think of other things at the time, especially the way Edward was indicating. Like Dodgey City. Poor Jem! Stuck in a dead end bookkeeping job after buying too many vowels in that game of hers she calls life. Spaceships, pheh. One day one of them will come down and save me, she said on their last day together, after the butcher shop and attached brothel shut down, kicking her out of the nest. Well, this eagle has *flown*, she declared.

Orilia the bartender couldn’t help but listen in. So this is the legendary Edward Daigle she’s heard so much about over the last week, she contemplates, ignoring her bar customers for now. Edward has become her *main* customer fer sure. She walks over.

“Anything, to, ahem, eat yet?” She was embarrassed. She felt awkwardness of mouth was a weakness and attempted to be all-time smooth in that department. Yet the throat clearing…

“Fine,” he said crisply, and raised his hands from his lap. Now maybe I can think of something else, thought a relieved Charlotte. “I’ll take a salad, extra ketchup. You?”

How rude (!). Ordering before me. “Just the ketchup,” she decided, making a quick meal of it. Besides, Edward had other people to see, she knew. Other places.

“Comes with mustard,” spoke Orilia, not writing it down. “Is that okay?”

“Mustard will be fine,” said Charlotte, “but put it on the side.”

“Pickle too.”

“Fine. Side.”

Orilia then looked from one to the other. “Drinks?”

Just then, someone else came in the bar that Orilia would subsequently ignore. But not Charlotte, not Edward. Because this was none other than Jem of Dodgey City, also flying the coop.

She sat down at a nearby table, waiting for Edward to finish. She brought her own drink.

“Fiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnneee,” he said before the time adjustment.

There.

Charlotte looked over as the dust was still settling. “Jem??”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0033, 0101, Jeogeot, Towerboro

colors

“This board must be broken Debbie. I can’t get black to move first.”

It was over in 13. White (Dickie (Archibald)) had no more to say. Sister Debbie retreated back up the cave tunnel from the meeting in the underground game room to her Hobbit Hill rental, pondering what just happened and the true nature of reality. *Why* can’t black start? Who goes first, what goes second? She doesn’t know; can’t figure it out currently. There must be a game of chesskers where the rules are reversed, she ascertains later, but only after the mission is done.

—–

“We’ve just got the one piece left,” Rescue John responded to Rescue Joe’s question about the face. “But it’s a crucial one. Looks like, let’s see, we’ve got a green eye instead of a blue to match the other. Asymmetry: can’t have it.”

“Boss wouldn’t be please,” Joe said back weakly, and looked into the distance from the top of the Gap toward the Hobbit Hill rental, toward Jer and Jem’s Ragged Rocks abode, toward Tar and Jey’s watermill home, and toward the cottage on the perch currently housing interns (Devil) Dave and Karoz straight from fabled academic mecca Crabwoo after their final exams were done and over with. He knows the answer lies out there somewhere. But here… they can only insert the wrong piece for now; no other way. He says this to John, who agrees to “finish” the process with a big sigh. “Green it is,” and crams it in despite the ill fitting nature of the thing.

Wheeler can see again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0306, Wendy-Ontario

Wendy

“Tell me about Dub?”

It was an odd question from the former Bottle Cruncher star. 5’5″ Jer Ronamy, who also went by the name of Chuck Laser back in the days, an athletic moniker. Laser sharp were his passes and few lost their arms as a result, even though they played at the bottom of one (Starfish Lake arm). Plus they would just grow back; many smaller guards of his kind used this regeneration process to their advantage; fitted it into their overall game plan and strategy. Not brown clad Chuck, except when he masqueraded as purple garbed Joel Maser that one year he went undercover to play for a rival team so that they could face each other in the championship. Zircon vs. Amethyst, just like it was suppose to be; battle of the Titans. Never spotted, although the name should have been a giveaway. Just short enough to fly below the radar. It was tricky playing both sides in the finals but he explains it all in his book, “Going Both Ways,” disguised as outlining his prowess on both the offensive and defensive ends. Read between the lines and it’s all there: never was any defense when he was on offense and visa versa. I mean, you can read about it in this way but it’s still hard to believe. He planted a double, a lookalike. Similar name, yeah. A bit taller so as not to be *too* suspicious. And, oh yeah, that magical charm around the whole thing enacted by Morgan the Hagg. People hated him when they eventually found out. A lot of money was lost the day he hoisted the trophy as high as possible over his 5’5″ frame on a pedestal built by those that worshiped him.

“Dub?” responded Devil Dave back in the present, thinking back to receiving the ill wind from that Maebaleia cave in the sky. Does he also know about the jungle and all that goes on there, the wildness (in the wilderness)?

We need to bring in a female to balance out the whole and make a 4orrin1. Jem should do the trick, a simulacrum who thinks she is real and the only type who would stand Jer for any length of time, like seconds. Here she is with the rest.

So pretty.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0303, Wendy-Ontario

Gunpowder

Wind.

More wind. Cold.

—–

Jen reviewed how she got to this God forsaken place on the very western edge of Nautilus, almost disconnected from the continent. If only it weren’t for Vavra, who led her here. She use to blame it on someone named Jim, but then realized that was only a masculine projection of herself, a double created as a dark, oppositely sexed companion. He probably still exists somewhere. On the Mainland. Here, though? Nautilus but not Nautilus. Mainland but not Mainland. Different, an In-between World, ‘nother one. If only Vavra didn’t have that barely Linden water sailable boat, that Annoying ZZ Mat I think she called it, whatever that means. What-ever (Vavra-speak; I think she may also go by Marilyn).

She looked around even though she didn’t want to. Although certainly not the mountains of the Omega continent, it still was cold this time of year this far up the coast. Too close to Corsica to be temperate. None of the sim’s neighbors liked this place — didn’t consider it to be their “downtown” in any way. They too were isolated from the rest.

She needed to get out of this dress and into some real winter clothes but that would mean removing and rearranging the underneath pillows and she couldn’t make the effort, brrr. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like almost 3 hours.

Oh there were enough people here at any one time, it seemed. She’s counting 7 on her inworld screen besides herself. But where was Bert? Jim? No: Bert. Former police officer turned gigolo. Or pimp — she can’t recall; just as bad anyway, although she assumes the money is better with the latter since several of his ilk work for him instead of visa versa. She was the bookkeeper of the place. Kept tabs on the ledgers, made sure they balanced out each month. Numbers were her bag but figures were too. She oft times had to beat them off with a big black stick she kept handy for the matter. She thought of changing her name from Jen to Gen but didn’t want to lose full contact with Jim back on the Mainland, however imaginary he actually was. She could dream still, then. Her apartment? She wished it was the attic of the town’s Brownstone so she’d have a better view of the goings on of the place, but it was instead the 2nd. Vavra had the third, and always seemed to be bathed in dust-ridden light when she went up there to check on her or to socialize with her or to gather her up for one of those nights on the town. Like tonight. Big girls night out, but not too big. Vavra was on a weight plan. And herself? She started putting small pillows under her antiquated clothing to disguise her talent with figures as well as numbers. Some thought she had been knocked up, therefore, by Bud the grocery store manager Bert she was known to hang around with, but that was just because of the maths. They use to count the town residents one by one by one, as the green lights lit up on the map come din din time, as they called it. It was like a bell went off, a ding dong, and they came. Poor Mama had it right. The tiles were falling off the wall, red green yellow blue. If the camouflaged zebras start to show their true colors, then… trou-ble.

She wore strange makeup like an android: stars, rings like big red spots marked by a pin. She started out as a demo but she was more than that now. She was a real life girl. She decided at a certain point that she would pretend to create Jim instead of visa versa, and turn Bert into a gigolo with a corresponding loss of power. Because this was a woman’s world from now on. Adam, I’m Madam, nice to greet you. 2 + 2 can equal 5 if she wanted it to. Aloha can mean goodbye as well as hello. Inflammable can mean flammable, and so on. She was a mixed up boy-girl because her one head had turned into two with the schism. Mainland over there, [delete name] over here. The Wild West moniker had it right. Dodge, she decided, this is Dodge. Because she’s trying to, she *had* to. Jim had to remain real.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0115, Mountain Lake^, Nautilus, Omega^^, Wild West