Tag Archives: Jerome T. Newton^*

1/2 and 1/2

“I refuse to die this time Jerome T. Newton. I’m going beyond the end of Newton — you — into Oblong.”

“It’s that girl that’s helping you,” Newton declared between clenched teeth. “From the *fu-ture*.”

“Maybe.”

Chef-detective Keat Petty Owens had already moved on from his stalking ghost to a different gallery. He was staring at the beginning of the second 1/2 of the 10×10. 51. “It’s All Here.”

He even gave his petrified hands back to Newton as a parting gift. Goodbye demo(n) alien. Forever. Maybe.

To Montana. And beyond…

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spotlight

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“Let’s take you somewhere and put you to work, Mr. Author — Mr. Detective. How about Perch, hmm? Wait… that’s currently closed for ceiling repairs. Blue Feather it is!”

—–

“Good to see you back on the case, Chef-Detective Keat Owens,” spoke Baker Bloch over to the new but very familiar face. A bargain for 35 lindens in olden times.

The chef-detective shook his head, as if just waking up to the reality around him. Which was true. “I was on the ceiling,” he said, eyes blinking at Baker trying to focus in. “The building — was being repaired. An art installation. Then…”

“Murder?” Baker Bloch knew it could be the only reason Owens was back. Grand larceny or burglary or even manslaughter wouldn’t be enough.

“A girl. A friend of the 4 squared one.”

Spongebub? He hadn’t thought about that name in a long time. Not since the early days of Rubi. Speaking of which…

“4 men in one,” Keat Owens continued, as if Baker Bloch had said nothing, which he didn’t. “One of tin; one of glass — no, fur; one of steel; and then one of…” He tapered off, unable to think of the last element. That’s because it was imaginary. Baker Bloch explained this to him, along with the others.

“Superman?” he replied about the man of steel. “No, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Superdude?” Baker then altered. “Superguy?” he tried again. “Super*bub*?”

Then the reality of the overarching *umbrella* name kicked in. The chef-inspector was beginning to remember a whole world abducted from reality. “Someone has lost their bikini bottom.” His eyes were as big as quarters now.

Next stop: Bigfoot Bar or thereabouts.

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Centre

“I’ve been waiting here for the longest time, Baker Bloch. But I’m glad you finally found me. In Middletown, US of A.”

“Gus is burning brightly indeed,” Baker deflected.

“I know all about fire,” P.I. Keat Owens dismissed.

“Oh… yeah.” Baker remembered that Owens was killed before his subsequent resurrection by being burned to death.”

“How is David Bowie anyway? Still hanging around Collagesity?”

“Er, that wasn’t really David…”

“Newton Jerome, wasn’t it? Jerome Newton? Yeah, the latter.”

“Well…”

“I was so close to the truth. Spongebub Triangleslacks almost spilled the whole ball of wax.”

“That was Square…”

“Askja? Yeah, Askja. Winfield, but with an extra ‘n’. And then Wheeler with the 8 ball she could hit clean across the Rubi Woods like a Tiger. It was all adding up to something. Then… the fire.”

“But you were resurrected,” Baker Bloch attempted to justify. “In VHC City. Actually in Mabel’s dreams before…”

“The VWX Society, yes,” Keat Owens then remembered. “X-ed out but still present.”

“Can I show you the annex now?” Baker knew the night was early but there was much to do still. Deadlines loomed. Reality beckoned. Beyond Our Second Lyfe.

Baker copied Keat Owens and several other objects from Axis’ High Castle before leaving. He found the portal dial at the door was non-copyable, however. He’d either have to take it with him or use it as a prop in the blog post now. He chose the latter path.

“Let’s set it on Rosehaven and see what happens,” he said to no one in particular. “I can always come back here and visit the other locations — Fruity Islands, The Waste, End of Time. But Rosehaven is the important one currently.”


Switch.

Baker Bloch opens the door.

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couched

In a pot haze, Marion Harding waits patiently for the show to begin. He loves Elvis impersonators. Hucka Doobie tries to join him but finds she can’t.

—–

“Time to pull her out of that sluggish place,” Baker Bloch speaks about Gaston to Baker Blinker from their usual perch at the Perch restaurant. “Function’s basically used up anyway.”

“There’s the couch, still,” counters the female Baker. “Jeffrie Phillips — white star.”

“I can’t even find it tonight it’s so laggy. And I dare not log in Wheeler to help. My computer will crash, I’m sure of it.”

“Sugar house,” Baker Blinker then says. “Sugar’s House.”

“Alright I’ll give it another shot.”

“Give one to Marion as well.”

—–

“She does strike a good pose there,” Baker Bloch says, looking on remotely. “She seems… confident.”

“Put her with Marion. See what happens. Minimize windows as needed.”

—–

“It’s no use, Baker Blinker. Hucka Doobie just appears gray, like she’s in David Bowie’s shiny spacesuit from ‘The Man Who Fell To Earth.'”

“Precisely.”

—–

“Oops. There she is.”

“Have him walk. Have them talk. Plop Marion down in the plastic seat in front of Hucka Doobie. See what goes down.

—–

She’s wondering how much money is in that attache case, Baker Bloch. $50,000 lindens? Enough to get her out of this hazy, laggy place? Could be.”

“But how to strike up a conversation?

—–

Too late: looks like the show’s starting.”

“And that’s *not* Elvis.”

—–

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Fell a Victim

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“But I don’t understand,” says Keat Owens The Librarian. “David Bowie seems like a good and decent guy. You are just *evil*.”

“David Bowie played with demons and you are what you eat,” explained Wheeler. “If you are a lemon and consume sugar cubes you turn into lemonade. It was inevitable. This is one path split in two. Just like you.”

“Curious. Do you have a copy of “Valis” in your library here? Or in the other library?”

“Why are you asking *me*?…”

“… Librarian,” they both said together. They even shared a smile for split second.

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New Leaves

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“It’s time to take off your mask, Librarian,” speaks a freshly arrived Wheeler. “I have learned information concerning you from an old witch named Mid Hazel over at New Island.”

“Alright,” he relented. “I know Mid Hazel and her ways. But when I reveal who I am you must change as well. We must do it in concert. Ready?…”

“Don’t play that one two three game with me,” demands Wheeler. “Just remove the mask.”

He did.

And she did.

“As people like us say,” the transmogrified Wheeler pronounces, “we meet again.”

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Double Trouble

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Old Mabel was confused. She set out much earlier tonight to track down a sighting of Keat Owens in Sansara’s Langdale sim, but this *twin* claimed never to have visited or even hear of Collagesity. Old Mabel asked his name. “Pety” returned the person. Obviously not Keat Owens, then. While in the hotel room he inhabited Old Mabel looked around for further clues about what was going on. A blue feather pen attracted her attention, but she was on the wrong path now. Pety also mentioned something about a thimble thief. Old Mabel will do more research on that.

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Meanwhile, back in Collagesity the *real* Keat Owens was in a world of trouble. The double hand situation was intensifying. Owens sensed the end of his existence in the town. He wanted to know what hell Jerome T. Newton sprang from. He had that right. He stared at SoSo South’s Newton 10 collage and its central image. This *was* Jerome T. Newton. But how?

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Death stalked the chef/inspector. Newton summoned.

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“Did you get the information I requested?” Owens had not; he felt the truth slipping away near the beginning of his meeting with Spongebub.

“The square yellow man has accomplished what he needed to do here,” Owens spoke from his heart. “His wife is saved. It is too late for our kind. *Their* truth will get out.”

“Fool!!” Newton screeched, and the burning commenced. It was over in 30 seconds tops. All that was left in the end were his true hands, ash gray and turned to stone. The Truth Hands.

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They remained in that very spot for many years to come.

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Paper.

It was night again. Jerome’s time. Seats were still cold and warm. Icy fire.

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“Let’s take you somewhere and put you to work, Mr. Author — Mr. Detective. How about Perch, hmm? Wait… that’s currently closed for ceiling repairs. Blue Feather it is!”

—–

(meal joined in progess)

“I can’t eat another single shrimp, Baker Bloch, despite it being on the house. I wonder if our waiter would enjoy taking it home with him. Oh, this must be the chef.”

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“I’m so sorry about the paper in your wine,” he began, hands wringing. “I hope you are enjoying the free extra food and drink. Anything else we can get you here at the Blue Feather? Anything at all.”

Baker Blinker looked him over from head to foot, noticing a small red stain on the right pocket of his rather rumpled coat. “We’re fine, Mr. — what’s your name again? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“I’m new,” he replied. “I’m Mr. Owens. Amateur chef by day, professional sleuth by night. Here’s my business card.” He reached into his right pocket, hesitated and perhaps turned slightly red (?), then switched hands to procure the promised paper from the left.

“Cool,” responded Baker Blinker, taking the card. “Interesting first name.”

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“It’s Irish. Call me Kenny. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your dinner. Your waiter Andrew will return in just a moment to check on you. Have a nice remainder of the evening.”

“Thank you,” said Baker Blinker, nodding at him.

“Yes, thanks,” added Baker Bloch.

—–

15 minutes later…

“Did you make the switch?” asked a fidgety Newton back in Collagesity North again.

“Yeah,” responded the declared chef/detective. “Can I go home now?”

“Not quite.”

A cow suddenly burst into flames across Robin Lane.

(to be continued)

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Scissors?

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—–

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“The giant appeared here. Right in the center of the sim. Blame Lemons, eh.”

“Yes ma’am, I understand,” said Jerome T. Newton, downing a sugar cube. “Process and eliminate.”

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—–

“Process and eliminate,” he said again, back cooling.

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Rock?

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—-

“So this is the new spotlight.”

Baker Bloch exclaimed yes (!) to Baker Blinker.

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“Can you turn it off without deleting the prim?” she asked, becoming blinded.

“Make yourself headless,” requested Baker Bloch.

“What?”

“Just do it. For a moment.”

“Alright, weird-o. Hold on. Give me a moment to rummage through my inventory.”

“Hold on,” said Baker Bloch as well. “I’ll just give you mine.”

“Oh,” spoke Baker Blinker, observing the added inventory. She showed and wore.

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“Interesting. Not there yet.”

“Not where yet?” asked a confused Baker Blinker.

“The Neighbors. Spongebub and Snowmanster and their man-child. Spongemanster?”

“Snowbob?” corrected Baker Blinker. “The new guy at The Table?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Which we’re actually here to talk about.” She paused; restored herself. “You start.”

“No you,” he insisted.

“Together, then. 1,2,”

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