Tag Archives: Kate McCoy/Katy Kidd^^~~~~

completio

“Pretty good, Keith B., dad wanna-be. But me thinks the head must go.” Both look over at the 2-dimensional version of Dr. Who’s Cassandra entity, at the eclipsed brain.

“Homer? Nah, he’ll stay for now.”

“Variables,” warns daughter wanna-be Kate McCoy. “Danger,” she adds.

Keith ponders what she said a lot as he attempts to sleep upstairs. 1 prim remaining of 60 — just enough to rez a bed.

Kate stays with him all night. Kate doesn’t need any sleep. Since, contrary to popular opinion and her last name, she isn’t real.

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downtown bar

“You said you wanted to get closer to me, Kate, so here we are.” He turns in his seat. “At the place it all began for Jenny and me. Before she became world famous Your Mama and all turned to rust and rot.”

Kate McCoy was tired of hearing about Keith B.’s daughter but bit her tongue right now. He had brought her along on this trip to Cassandra City and she was grateful for the bonding opportunity. If only *he* were her daddy instead of that low life Craighead Phillips. Where was *he*? Still galavanting around in Bluefield US of A? She didn’t want to know; she didn’t care. She was with Keith B. for the present. She had designs on a long term relationship. Maybe he did too — she didn’t know. Yet.

He starts pointing around the place, indicating changes. “The stage, Kate, use to be in that corner — instead of over there on the side. A lot of these booths have been added too.” Keith B. was disappointed that there’s no indication of their presence in this bar. It was apparently up to him to keep the history alive. “It’s all in the autobiography,” he often tells friends after throwing them a juicy piece of the past. They usually want more and then that’s what he tells them. He’d rather write for many instead of talk for few. He’d learned that lesson decades ago. People like to talk, but words only last if you write them down or record them in some equivalent way. He started a blog in 2008. He could better organize his thoughts about people places things with categories and tags. He had a system.

“Keith?” Kate McCoy spoke, seeing her wanna-be dad spacing out again, most likely about the past. She wanted his full attention once more.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Thinking about the blog?”

“Yeah. I suppose.” He feels the slightly extra pressure his flip style notepad makes in the back of his pants. He senses the push style lead pencil in his front pocket against a thigh. Tools of his trade. While he was away from the computer. But he must resist the urge to pull it out in front of his wanna-be daughter. That’s not how it works.

(to be continued?)

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other direction

“There’s yet more to see in Heartsdale, Hucka Doobie.”

“Sure.”

—–

Kate McCoy was brought in because she can read braille. She translates the diary. “We can see into Room 05 but not 04. We are blinded in that direction.” She changes into little Katy Kidd, eyes turned up toward Phillip’s.

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no Bland

The Donut Hole, Marty thinks while looking down at it from the high window of the Starlite Lounge, fortunately for him and others one of the last Pipersville landmarks Lt. Salt had on his list to check. Didn’t get there. “And Sweet Alice is the filled void in the middle; no need to go back,” he spoke aloud while turning his red topped option back to the turntables. For every season, I suppose — seasoning. Pepper in this case. Pepper black starry void of 1975 or thereabouts.

He stares thataway now at what’s being filmed…

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violet consultation

“Katy is a difficult nut to crack,” continued TronAxis in his Tyranea office while Baker Bloch and Hucka Doobie furiously take notes, trying to shorten the night so that another post can be created after the present one. “Oh. Sorry I guess I should have put that another way, ahem. Kate is a difficult *case* to crack–”

“You said she still can’t tell what time it is, what year it is?” uttered Hucka Doobie, attempting to move things along.

“That’s right. One moment she’s little Katy Kidd, stuck in a purple house with an abusive mother, and then the next she’s Kate McCoy, all grown up and back in reality. How long has she been here now?” he inquired partly to himself, partly to the “guardians” Baker and Hucka sitting before him. “5 years I would guess,” he answers while looking up, then looks left. “And the purple house still sits right over there in the opposite corner of the sim. Vacant — the mother’s been dead that long. Still she torments this poor woman-child from the grave.”

Baker’s turn now. He lifts pencil from pad while starting his question. “How about the sphere? She hasn’t strayed down the path of Blue Berry Girl and gone all nudist on us? I’m not (he flips a page, checking notes before he speaks again) sure why — (flips more) she was hired actually. Wasn’t she a former patient?”

“Of Dr. Baumbeer my predecessor, yes,” answers TronAxis, trying to be as transparent as possible within the framework of client-patient confidentiality. “Blue Berry Girl is a very capable therapist, and there’s no therapist like one who understands the patient’s viewpoint, which she does.”

“And Vain and Artery Boy–” Both men in the room stare at bee-woman Hucka, more woman than ever now her antennae have permanently retracted into her skull. They know she’s on the wrong timeline, and could set them back precious minutes, seconds. They decide not to answer her and advance to the next subject. But they then speak at the same time.

“After you, Mr. Bloch,” TronAxis graciously allows.

“No, after you sir. You’re the doctor after all. The new one.”

“Alright, if you insist, thank you.”

(to be continued?)

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This Violet Sphere

“Hucka Doobie, I think we must explore the idea that Katy Kidd, at least when she was a kid — Kate McCoy, then, I’m talking about…”

“Go on,” replied the wise bee person beside him in the White Palace.

“Well, I think she may be deaf, blind and dumb, like Tommy. Or that other person.”

“Helen Keller.”

“Yeah: that one. Anyway, that may explain a lot of her problems. Like mental illness, when she’s all grown up as–”

“–Kate McCoy,” finishes Hucka Doobie for Baker Bloch. “I *think* we should explore the idea that it’s *both*.”

—–

“Now I want y’all to *feel* the sphere around you, the tension, the *weight*. Now: breath out! Let it go.”

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Southeast

A strange occurrence is happening in Port Mansfield, blocking Batty Casey from joining us tonight at the Mansfield Mansion.

We’ll have to go back to Mars instead, disguised as Marz this time.

Someone lives inside the purple Marz house with the hand, probably Katy Kidd again.

Because this is another mother abode, pheh.

—–

“My two proteges together once more, 88 and, 88. Together we make a cross. Peter’s. We can control him again.” Then she cackles. Uncontrollably.

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next

“*Another* one,” Hidi uttered while gazing forward at the sea monster in the distance, a double to the one in Storybrook Lake.

“This must be the correct photo to begin tonight’s session with.” She then decided on another form. Batty Casey?

Not quite yet. All grown up Katy Kidd, the Real McCoy now?

Soon. Then I remembered the arena, the battle. Grays vs. Browns. Slaughter but then Olive Branch extended. Fred and Ethel.

Looks like Batty Casey is the one.

But first a little fun.

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children

“She’s *good*, Katy,” states Keith B., listening in on “The Real Me.”

“Call me *Kate*,” Kate McCoy hawed back.

“Alright, Kate. But she’s not as good as my little girl.”

“Oh, just *shut* UP about your little girl. What about ME?”

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Starless

They both stared into the lighted mirror. “*I* think you look great as a redhead, but you do what you wish. You’re the customer.”

“I’ll go with the peppery black, then,” Marty responds to Audrey in his lilting manner of speech. “Unlike the star we’re in… on. I need a change. I need to find a new me.”

Audrey blows out air in resignation. “O-*kay*. We’ll see what this *does* to you.” She leans over and kisses the top of his carrot colored head before starting to suds it away.

—–

She stands back and takes in her handiwork. “Hey lover boy,” she speaks to the new man before her. The mirror’s over *there*.”

They celebrate in the customary way. Audrey had basically forgotten all about deceased hubbie Jeffrie Phillips thanks to Marty’s wicked ways. She’s no longer part of the widow’s club seen at the beginning of section 5. Which leaves only…

—–

“I wonder where my egg — is — NOW?”

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