Like Tronesisia, Leeman or Leemon has also become mobile enough to make his way over from New Island to Fishers Island and its Wallytown.
But he’s only seeing half the story so far about Bottle Mound, etc. He’s stubborn like that.
Strange that Irish Moss would grow in the sea, Mabel thought from the Yd Bay coastline, peering out at the red plant cluster in the shallow water ahead…
… that, in truth, was another red-blue situation, its duplicate cluster’s hue being just unresolved from Mabel’s distance.
Mabel makes sure to say hello to Leeman or Leemon on her way back to the Scarlet Creative Sylvia House, her home away from home.
Aloha indeed, in that you say hello to this island you never get to say goodbye. The blue never seems to come with the red. Except for one person…
“I knew it was going to be you tonight,” Mabel spoke across the table in her peculiar Martian accent, consonants accented and vowels subdued.
“Well, I knew it was going to be *you*,” the confident 15 year old countered.
“I have delicious sandwiches over here, Mr. Leeman. Mr. Leemon. And watermelon…” Mabel knew it was no good. If this *was* a spell, the theoretical creator of New Island itself was mired deep. He was simply immobile now. But still the resemblance to Smelly Santy couldn’t be denied. She had checked earlier in the day — just after the sun rose — and taken snapshots. She went over and compared again, “show attachment” option on.
Yup, they’re the same.
She looks over at Volkswagen Gurl’s house, gleaming white bright in the noonday sun. No sign of the chatty owner, though.
Mabel then gazes north into Yd Bay and the small isle there, about the same size as much more noted Fisher or Fishers Isle to the south, but 3 palms and the truth this time, ha, instead of 4. Linden palms 1 and 2, as she’s currently checking. Fishers Isle’s palms are mesh objects in contrast.
She decides to fly over.
Snorkling comes to mind again while she stands upon it– exploration of the sea life surrounding New Island. That’s a thicket of purple Irish Moss sticking out over there, for example. She can see this happening soon.
And then another island a little beyond. Larger, but no palms this time.
Yd Bay, and another thicket of Irish Moss within. The great chunk of cheddar that ended the life of Thadeus Fogg must have been situated just between me and that point of land, Mabel speculates, trying to recall the tragedy as described in the “New Island Gazette”, then a 20 page publication instead of the 5 it has dwindled to in present times. She wonders how the Widow Fogg is doing.
And decides to pay a call. Maybe she would know more about Leeman or Leemon. Or maybe Mid-Hazel?
Permanent bay dweller Timothy Sprawled saw it all, but he’s been unable to relay what actually happened for a long time. Decades and decades.
Mabel was not literally stuck in Pipewold; she could emerge and investigate New Island if she wished, her ultimate home if things in Heartsdale didn’t work out. She had to manipulate what she could in the meantime — to prepare. Mabel was looking for this mysterious Leeman or Leemon who supposedly created the whole shebang. Is *this* him? she thinks here.
Hummie the Hummingbird (another one) wasn’t telling.
Buurb didn’t like to come out here, she knew. Says it’s like reading ahead in the hot red book of your life. Plus, taken individually, he had more at stake than Mabel. But there were still other avenues to explore. She hadn’t given up on Baker Bloch bringing their beloved Heartsdale house (or some equivalent) to Collagesity. She knows in one reality this *must* come about. But it’s a domino effect — that would mean, perhaps, the displacement of Karoz Blogger’s TILE Temple, implying *he* wouldn’t have the opportunity to return. And where would that leave mate Baker Blinker?
Mabel wanders back down the beach, toward the far side of the pipe. [Leemon’s?] Beach had been set as her personal limit in this direction. She couldn’t stay out too long — for Buurb’s sake. She spots Volkswagen Gurl leaning against the large, white house in the distance, but too late to turn around. Luckily the chatty lady went AFK before a potential engagement.
She also ran into Yarco on the way back and they held a brief discussion about cactuses, another type of pipe in a way, he explained. Yarco was a graduate assistant in the biology department at New Island Community College, the same place where Robot Derak Jones teaches physics and astronomy. Mabel thought the young lad was a bit full of himself, but he provided useful information at times. And also Mabel felt he could be trusted. She had dirt on him and he her. They were trapped on New Island for similar reasons. Oops, there’s his tanned slave boy. Time to leave, she understands.
Mabel sighs before heading back inside. 242, 121 here at the water’s edge, she notes again. This is where the world splits asunder.