In my dreams, I went back to our old homestead in the center left right upper lower portion of Nautilus, Lichen. It was in ruins but still standing. The land around it was barren; even fabled Mistletoe-Perch which resisted so much change before had faded and vanished. The homestead stood alone.
I went inside and found that barrel. We had some good times with that wine in that barrel, Lichen. Didn’t we?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0507, Google Street View, Nautilus, Perch-Mistletoe, Upper Austra^
“Susan was a goner, Fink. You essentially killed her with your attack at the beach. But you were only defending Jack, who would have gotten killed himself if you hadn’t intervened. If *Fern* hadn’t intervened. You first saw him — remember? — across Susan’s sprawled out body, his green matching your flesh, his square matching your round.”
“I remember,” said Fink. “I– didn’t mean to kill her.”
“*Told* you to control that freak-ish green arm better,” reprimanded Jack, then felt bad about it. “I mean, I guess you were defending me and all still.”
“I *was*.”
“*Anyway*,” said Princess Pinky Gumm, “I knew her essence could be put to better use than keeping her alive for another day or three at best until she succumbed to those obviously fatal injuries. So I used that energy, that essence to heal myself. Remember? I was possessed by The Lich. *I* wasn’t going to get any better.” Better her than me, Princess Pinky Gumm thought but didn’t say aloud. Was she 100% sure Susan wouldn’t recover? Actually: no. She had been selfish. Susan was a renegade cyborg killer, programming triggered by an electrical shock from a giant Acid River eel. But maybe, just maybe, she would have recovered. But that left the killer part intact still, she tried to rationalize. Yes, better her than me (for death), she reinforced to herself.
“How?” says Fink.
“I’m both a physicist and psychic trained at world esteemed Cal State, Fink. The answer would be too complicated for your meager brain to comprehend. Given you just made an F minus on what I would consider the easiest test on Earth.” Princess… Pink(y)… Gum(m), she reviews the glaringly obvious three-parter, and looks over at his blank, human face. So typical. At least fellow human Susan had killer written all over hers. After the eel. Kill or be killed, she thought once more. Yes, her complicated arrangement of physical-psychical interactions used for the transfer were justified.
(to be continued)
“I figured we need to talk.”
“Mmmmm,” says Fern in return. “I know that was you talking since I was drinking my beer (!). So… what up? *Wendy*.”
“I’m still Wendy to you, huh.”
“Ever since Castletown, yeah. And, let’s see, you said you had information about the missing Lichen for me, I’m going to say. Part of our troupe after all.” She takes another swig. Blue Sky; pretty good. Hint of grapefruit, hint of raspberry, lots of hops.
“As you can see, my hair is blue. I’m not really Wendy here,” counters, um, I suppose this is Shelley, then. Shelley Johnston Struthers. Or Johnson.
“I see your hair.” Fern looks over. “I see your outfit. Crazy Blue both.” You’ve been taken over, she thinks. “What are your plans for this continent, this Nautilus, dearest? You’re here at the Scorpion Lake or whatever the locals call it — haven’t asked. Not yet anyway. Depends on if we’re staying. Are we? Staying?”
Shelley envisions walking around this inland sea of Nautilus, so full of arms they had to name it after an insect. Apparently. I knew it was suppose to be the Alamo Sea up in Grand Theft Auto V we were walking around but she became a distraction. Crazy Blue indeed. Will she keep the hair? Just found it by accident on the marketplace.
Fern: “We have to bridge the gap between you (points to Shelley in her yellow chair), and me (points to herself in the green chair). I think ‘Frank’s Moving Mountain’ was invoked. You can manifest that *here*, you know.”
Shelley was pondering what to say next when Fern got up.
Soon she found herself on a different parcel, walking away from the scene at the beach and its 4 chairs in a row. But not before one of those local giant crabs corrected her on the name Scorpion Lake, overhearing their conversation with his inner but still sensitive enough ears. “It’s *Starfish*. Starfish Sea,” he said proudly, having lived on its shores and in its water all his live long life.
“Oh, okay,” said Fern, logging it into her computer of a brain while continuing to head up to green beyond lower yellow.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0403, GTA, Nautilus, NORTH, Rank & File
Trading her jumping jacks in for jack squats, Fern sensed (and felt and heard) a great disturbance in the force.
“Lichen!” she screamed, intuitively knowing what had caused the castle to suddenly shake as in a quake, her exercising over but her exorcising just begun.
But first there was a problem of revealing herself in a proper way to Fink, who was now grieving over the resulting possession of his beloved Princess Pinky Gumm after the attack, the invading spirit having found the correct body to inhabit. Right now, Fern was just a figment of his imagination stuck in the basement or dungeon, guarded by banana soldiers to the front back side and side. Princess hadn’t said anything; she wasn’t sure it was real herself yet; didn’t want to alarm others until she knew for sure. This story must remain PG’s and not reveal any unrestricted, naked truths. And now she’s paid the price. Lichen needed to contact Fern from the Great Beyond and she’s doing anything in her powers to make this so! Even if it means displacing the soul of another. With Fink (and Jack) in the middle.
“Princess,” calls Fink at the bedside. “Come back to us, PG.” He looked down again at her blue-not-pink face, those slime green pupils set in pitch black corneas, the clammy skin. And she didn’t smell the same either. Not all candy-like but — dare he even think it? — sort of like death. Or at least rotted trees.
“Must talk — to — *Ferrrrnn,*” the spirit hissed within the body.
“Fern?” says puzzled Fink, figuratively if not literally scratching his head at the princess’ utterance, a recurring gesture. “Who’s Fern?”
“Well… I’m guessing it may be you or an alternate version of you since Fink is close to Fern,” Jack chips in from the other side of the bed. “That’s what my dog instincts tell me. I don’t know, hmph. Prob’ly should just stick to licking my butt and other more regular dog stuff. Call it a wild hunch, then.” And he proceeds to get on the floor and lick his behind while he’s thinking about it.
“*Jack*,” reprimanded Fink at the action. “What did we talk about, huh? Not in front of the princess! Especially not *now*.” He looked down and got even more depressed and desperate.
No more words in the script for poor, possessed Pinky Gumm. Now was Fern’s chance.
“Fink,” tried Fern again in a vision over the large, sprawled out body of Susan. “It’s me. Your other half. Remember. Re-mem-ber.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0301, Nautilus, Oooo, Perch-Mistletoe
I may have found a home in upper lower right left central Nautilus, continent that is, search at least ended for now. It could be enough, despite being only a room and access to a “collective” basement called The Crypt, spookily enough. Maybe there’s a reason the rent was so cheap!
The candy sentry is still present from photo-novel 25 when the Mosses — Fern, Lichen and, ahem, Redd, the red one — lived here, still looking out for intruders on his land. My Candy Shoppe didn’t make it the last time, existing for only a couple of weeks before deletion. But I have a different plan this time. Maybe the sentry can’t see *in*, as in the house he looms outside of and stares away from. I join the appropriate group so that I can rez objects and set up in my room there, also placing my newly bought barrel in the cellar. Let’s go with wine. Superb; somewhat costly but not too costly, especially for the quality. Gotta start somewhere I figure, and middle is often the safest and wisest choice between upper and lower.
We’ll see if I can stay longer this time.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0114, Nautilus, Oooo, Perch-Mistletoe
“Don’t forget about Lichen’s 4 Stomach Tour,” I tried to ground Fern.
“Of course not. But back to immediate business. Black Wall.” Then she forgot. Again.
“Right, right.” I shook my head internally while nodding on the outside. Fern didn’t pick up on my doubts, which was a little disconcerting itself. Lack of recognition. Brilliant in so many other ways. But not irony — comedy in another form. I knew we were entering dangerous territory.
She drew more diagrams in the notebook before her, a gray Mead 5 star spiral with 22 holes and approx. 5×7 inch design. “Pre-1906,” she said, still looking down in a pause between scribbles. “Probably around 1893 or maybe even dating back to 1886, hmm. Anyway (she shook her head), we’ll see soon enough. So the Black, the White, the Green will all be in their proper place and not all mixed up during this period. She punctuated the page before her at the appropriate spots, apparently some kind of crude map as I understood now. “Auburn was still Slaughter with its Slaughterhouse Hotel, or close enough, before the scaredypants changed the name.” She scribbles some stuff on top of what I took now as Auburn on the map, near the old conjunction of the Green and White rivers as I knew from previous discussions. “Everything was right. We can even go there, you know — this Slaughterhouse.” She circles Auburn which she’s changed to Slaughter, with a little cartoon house with teeth drawn atop of it to reinforce the link. “Thanks to the magic of Our Second Lyfe. There we’ll meet Middle. Are you grasping this yet?”
“This… has already happened?” I guessed, thinking of the snake, the tail.
“The Wheel is the middle of the Tarot, or at least the end of it (The Wheel, not the Tarot). 10… you met Tin at another hotel which is perhaps the same hotel — motel — in Room 10. You have arrived.”
“*You* have arrived,” I said. “What happened next?”
“I… drew my gun and opened the door”
“Yes?”
“She turned.”
“Right.”
“Then… black out. Loss of power. But I recognized her. Tin for sure.”
“Ten,” I said. “The Wheel.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s where Lincoln starts his latest Brain Daze. Not 5 days ago. We’re looking right at it in the beginning. Sunset Motel in the Badlands again. Then he goes and hops on his motorcycle and heads back into town from whence he came, or at least the Rancho Coronado suburb. Leaves it at another service station there after walking around a while, finding stuff, interacting with people.” I end my quick review of the BD, wait for Fern to chip in. But she wasn’t there any longer. Where’d she go?
—–
“Are you Lincoln?” she said at the start, knowing it was truth.
“Yes? How’d–”
“You’re heading the wrong way. You need to go further into the desert.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0407, Badlands, Blue Feather Sea^, C2077, Kabusie, Maebaleia/Satori
“It’s obvious that Hellboy (as she called him) is the Man in the Middle — this Middle Slaughter. And you know what that means?”
“No,” I said, lost in Fern’s brilliance per usual.
“It means we have to get to Slaughter before *it* gets to us. Black Wall. Diversion.”
Always the Black Wall for Fern lately. Where’s lighthearted Lichen when you need her?
“Pack your bags,” she then said. “We’re heading for Auburn.”
“Alabama?” I said. “What’s there?”
“Washington,” she corrected. “Like George. C’mon, let’s eat some cereal together and I’ll lay us out a plan.” She knew I was just a fill-in for Lichen but she had no one else at the time.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0406, C2077, City Center, Washington
When they reached the top of Birdtail and looked over, a surprise awaited them, like a field manifesting between the two matching, pencil shaped (ached nipples?) projectiles sticking up there, except in the distance. It shouldn’t. The cursed thing known as The Flesh Pit, mystery no more, would follow them wherever they went now — since they were a part of it, *inside* it, actually. To the edges of the Earth and beyond.
Then they found it back down on the plateau over an edge as well, reinforcing the insidedness. More projection.
Back in *our* reality (Our Second Lyfe):
“Damn thing wasn’t pushing through here yesterday!” Leroy Jackson Jones Johnson reported back to A. Pond over the incessant, evil humming. Uncle Barnacles’ replacement. A fellow Northerner ready to be replaced himself. ‘Bout time for A. to finally head down south to the “Slums” to pick up some new recruits, fresh meat matching fresh meat.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0314, Maebaleia/Satori, Montana, X-City^
Sunklands 