Tag Archives: Lichen Roosevelt^^+++++

00350414

“I’m telling you, Kurt, we’ve gone too far with this horse shit.” She looks back. “A *tail*?”

Softly, offstage: “We have to make it realistic.”

“What’s that, Hybrid?” Janet Zzyzx’s new nickman for Kurt Strawb was Hybrid, because of the whole fruit-vegetable thing he’s got going on.

Less softly, less offstage: “I said, it’s the White Horse Inn and Bar, or so it says in the new script. We’re setting a scene (to use one of her favorite phrases, he thinks).”

“I look like a *showgirl*. *No*. Make that a *show horse*.”

Kurt: “Debbie (wardrobe manager) put a lot of work into these costumes. And this way we leave the door open for a Black Horse Bar and Inn, an opposite. It has to be this way, Janet. We can talk offstage more if you wish.”

“No no. No no. I don’t want to hold up production again.” Janet Zzyzx felt she was acquiring a reputation for being difficult, a no no in the film industry. You have to be there, you have to say your lines, you have to *show* up. In this case she has to show up as a “show horse.” She bends her head and says nay to her inner doubts. Kurt probably knows best. After all, he has a way with animals as demonstrated by “Black Jack in Hell,” about its only redeeming quality. The hounds of such turned out to be very obedient beasts thanks to his training and influence, working well in every scene. Contrast this to contemporary Tim Spellwell’s “Tortures of Satan” which had the Hades dogs running amok and even attacking the cast and crew. He never even made it to freshman class, film directing career almost literally going up in flames with that one. *Show* a little respect to Hybrid, Janet thought here. At least he had “Studio 342” under his belt, perhaps representing a one hit wonder but maybe not. The critics will reassess after this one; they always do.

“Okay, send in the first loser,” Janet requests, and then starts to get into character. Lichen Roosevelt, Lichen Roosevelt, she says in her mind. Not the first bar, not the last. She’s a bar hopper but not the way you typically think of the term. She’s *experienced*, and she answers to Fern, despite being better at comedy, which is saying a lot, especially in her mind. Could Fern be a successful opening act for the Comedy Pouch in Possum Ridge, Arkansas? She thinks not.

“Alright, is everyone *ready*?” Now he speaks up, Janet thinks. Darn — out of character again.

“Aaaaaaaaand ACTION.”

—–

“Biff?” she repeats his name from the end of Take 42. “Like the detergent?”

“Annnnnnnd CUT.”

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Project Pin

“I love you Chuck, baby, but this is not my bar.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Goodbye.”

“Good–” Chuck looked around — no blonde. More chicks in the joint where that came from, though. There’s a red haired one back there, a black haired one over there. Looks too smart for me. I think I’ll choose the red.

—–

Later:

“No one, *sob*, danced with me!”

“Aww, Ferrn. You still got me. Your old friend Bookie!”

“*Sniff*. Thanks.”

“Here. Use one of my pages as a handkerchief. Go ahead. It won’t hurt.”

Ripp. BLOWWWW.

—–

A soggy, wadded up piece of paper appears between Shelley’s legs, waking her up.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0413, Hana Lei^^, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^, Sansara

00350411

Actress Janet Zzyzx heads to the haystack for fresh straw to suck on before her shoot. “Okay,” she said, satisfied after moving it around in her mouth, testing for texture, width, etc. “Ready.”

—–

“Today,” said director Kurt Strawb, a fruit-vegetable hybrid, “we’ll be returning to The Void for more North-South action. Hurrah, thinks Janet, believing she’d be going back to the bar that provided her free drinks after her last shoot there. But, alas, that place has been shut down, as Kurt alluded to next. “*Instead*,” he said, “we’ll be returning to the same place as the Cash-Carter cell shoot from yesterday.” Janet hadn’t been there, visiting Bermuda on a short break at the time. She was familiar with Claude Cash — who wasn’t? — but the Biff Carter character was unknown to her, having only appeared in the film for 1 scene before this. She said this to Kurt; she asked what happened. “Set the scene,” she requested from her sophomore director, involved in only 1 previous film before this outside of student work. “Blackjack in Hell” doesn’t count except as a big fat Zero, as wide as it is high.

“Welll,” started Kurt again, reviewing it in his mind at the same time. “Claude — you remember *Claude* don’t you?”

“Of course.” Don’t patronize me you sophomore, she thought.

“He shows up mysteriously in this police cell guarded by our Clubb — which is a double entendre since Clubb is also club, add in Carter’s reference to Kitty Kat Klub, which is, in turn, reference to the KKK and also Krazy Kooky Kentucky from Act I. Then we also have mention of Klancasterians from Act II.”

Way too much detail, thinks Janet.

“So when our Biff Carter, back on the force, at least for a handful of hours a week thanks to giving Phil that pill…”

Filburt, or Philburt, thinks Janet. Wondered when he was going to rear his ugly head.

“… shows up, it’s not previously seen Arthur Kill in the cell — or Kill van Kull or maybe even Lampton, all being part of one entity that was killed and then raised from the dead in the last photo-novel…”

*Please* don’t go back to that, thinks Janet. The current one was confusing enough.

“… he is able to, ahem, *fill* in for him, ha, and thus use his old squad car, which has fallen into disrepair in the meantime — as opposed to *being* repaired…”

Pu-lease, thinks Janet.

“… anyway, he uses this to track down the girl, he hoped.”

Another stalker, thinks Janet here, suddenly getting interested again. Just like — what was his name? — the guy in black, the *prevert* who stalked that other girl, the one who also always wore black, as in bikini, as if they were joined at the hip in some way. Or someplace else, hmm.

Kurt Strawb had stopped here, waiting for Janet to complete her reverie signaled by her glassy eyed nature. She looked at him and then looked around at the crew, all ready to start, all waiting for Kurt to finish his spiel. Too much talk! most were thinking around him. He’ll never get a third try at these things the way he’s going, thought some even. Sophomore he would remain.

(to be continued)

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West to North

She said she was on a break from bartending to better pick up men but quickly adding he wasn’t her type. “Too black,” she said, then snickered. He wasn’t interested in this *Marilyn* (she said) anyway. Too white, or not enough black as in hair color, as in clothing. Darla provided that for him. And he was bound and determined to find her and bring her home. He’d follow her to the ends of the Earth, or at least Ohio. If it wasn’t for his own shackles, however electronic they were. But *here*…

“Having problems with your i-pad… *here*?” Marilyn said, looking over while nursing her tea I believe and also probably reading his mind as well.

“Yeah,” he admitted since he had to. She was only about 3 feet from him and could see everything. “Won’t move from sideways.”

“*We’re* sideways,” she offered, then giggled. “You don’t even know where you are.” Fact.

Albert thought back. He was walking down the beach toward the Umbrella Club or Resort or whatever after finishing up with Claude and then… here. Someone or something teleported him. But he wasn’t too worried about it. He figured it was a feature of Our Second Lyfe he’s not familiar with. He’d solve the issue soon — get back on track. He was trying to google the problem and then this.

“This is HOME,” she said, and finished her tea with a big gulp before resuming her position behind the bar. Should be a busy night. The Umbrella Operation is not the only one with a deal with the Abyss.

“This is home,” Albert mused, still sideways, still not seeing the correct direction. He never will… here.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0106, Nautilus, NORTH

alchemy

“Lord, lord. Lord lord lord lord lord.” She shook her head as she uttered. She looked down into her coffee which wasn’t steaming any longer, meeting stretched beyond expected. Yet Newt had forgotten about the parking meter and the need to feed past 8. Too much had happened. Clyde! It’s back! The impossibly loud sound of horseless carriages transfixed. He was almost there; just up there. He could reach into the screen and probably procure some kind of souvenir or relic to bring back to the others: Fern, Lichen… and the one who most figured in as the cause, the one who was red, the one with the awkwardly long gams (she thought), the multicolored tree on the back and the fox and the octopus up front, black and white zebra’s eyes formerly x’d shut but now wide open. He can hear, he can see. He *must* get married after this. He knows too much.

Lichen went over and exchanged wigs with her. “See?” she said, returning to her seat, spell intact.

“See?” prefigured Fern and then also leaned over and exchanged her hair with Alysha’s. “Doesn’t matter.”

It was 9 before Newt got back to the car with the inevitable ticket attached to the passenger window. “Zero strikes again,” he muttered and then crumpled it up and threw it in the gutter, knowing the thing was now worthless. Nothing mattered in this Squared Root City in this most virtual of realities. Except 3.16227766. Let’s shorten it down to 3 so we can move on…

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00330316

She’d just popped down to the fire department to check her mailbox and now *this*. But she dare not remove the parking ticket and throw it away in disgust after learning it came from Zero, apparently a policeperson in this here town as well as the owner of that club. We have been reset.

Glancing over at a clearly distressed Elisa staring at the ticket on her illegally parked Mazda RX-7 sports car, Newt checks to make sure he’s off the street good and pays the parking meter before heading inside to meet the others. He understands parallel time as well as parallel parking. He’s seen three squad cars circling around the city now and knows the force is strong here, like Star Trek or Star Wars — he can never remember which one applies. Star, hmm, he then thinks. He swears this use to be Star Street instead of that long German name he doesn’t know how to translate. Why the change? He believes it may be a bad omen. Or a good one — hard to tell yet. Maybe the meeting with the 3 “witches” will clarify either way.

Uh oh. Likewise tardy Alysha coming from down the street. He pretends he doesn’t see her and rushes inside before she can catchup with him. He’d rather not have the meeting colored (red) before it began.

Just made it.

“You’re late,” black haired Fern Stalin says at the door. “And so is the other one.”

“Right behind me.”

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return to center

The candy sentry eventually, inevitably said no no no to the Mosses’ candy shopp and sent it away, along with all their other stuff gathered on the Crypto parcel. “Illegal,” it said. “Unlawful.” But the Mosses get away unscathed except for loss of property, stuff of dreams over.

Only a bit in the formerly unseen basement remains, packed up in one corner.

Then it’s on to Perch-Mistletoe next door to meet Dickie for Debbie, the agent sent in by Pot-D (or maybe Pan-Z) to replace absorbed Blue Rose Thorn still over in Lorsters Worst. Looks like rain.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0106, Nautilus, Oooo, Perch-Mistletoe, Upper Austra^, Yd Island^

peppery

“Hey loverboy,” she said, spying him spying through the limbs at the limbs. “Tree’s over *here*.” Marty moves his eyes from what Lichen called her sister to the now Santa-less tree. “Now all we have to do is change the lights out and we’re done, Christmas Tree to Winter Tree completed.” Marty kept thinking about the sisters, one black haired, one blonde, the one that less interests him strangely enough now his hair had been dyed. Ditsy was her name, she said. Didn’t sound like a real name to him, didn’t ring true. Yet they just showed up and got down on the floor and started talking to each other, giggling, whispering. The other one’s name was Zizzy; just as improbable. They said they were twins.

“Now you’re just looking in the air at something,” she said, still spying. “Come over here and help me take the colored lights off and put the white lights on. Say goodbye to Christmas.”

It was Valentine’s Day and indeed the traditional end of the X-mas season, just like Halloween was the beginning. It now stretched to almost a third of the year, Labor Day and St. Patrick’s Day soon to be threatened at each end if he was reading the signs correctly, which said “Happy Holidays” reduced to one. It was like the Nazis. It was like Attila the Hun. Soon it might be just Christmas and its polar opposite, 4th of Juli, standing. And then…

“*Dearest*,” she said more sharply. “Over here. *Now*.”

——

Soon they would reach the star at the top and have an important decision to make.

Niece Amanda kept carrying around her new uncle’s crappy Valentine’s bear present around, contemplating pushing him into the tree from this angle and ending the ruse. Might be what tips the balance in her favor, she thinks, sensing the building tension between the two. Zizzy, pheh. It was always going to be something new.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0509, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

Kryophelis (to each his own)

Despite the overall color, the bar was dominated by blondes tonight, much to Marty’s disappointment. He had traveled so far… He decides to roll with the punches and chats up a friendlier one named Lichen, who said she use to be a Moss. Then, surprising him, she moved behind the bar and asked if he wanted a drink. “Break,” she explained. “Men don’t like to pick up their bartenders usually. Want to have more freedom with their time.”

“What time do you get off?” he ventured, having nothing to do but kill the same himself. There must be *something* here. The Pointer almost always indicates, he reinforces in his mind.

—–

She tried the emerald green table again because of the eyes and all. Maybe she’d have more luck with this… Redd, *bleh*. Perhaps she could talk him into letting her dye his hair beforehand.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0508, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

00310504

While he was waiting for her, this Moss 03 who goes by Alysha, he decides to prepare a Valentine letter to her professing his new found feelings. ‘I looov…’; ‘I luvvv…’ Strangely he can’t get himself to write the word ‘you’ after a drawn out version of ‘I love’ or ‘I luv’. He looks around at the beige landscape instead, and the objects scattered all about the place. Crypto, he thinks. And this is where they live, all three of the Mosses, Alysha and the 2 others, the black and the blonde haired ones. Alysha: pure red. Red itself. ‘Redd,’ he thinks here, and then writes that down instead. It works!

Alysha Redd comes up from the main house, finished with her shopping. She couldn’t find the new tattoo she wanted inworld. Disappointment, but it may have distracted from the ones she already had, the tree, the orange and the violet. Sometimes she dreams about them: they are as much as part of her as her fingers or her knees. Not overdone but not underdone. To add to them at this point may be stretching it; and tough to top the tree. She’s heard tattoos don’t age well with the stretch marks that inevitably come. Nervous about meeting MAT again, she gently nibbles at at the silver metal ring in her lip. When to tell him she’s actually married, if separated? Probably best to do it sooner than later. And I suppose I’ll have to wake him up at some point as well, she tacks on.

She reaches the table. “Okay, I’m ready for our second date.” This one should be a doozy if all goes well, she thinks to herself. The apartment above the citrus fruit shop is all prepared, including another writing desk. He can pen all the love letters he wants after we’re through. MAT keeps on writing. ‘Reddd, Reddd.’ “Ahem, *now*? This evening sometime?” MAT wakes up.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0504, Metropolis, Nautilus, Perch-Mistletoe, Upper Austra^