There’s grass (living) and there’s hay (dead).
Dr. Back appears ant-like on the hill. No going back.
“It’s a girl, Mrs. Kill.”
Tag Archives: Liz^^+++++%%
gamers
—–
“The guy’s been there forever,” whispered Shelley.
“I really want to play Pac Man,” replies Arthur in a not as hushed voice.
“How… (she glanced over) how about Space Invaders? Right next to him — you haven’t played that as I recall.”
“Really?” is all Arthur could say to this, giving her a look. Pac Man is classic. Space Invaders is a game for *kids* in his opinion, a shoot-em-up. Not even on the level of archaic Pong.
—–
They went next door to sip on saki for a while but the bleeps and blips from the now lone player at the arcade persisted. “Might as well go back to the hotel, dearest. Prepare for Liz again. I’m kind of eager to try out that broken telephone booth outside — see what kind of action that can produce.”
But Arthur wouldn’t relent, not for that and apparently not for anything. He’d stay here at the upper end of Mortons Gap until the ends of the Earth.
Does this also spell the end of Arthur in our story? Shelley has many suitors available to her, it seems. But there’s Liz. Yes, Liz. Arthur also recalls that and finally relents and goes back to the hotel, eventually ending up at the booth like she desired.
“Hello?” she starts the roleplay. “Is this the Moon?” She slams the receiver back into its carriage. “Damn thing’s broke — no *4*!” On cue, a telephone repairman saunters up to the booth outside, loaded down with the tools of his trade around a maximized belt. Until he dispenses with it.
“Dang, Shelley. Just not in the *mood*. Can’t get *over* that guy back there!”
Yes, Arthur might need to disappear from our story for a while. There’s always Keanoob. And Edward, who most call Eddy these days. Might as well drag another character into the story. Appears to be a motif for the novel by this point — character overload. Location will help stabilize: Mortons Gap here. Both of ’em, actually. 2 places at once.
“she just wanted to be included”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0315, collages 2d, Corsica, Kentucky, Northwest^
place of honor
“You are heart, I am spade, I get it.”
“Balancing point,” replied Shelley.
“Liz,” said Arthur, making her nod. “Both polarities in one.”
“Decision time,” spoke Shelley. “Heterocera or Nautilus or even somewhere else.”
“Looks like Heterocera made a move.” He looked at the painting again, the signature. Selen. Like the sim Selenia they had been investigating before stumbling upon this gallery and this exhibit (“Junction Points”) through Minnow.
“And the Heart Line Jem has been inspecting,” reminded Shelley to Arthur, her former boyfriend, her current husband. In the vast majority of Our Second Life, if not Morgan. But the town of Morgan (Orient PO) was dead. Probably all for the best.
“Baker said he missed Rubi, the woods. This is kind of a way to go back.”
“Nautilus is it,” Shelley stood firm, not ready to give up her castle. She had invested a lot by now. Plus the link to Iowa. She said this to Arthur.
“No option for the rebirth of Collagesity in Fordham, I’m afraid,” Arthur continued as Devil’s advocate.
“No, Arthur. That probably won’t happen. Even though *I’m* still there.”
“You and Franklin.”
Shelley paused before replying. A package had come yesterday for her thought-to-be assimilated tall, green friend. Roberts — Christmas present. She reached for it across the tracks. It contain (as Franklin described it afterwards) the Gang of Willard that blog owner Baker had taken away from her, like a misguided surgeon. Roberts bought it back. And brought it back.
“Franklin is gone,” she said, making Arthur arch his eyebrow.
“Baker won’t be happy,” he said.
“Baker can go to f-ing *hell*.”
“Hmmm.” Arthur looked over. The Retro Backless Dress below the steaming face seemed to fit. *She* was a throwback, non-mesh to name one aspect of that. She was closer to the Lemony Past than most people would suspect if they took her in surfacely. This box has depth, this box has a top and a bottom. Okay, she said Nautilus — stay on Nautilus. Must get back to that.
—–
Yellowmoon, Corsica continent:
“Here, Arthur. This is about Nautilus and its lemony past. Just that easy.”
—–
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0212, Corsica, Hana Lei^^, Heterocera, Iris^^==, Nautilus, Northwest^, Pond District^, Rooster's Peninsula
00350707
It was at the end and not the beginning but the marriage finally came through.
“Do you have a problem with this?” Newt ask in a low voice as the I do’s were being said. “Speak now, you know.”
“Why would I have any problems with this?” said Wheeler back. “Shelley would just run around with other men behind his back if she married George. This way she’ll be happy. Or at least have a chance to be.”
“Do you, Shelley, take Lemont slash Arthur…”
“And there’s always Liz,” whispered Newt.
“Yes.”
“Should we end there? Again?”
“Why not.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
END OF “SUNKLANDS 2022 LATER”!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0707, Nautilus, NORTH
00350705
“We demand to see The Wizard!” spoke Lichen and Liz together after marching into the room, trotting into it even.
“Wizard?” replied receptionist Cathy Catchulater. “Oh. You mean *Abs*. The Wizard *boss*.”
“Well,” said Lichen for the both of them, being the eldest by 10 or 15 years or days, “that could be him I suppose. What does he look like?”
Cathy showed them a picture she had ready for the question.
“Yeah,” she sighed and peered over at also onlooking Liz. “I suppose that’s him.” Alien, she thinks. Grey even. What have we gotten ourselves into??
“Have a seat on a cube, any cube,” said Cathy C. “He should be with you in about 10 or 15 minutes or days. Just kidding. He’ll see you now. He was waiting for you. President’s Ball.”
“Presidents?” uttered Liz, quite lost by now. She was into the whole horse persona deeper than Lichen, who had escaped the iciest clutches of The Void. Seeing this, Lichen ditched her own, got rid of the plume, harness, that *tail*, yeck.
“Now *you*,” she commanded over as the confusion lifted. Freedom!
——
But Liz didn’t have the guts to do it, fear retaking the reigns. She stood up from the cube and took a seat at the mirror in the guts of the town, waiting, like her equine fellows, for the next customer, hopefully a fellow this time. Because, unlike most of the batty people around her, the *inmates*, she wasn’t a switch hitter. Heck, she wasn’t even a pinch hitter, needing out in the worstest way. However her story is more complicated than the rest, perhaps, and we’ll have to wait till a future photo-novel to find out more about our lovely Liz, our beacon of hope. Goodbye for now! And the best of luck until you find an opening. Hold onto Trixy — she’s a dear. And Betty, despite her faults (like long and unexplained hiatuses from the, er, set), has a heart of gold. Argent — stay away from her, despite the name symbolizing purity as well. And Angel will act as a mother figure to you all. Build your imaginations. Pretend that you are somewhere far away with someone very special indeed, without warts and awful battle wounds and all those other things you will encounter. Stay strong, stay brave!
“Next!” calls Angel from the front room.
“That’s you,” Trixy says softly from the bed beside her.
“‘Bout time,” gruffed Argent with crossed arms in the corner. Think that’s it. Betty was in a different game this week exploring San Andreas.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0705, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
00350703 (one off)
Inky McOilwell just before getting fired, then terminated. Didn’t see or hear the leak behind her on Sunday’s Tuesday’s Thursday of last week’s Monday’s Wednesday. The specific day was Friday I believe, unless it was Saturday. Unhappy for Inky whatever.
Despite the loss, the ridge rig kept working, thanks in part to today’s fresh recruits…
… like Ginger here, just come over from the satellite base in Azzlebury and preparing for her 10th bath of the day.
And… is that Franklin watering the plants over there? She’s alive (!).
Jesus, Lichen and Liz in their horse costumes coming through the gate now too!
—–
Fern felt she was still 1 step ahead of them, despite the progress. “What did I do to you to deserve this is all I want to know,” the fellow boat riding minion spoke up to them from his tight fitting cage.
“You exist,” spoke Fern as plainly as possible. “1/2 fruit or vegetable, 1/2 robot… all bastard. And where’s the banana I gave you to eat? Did you throw it overboard? I don’t see the peel. Better not litter in this water. You know what happens to people — and creatures — when they misbehave around here”
“I–I…” He admitted he ate the banana, peel and all. He was confused about what he was suppose to do. Yeah, he was told not to litter. Why do you think he did it? he asked them.
“Throw him in the water,” Boatman Neil said for not the first time, tired of the yapping and begging and whining. “Let the underwaters have him.” He thought about his own encounter with MessianSphere not 3 years ago. But somehow he escaped. Or did he?
“No. We need him,” spoke Fern softly back to Neil only. Because she had a plan. Fern always had a plan, for every occasion. And 7/6ths into a photo-novel still without a plot was a special one indeed. Unprecedented if memory serves, unless it was 11, 16, 21, 26, 31.
We move on…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0703, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
continuing…
“I tell you, he’s listening in. He always seems to be listening in.”
Roger looks around, spots robot servant Ruttitutti apparently staring at them from the far wall. “Maybe he’s just concerned about our drinks, monitoring the fluid level.”
“What about everyone *else*, then,” returns Greta van Sustenance, also looking around but then realizing no one else had food or beverage. Maybe Roger the Green Grey Alien was right. Maybe this was all paranoia caused by the insanity of the situation. Rounding up poor little fairies of all things. Just because a man with a spider on his flag says to do it. She’s trying to figure a way out. She has reason to fear. Wanda.
Moving on…
Roger’s friend’s cousin Jack ignores another appearing purple cube on his way to get more cigarettes, understanding his priorities. Smoke first before reporting any other oddities. So many lately! He wonders what is happening, but only outside, on the deck, after the first exhale of sweet sweet Marlboro passes his lips.
Ruttitutti delivers a bottle of champagne to Kelli and Lynnette and starts monitoring them as well.
“50 a day,” says Kelli. “That’s what he said he wanted the goal to be. They’re rounding them up from every corner of southern Omega. Soon there won’t be a bloody one left. Whaddaya think?”
“I think (she spots Ruttitutti as well, looking on) I’ll go to be beach today to show off my new swimwear. Chancellor’s Choice!”
Oh, here might be something. K.C. was having trouble identifying a target.
Old Saint Louie, another alien but of a lizard variety this time, suggested spelling it targuit in the search, or, better, two words: Tar Guit. “That should do the trick,” he finished, then moved on to the next underling after seeing success reached.
Did the guard station then effect the newest and latest and most effective bombing of the Moray Docks Village, completely vaporizing it now, making sure the backwards, guitar oriented punk-folk musicians Tar and Guit were still at the center? And: is one of them really *George*? Shelley’s George?
More clarification:
Another purple cube, this time by the water cooler as first spotted by skinless Antelope alien Cobumblia. But she was on her way to fanny aerobics and didn’t want to deal with the reporting paperwork, much like Jack. In fact, I think they’re cousins through friends as well. Along with Johnson…
… who has a stomach ache today and is on his way home to the guard compounds after telling his boss. Don’t come back, Petter Cotontail thinks. One too many aches of this and that kind. He’ll report the green alien bastard — Shufflers, *pheh*. He might even be joining the fairies later, the waste of space that he is. Maybe Shufflers can be added to the extermination list, along with — if he had his druthers — Orks, Porcupeople and a couple of others. He settles back in his chair, eating another truffle.
That better be it for tonight. Sorry Liz!
“MessiaenSphere,” she cussed.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0609, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
stop and go
“See the whirlybird, Tabitha? Whirl whirl,” she emphasized with a twirling finger. “Whir whir,” the toddler she was holding mimicked without the finger. The actual birds in the vicinity, doves, remained frozen between them, opposing frantic spinning with rigid stasis in protest of the “invasion”. Or so legend goes: frozen birds, later the inspiration for a frozen pie company.
Tar stepped out of the copter, followed by Guit. The experimental, guitar oriented punk-folk fusion band Tar Guit had landed in rebuilt Moray Docks Village, ready to put on a celebratory show for the ages. Trouble was, they sucked.
—–
I suck at this game, thought Liz. But I’m not going to let these bastards know it. Fiction power: on!
She expertly places the 1st black stone. Everyone had to play clean, the rules stated. So they washed them down before the match, these opposing horses or ponies. They couldn’t take a water or food break until it was over. The Watchers were going to have a good time with this. Because they knew Liz couldn’t resist. Then at the end they’d all give her a big Thumbs Down despite her seeming big win. “In reality,” they might chide, “you couldn’t beat Lichen with one hoof tied behind your midsection. White never succumbs to black!”
“Does so!” she might exclaim back, and end it all with a fall of cards, or, in this case, a shower of rocks, inharmonious black and white mixing together in a fused mish-mash all around.
Robot servant Ruttitutti shows up, ready to take food and drink orders. It was over.
—–
Thank God, most of the scattering concert goers thought.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0603, Little Hell, Nautilus, NORTH, Omega^^, Southern
black and white
“She’s somewhere in that prison.” Lichen Roosevelt glances up. “Tall and narrow.”
“Like in the windows,” her companion Fern Stalin said for clarification, mainly to the reader of this here text. “The prison itself is rather short and squat, despite appearances from our angle.”
“Right right. Well?”
“France was a no go,” Fern said to Lichen.”Nothing in Mercury-Gemilli, or what we could detect at the time.”
“We had our Star Team tricorders,” said Lichen to this. “We should have sensed something if something was there.”
“Maybe later,” encouraged Fern.
“Maybe later,” echoed Lichen.
They begin to prepare for scaling the walls…
—–
“Liz!” Lichen exclaimed, waking her up.
“Shhhh. Keep it down!” she whispered as loud as safely possible, she felt. But she was overjoyed at the sight. At long last they meet almost eye to eye again. Get me out of here!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0602, France, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
00350517
She’d always been a Trekkie/Star Trek fan, as far back as she can remember. She primarily identified with Ouhuru from the first series, was obsessed with her, wanted to know what she did when she was away from the bridge, out of sight of the cameras, etc. So she found out the only way she could: fiction, fan-style of course. Later she started switching the characters around. Sooloo became the captain, and even merged with Captain Crunch of breakfast cereal fame to become Cpt. Munch, with the bravado or macho posturing of the original cpt., Kirklin let’s call him, becoming even more intense and more insane. He treated his crew more like children, child laborers, and he their master at the top of it all, straddling the hill with his two powerful limbs for legs. Pickard, the captain after Kirklin in the next series, became a “mere” redshirt, fit to be exterminated in any beam down party. Sooloo, also from the original series and who had replaced Kirklin in *form* in her imagination, developed into a love interest for Ouhuru, a way for her to gain favors from him in part. This led to the inevitable end when she got over her head in 1000 City, which the U.S.S. Ararat (taking over from the retired U.S.S. Cuthand — earlier novels I’m talking about here) was assigned to investigate because of a troubling black hole style anomaly (blurred with black horse and black ho concepts in the text) originating from that small but intense cyberpunk city in the sim of Gemini. The beam down party, sans Pickard who had been mowed down by an abominable snowman or snow tiger riding a snowmobile at its top level, its ceiling if you will, eventually discovered the time/space disturbance behind a bar tucked in the southwest corner of town. And here we are. Stuck still, black hole and black horse and black ho aspects inseparable now.
“Be careful out there Carb. And watch out for spiders!”
“Aww Maw!” he called back walking through the door under the purple marquee, beside the blank purple circle that stood in for a wall sign, behind the square, similarly blank purple standing or pavement sign below them. Bar Purple is another obvious name for the joint, but that was just more relics from the past. The new owner (The Void, we assume) had changed the name to the more innocent seeming and generic 1000 Bar, after the city. Ouhuru, due to the powers of the anomaly that might be behind the bar, but might be *where she’s standing*, forgot her Star Trek Team origin, became absorbed into it, much like actual black holes of our universe absorb light and matter; time itself.
She checked her watch and tried to think positive thought bubbles. The letter from the publisher is due today, any minute now. But she already felt she knew the answer, could feel it in her bones. Rejection.
“Another one, Ted?”
“Nah, thanks Liz. I gotta get back to the ship.” He vanished along with her hopes. In reality, the mailman arrived.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0517, Gemini, Hana Lei^^
Sunklands 