Tag Archives: Marsha “Pink” Krakow^^+++++

Pipe Room 01

Her friend Frankie “Beige/Brown” Hockentopper was dead. She knew it by the way murderer Tom Eugene Banks spoke of her. “Frankie *was* like that too,” he mentioned during the last visit about the similar ways they both hurled back the insult “f-ck you a-hole” when he asked them to do him a favor. Like, “*shut* UP.” Brown even went so far as to sing the entirety of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” after the final insult just to rile him up more. Not a really good idea, given what he did next. “Mary never had a Lamb,” he spoke over the body with smoking gun after cutting the third and last stanza a bit short. “They’re (the lambs) all gone,  Frankie, leaving dreams exposed — best left unrecorded.” He snaps a picture with his polaroid camera. He turned toward the Magic Red Door still on the wall. Igor can clean this mess up. He must find the *next* star — quickly, before she disappears from Storybrook altogether.

And so here she is. Attached to the same pipe as friend Frankie was. Then another appears, not Igor but a girl. Not really the ghost of recently deceased Frankie, although there’s an aspect of that involved. Instead: Jenny, who grows up to be none other than Your Mama.

“I’m here… to help.”

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switch 02

“I’m always having to hoooovverr in here for a proper sit,” Marty complains softly, still sorry that he had to absorb that poor girl Marsha “Pink” Krakow for the Greater Good by dying his hair black again. Almost half a meter higher than his median Second Lyfe position now, he returns his attention to the red doors.

—–

“We want to make sure it’s someone believable that enters those doors, Baker Bloch.”

“Sure, Hucka Doobie.” She keeps staring at him. “Oh — me?”

“*No*. It’s not always about you. *Me*.” She points to herself in the teal boathouse still rented by Baker Bloch in town, having given up on the green one closer to the church just today. Former occupant SEAN is truly gone from Storybrook: back to New Orleans for him, sans Marsha to his great disappointment. He should have never tried the Big Reveal. “Marsha was just too young, too *brainwashed*,” he speaks aloud to The Mann (her father) 5 years later in the New Orleans Blues Little Rock bar in nearby Little Rock, Arkansas.  A pity visit that turned into friendship and beyond: The Mann now truly loves this 28 year old black man with developing arthritis just as much as his little girl in ways. “I’m — sorry you had to leave, SEAN,” he spoke soon after arriving, looking out at the current of the stream sweeping another magic toy down to the bay.

—–

“Come with *me*, fellow hoverer.”

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STAR

All proper passageways to the Big Inside had been sealed up.

Yet Marsha “Pink” Krakow, basically without friends now, drummed on and on, faster and better than ever, speeding toward New York.

The Black Elephant consumed her.

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The Room

Brown/Beige was tittering yet again. At basically nothing this time. “Who (*snicker*) is that *girl* over there? (pause) Playing that (*giggle*) game?” she asked bestie Marsha “Pink” Krakow at the gas station owned by Pete Oesso now.

But suddenly she was *there*, stars on her shoes. Someone had been in her shoes before. Similar choices.

She stepped back from the machine that had nothing on it. She looked over: Brown/Beige was gone from the window seat. She was alone in the gas station.

She changed again, remembering more.

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the story continues…

SEAN “Green” Penn was the last person who lived on Arnold Lane, now covered in sand and almost forgotten in time. And now he was leaving as well, heritage perhaps lost to the town. Back to New Orleans where he came, back to The Man and perpetual plans to move to Little Rock in Arkansas and decrease the blues a bit. Just a little, just enough to put thoughts of ending it all out of the picture. The more limiting framework of a polaroid might help here again, so he took Pink’s with him, studied it until sometimes late at night when the moon was full and the stars were obscured by lighted sky. “We will be married one day and I can reveal to her my truth self, black behind white. 28 years old and developing rheumatoid arthritis in my back and neck and not a 15 year old with developing acne.” He’d learned that from Olive, *remembered* it because of her. Now the heritage was with him. He must return.

It was 5 years in the past 5 years in the past 5 years in the past. But it was also present. Marsha “Pink” Krakow had a choice to make.

“Welllll. I guess this is it, Marsha. Out with the Old, in with the New, as they say.”

“New *What*, though?” asked Marsha, piggybacking on something SEAN had revealed earlier in the evening. Marty had sent former top assassin Arthur Kill away — a possible way to cross the river into Staten Island and New York proper. She *knew* that. But she kept asking. *Was* she a star? *Could* she be? She stared over at SEAN, studied the lines on his concerned face, the pain of realization. No. She couldn’t go with him. Not now not ever. Storybrook remains Story*book* forever and ever. There were different currents, true, but only one unity under church and god, and that church had a red top. STAR, she must be.

She picked up the drumsticks she brought with her and went over and kissed SEAN full on the lips before departing. Back to the “Good Side” and loving parents who are, yes, split right now because of her, but also loving and caring still. And Dogg! Who could forget Dogg, both shades of him. A true Great Dane he is.

SEAN will be *fine*, she tried to reassure herself as she walked away from Arnold Lane that night, tears in her eyes. I will send him another polaroid when I become a true star to cheer him up again.

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irreality

She carefully checked her inventory. She had only 1 even satisfactory picture of it, a polaroid taken almost 2 months back now. Nothing worthy of showing former photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Banks for artistic reasons. But still, very *meaningful* to her.

A solid lime green car, formerly in the very back of the backyard of her neighbors the Hendersons who had since moved to even greener pastures. She thought she might make a poem about the object; call it “Lemon”.

There was no feined variation of hue
Lime green it was through and through
A car of such utter color solidity
That it brought into question the rest of the city

It was a start at least. Her inspiration for the title, a Warhol print pointed out to her by Brown (Beige):

And now Tom Banks is accused of killing Gene Kelley (aka Jake Trimmer aka Mr. Fix It) behind another lemon of a truck, as he called it that day of the killing, in front of Brown and herself no less at his gas station. Of course they didn’t understand the circumstances at the time — couldn’t grasp the gravity of the moment. Now it weighed on her mind constantly, and she turned back to the other lemon in town, that queerly solid hued car behind the Henderson’s house, almost hidden within a small grove of trees there. The two *had* to be connected. But how?

She remembered being disappointed that the car was suddenly gone, followed by the Hendersons themselves. She never got to ask Gerald or Geraldine or Gerald Jr. or Geraldette about it, so quickly they left shortly after the sighting. But she has the polariod, she didn’t dream it up. A solid lime green auto. And now she suddenly feels that the town is empty without it, a shell of what it was. Growing pains are difficult. She better get down to SEAN at the beach, help him continue to move…

—–

“What are these, um, *eggs*?”

“Oh… just something I bought from some witch over in Egg Hill Sink,” Green replied to Pink, obviously thinking of Olive here.

There was only one egg, he understood now. And it was a nest version.

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elephants

“Well. That looks like it for Collagesity in Nautilus, Hucka Doobie. Can’t upgrade beyond a 8192 here any more. Only way to expand is to move to Urqhart.”

“Or thereabouts,” amended Hucka. “Not *quite* in Urqhart.”

“Close enough,” responds the male Baker, perhaps soon to be sole owner of this downsized Collagesity if things swing back the other way. Wheeler Wilson will be out on her high heels. I wonder what that would do to the somewhat diminished town moving forward? Will Carrcassonnee fully return? *Can* she? With perhaps help from relative newcomer and fellow one eyed monster Frank, for example? Trouble is, there might not be a Temple of TILE to house them, if so.

Bottom line: I have an 11924 in Urqhart or thereabouts to play around with or else sell again in the next several weeks, probably for at least the same amount I bought it. Only thing risked, really, is increase of tier for the month. But like the RL wife said, it’s all for art. Why not? Not much of a risk at all in the bigger picture.

But the sale could be the 8192 in Nautilus. Here.

In my estimation, Hucka Doobie is plotting to eradicate Wheeler from the picture: push the fusion of Collagesity and NWES City and the at least partial absorption of the former into the latter, kind of like what was planned for Collagesity and VHC City several years back in the story of photo-novel 4. We’ll see if Baker Bloch/Barry X. Vampire listens close enough.

“The story of Mainland remains downsizing,” she continues in her urgings. “NWES City is an anomaly in that way. We *must* latch onto that energy. The signs are there.”

“Oesso signs,” replies Baker Bloch, also thinking of the newest collage set in NWES City and its perpetual window. To what, though?


Star?

I think it might be swinging.

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further

“I want to be a Bonham or a *Moon*, but not necessarily a *Star(r)*. What did Uncle Axis say, exactly?”

“You better ask your mother about all that. It was *her* brother.”

“Okay. I will.” Then she put down her fork only to pick it up again. “As soon as I finish eating this superbly delicious meal Ross C. prepared for us.”

“Thank you, child,” robot maid Ross C. cooed from just around the corner, humming with pleasure.

—–

“I’m *sure* SEAN “Green” Penn won’t mind me borrowing his row row row boat while he’s gone to New Orleans again. Maybe I should have gone with him. Gotten away from thinking about the Big Inside — too much time on my hands without him, etc.” She looks straight ahead and aims the boat accordingly. “Sure hope mom and Charlie aren’t at it again, like the last time I dropped in. How embarrassing!”

—–

“Yes, that sounds like Uncle Axis,” responded Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s mother Parasol (Krakow?). “By the way, I forgive you for telling your father about us.” She looked back at Charlie Banana, eating yet another of his kind. “Sure, sure,” he mumbles with mouth full of yellow. “Tell your (swallow), dad, that its the best thing that happened to us. The sex is truly *amazing* now with all the guilt going on.” He stared at Parasol again. “Not that it wasn’t *amazing* before, um.”

Now white Parasol turns to her daughter again. “Just go back and tell your father that you’re okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay. The Big Inside is just a dream. You were dreaming, dear. Dr. Baumbeer has been dead in his grave oh, about, 5 months now. 1/2 bat (and here Parasol laughs) — I don’t *believe* in monsters, sea *or* sky.”

“I saw one,” spoke over Charlie Banana again while peeling one more. “I’ve lived on the water, this houseboat, all my adult life. “I’ve seen ’em.” *bite*

“Oh stop it.”

—–

And with this Marsha “Pink” Krakow returned to her “Good Side” of Storybrook mansion, convinced the session with the resurrected Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer was all in her head. Wrongly, of course.

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Big Inside 02

Per the good doctor’s recommendation — no surprise here — she stared at the tv static for what seemed like ages, trying to make sense of the appearing and disappearing shapes. After a while, she heard what was suppose to be the observing doctor snoring behind her. He must have been out for a while, she deduced from the still undrunk milk. And here I am, trying to *remember* so hard.

She turned back to the static and cleared her throat *loudly*. Dr. Baumbeer sat up with a start, mumbling. “S-so, ahem, how’s, er, it going dear? Are — are you remembering anything? Anything at all?”

“No. Thanks. Not yet. I think we should end for the night. I need to get back home to my parents.”

“Oh that’s right. You probably think you’re — WELL, how old do you think you are, Marsha?”

Marsha knew she was a star now. She’d gotten that far. But the overlapping timelines still confused. “15?” she guessed.

“Well then you better run along! Dinner is probably getting cold at your house. I trust you know the way out.”

Marsha knew there was only one entrance to this second floor room. *Oh*, she needs to ask about her uncle, and why this building is the same as the one in NWES. She does.

“Your Uncle Ally or your Uncle Axis?” returned Dr. Baumbeer, attempting a weak joke. “They didn’t get along; that’s actually where the timelines split. For all of us.”

“Axis, I think. I don’t recall an Uncle Ally.”

“Yes, that would explain it,” and he sat back and folded his hands behind his head while gazing blankly upward with his still spectacled eyes. Soon he was snoring again. Marsha “*Pink*” Krakow left him alone now.

—-

“Oh just stop it.”

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Big Inside 01

“What’s so secret?” But the girls just tittered and waved her on.

She entered…

—–

“Pardon the mess, fellow patients,” spoke the revived Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, fairly fresh from a grave and sporting a protective bat covering now. He decides to explain his resurrection first. Good idea. Let’s listen in.

—–

“They had to go back to conception and take out half the rabbit and replace it with half bat, which removed the attached rat(s). My parents had to cooperate. They’re not dead because of it but let’s just say they’ll be incapacitated for a while. Resurrection takes energy! But here I am — *voila* (he indicates his renewed body here). Waiting to get your ideas about how to manifest true center again in NWES City.”

“Storybrook,” corrected Marsha “Pink” Krakow from the door, unseen until now.

“Oh.” He turns and peers at her intently. “So you’re on *that* timeline. WELL (he glances back)… you must think me a raving *lunatic* for talking to a bunch of empty chairs! Why don’t you join me. Marsha *Star* Krakow.”

“You know my name?”

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