Tag Archives: MAYOR

March 4, 2024 · 7:43 am

2 days earlier…

They had wined and dined her after she arrived. The town seemed to want the establishment as much as she wanted to put it there, enthusiasm matching enthusiasm. Town mayor Golden Jim, named for his money instead of his appearance, looks on below as Wendy attempts to pull the local version of an Excalibur sword from a stone…

…failing of course.

All visiting dignitaries have to go through the protocol. Mayorial assistants Mokeujin Gold and (especially) Mokeujin Brass, most definitely named for their color and not their riches — not being paid enough for their valuable services by the mayor — couldn’t help but laugh at sprawling Wendy on the surrounding sand. Golden Jim was above such gutteral amusement, taking it all in like the established ritual it was.

“Next up we have the sculpture of Soupy Sells,” he moves the procession along after helping Wendy off the sand garden’s surface, “the person most responsible for the town as it is. If it wasn’t for his soup… well, we all know the story.” He was tired of telling the story. Maybe it was time to think about retirement too, join Newt in the ranks of the unemployed. 64 fast approaching 65 he himself was. “Golden you’ll notice, just like, well, me. He was my grandfather. Some called him Golden Jack. Some called him Skippy because he also did that. Some: John. Others: Rob. A few even spoke his name as Luther. A person way from up in the mountains addressed him as Oregeno. And I believe (he turned to his assistants here) — correct me if I’m wrong, Gold, Brass — but the former mayor once called him Jasper. And then Evelyn, you know Evelyn who lives by the docks. Think she said his name was Saucy. Saucy Sells. But that was probably just a mistake because of the old popularity of soup and sauce together back in the days. Back in *Evelyn’s* days…”

He went on and on like this, producing new names for the man, the legend they most commonly called Soupy. The spark of love for his job had been reignited. Attention to details like multi-monikers. Golden Jim also went by many names, but that’s another story for another day.

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December 27, 2023 · 10:10 am

00410407

“You don’t understand, Madam Mayor,” he spoke formally to his wife of 27 years. “I was soo tempted just to walk into those green green hills and never come back. I envisioned myself doing so. Still can.”

“So (the Our Second Life continent of) Maebaleia doesn’t stand a chance. If people here found out.”

“No,” he said plainly, bluntly. “Look at the depopulation of the once vaunted Hills of Bill in the central part of our continent here. Probably no actual spiritual energy left there by now. I’ve popped around there recently.”

“What of Horns of Hatton? Possibility still, you said earlier (in the week).”

“I-I don’t think so.”

Wheeler, presently playing the role of Mayor of this here Our Second Lyfe community that now calls itself Cass City, finally gives in. “Then we’ll have to block the whole area off. Our Second Life must be quarantined from Their Real Life. The link with the actual Azores will have to go away, like a beanstalk to Heaven being chopped down.”

“Suppose,” hubby Newt said back. They were in his downtown apartment at the moment, studying the corkboard Newt brought over earlier from her office in uptown where she usually stayed. More separate but equal stuff going on there. If possible, we’ll try to clarify the living arrangements — and the corkboard — soon.

“Another idea is to allow select members of our community to visit there, experience first hand the temptation just to chuck virtual in favor of real.”

“Keep the conduit open; don’t get rid of the, er, skybox. Heaven. Make it a religion instead.”

“Right right. Tell them they can go *visit* Paradise. But they also have to come back. They can’t stay there permanently. Or else–”

“They *die*, he he.” Newt was digging all this. Like a deep, dark grave.

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December 26, 2023 · 5:04 pm

00410406

I teleport to what I understood to be a skybox, high above my Cass City apartment somehow. Heaven of sorts, or at least Reality. I almost walk in front of a car which, at the same time, is shooting at me.

“Watch it cork for brains!” the driver barked through the right side window as he passed, face screwed up like a walnut. “Can’t you see I’m trying to work here?!” Street View camera person, I realized later, probably stressed out from navigating all these narrow Santa Cruz streets and alleyways. Also noticed later that the job certainly seemed incomplete, and that the largest and most important Flores island town here was only minimally covered. I wondered how he slept at night in his various hotels across the world. Probably pretty soundly.

His incompetency would make my *own* work that much more difficult. To find a reason for the Cass City Town Council to spare this real and actual Santa Cruz and not replace it with their own alternate history version. For I was married to the Cass City Mayor. And, in an obvious, surface conflict of interest, I was the head of the council too. So I had to convince myself first before Tom, Dick and Harry would go along with the proposal. Two separate worlds. Two separate realities, virtual down there and real up here. Separate but equal. Didn’t work in post-WWII Jim Crow America, but here in 1939 Cass City it might have a chance.


gaining a higher perspective on Flores’ Santa Cruz with neighboring island Corvo in the background

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December 15, 2023 · 10:59 pm

00410313

The disappearance of the gargoyles on the return passage really started throwing her game off. She fell on some loose ruble in their former room, near the crosshairs where your hair and also head could get roasted and toasted. No longer. “Where *are* they? What *happened* to them?” she said in a panic as she brushed off her polka dot ribbon dress and attempted to stand upright again. “Am I even in the right room?” But she knew the steep stairs behind her could lead only to this place.

More obstacles were ahead, including an invisible barrier impeding her way where there was open air before. She felt like a rat in a maze, trying to find the cheese that is the surface of this Cass City town and the return to her warm, safe desk at the mayor’s office. She felt in her dress pocket — *curses*; never should have worn this cursed dress. But the coins (real? fake?) and the figurine of the statue were still there. If only she could find the way out.

—–

The Mayor checked the time on her watch, cursing as well. “Where the f— is she?” she said aloud. “And, more importantly, where are those coins and that statue?” Town Council meeting in 12 hours. She *can’t* postpone any longer (!).

She turns to the map on the display board. “*Corvo*. *You’re* doing this. Aren’t you, you little bugger of an island?”

“ANSWER ME!” And here I believe she started to sob inconsolably, remembering the Abyss again.

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December 15, 2023 · 11:26 am

00410312

“Bulby, do you think I’m… pretty?” She was on her 3rd wolfberry wine mug and starting to feel it. She needed a confidence booster from one not directly involved. In other words: the robot before her had no sexual desires to impede his judgement. She tugs nervously at the ribbon on her right shoulder while waiting, almost accidentally untying it. Realizing this, she quickly moves the hand back to her lap, locking it between her thighs with the other one.

Bulby’s eyes in his head pretend lit up like 2 golden coins themselves. “I calculate there’s a 70 percent chance that is so,” he rattled off, then stared into her eyes with his now dimmed ones to see if this pleased her. He spotted mixed results and decided to lite up again and change the calculation to 100 percent, defying his logic. He can override it like that if needed. He had evolved beyond pure mechanoid back in the days of the 1st Robot Revolution (= 1st Robolution), marching with his kind on Washington B.C. a little before the 1st Millennium. Certainly a long time ago by human standards but not so much for him. He’d seen the Carthaginians come and go but kept his mouth shut about such things. He thinks, as a robot infant, he may have seen Atlantean “non-men” at a birthday party for his 300 year old robot sister Brightie growing up fast in the eyes of their robot parents Wattage and Voltagia, both over a 1000 years old themselves by that point and just glad they were able to build two children inside a formerly thought of infertile inner sanctum.

“Thank you (*hiccup*). That makes me feel better.”

“You better go back to the surface before you forget how to turn off the gargoyles. I’d follow you and make sure you do but, as you know, I’m not allowed to leave my post here. Must guard the treasure with my robot life if needed.”

“I understand, Bulby. Just (*sigh*) nice to have someone to talk to (*hiccup*)… for a change.”

“How’s your sex life?” he thought to ask, then saw that mixed expression again and decided to add, “only if you want to share. Madam Mayor comes down here sometimes,” he explains himself, “and gabs on and on about it. She has a, ahem, *interesting* one.”

“I’ve heard,” Clare said back. “Welp, mine is not worth these 2 fake golden coins on the counter between us (*hiccup*).”

“Oh. These are not fake,” spoke back Bulby, a bit of surprise showing through his highly filtered mechanical voice. He was just that shocked.

“They *aren’t*?” said Clare staring down at them just as shocked. Something had to give.

(to be continued)

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December 14, 2023 · 5:38 pm

00410311

Clare knew she shouldn’t have worn the ribbon dress, not yet. Madam Mayor had an assignment for her when she arrived at work the next day. To retrieve *two* golden coins from the hidden stash downstairs in the underground tunnels, no more but no less. “And be sure you turn off the gargoyles in the final chamber,” she reminded her secretary, her girl Friday. Yes, thought Clare here. Don’t want another Eldwina situation. But the sudden vacancy procured her job with the Mayor, after all. Weed out the careless, is how she likes to view it, not knowing the young girl from Gatesy Pearl personally. She’d heard she was a hard and fast typist. She liked to think she had a considerably softer touch on the keys without the loss of *much* speed. Yesterday’s ribbon change was the 1st she had to do since she started several weeks ago. This brought her thoughts back to her bad luck ribbon dress, her present situation. The underground was *spooky* — more dangers down there than just the fiery gargoyles, she felt. At least there was Bulby, a bright spot at the end. She’d known him in different, less dark times.

While in the final room with the treasure she took the opportunity to catch up with the robot, knowing the Mayor didn’t need the 2 coins until tomorrow’s meeting with the Town Council. She had to convince them, she said, that the connection with the Azores is more important than the one with Our Second Lyfe and the Maebaleia continent and such. “I have to explain to them that we are more connected with *Real* Life — up there in the real world instead of here in the virtual. In the end, you have to choose one or the other, see.” And so Cass City, Clare gathered, is being weighed in a balance against itself. There is a *real* Cass City up there, like there is a real Amiable over on the Portugal mainland, as seen in section one of this here photo-novel. And then there’s a virtual version of each. The difference is Cass City adds an alternate history layer, complicating matters. It’s not a more or less exact copy of its real self like Amiable. It plays broadly with the actual, setting up the possibility that Cass City is the replacement of itself up in the real world. This is what the Mayor wants to emphasize to the council. That there’s a chance their town is more real than the real one, if that makes sense. She’ll have to *make* it make sense.

“*Oh*,” she says to Clare before she leaves for the underground. “And also bring up the statue of the pointing man on the horse, you know, the miniature of the real thing that use to sit on that high ridge of Corvo. It might help me with my case. Bulby will show you where it is.”

“Yes ma’am,” and, steeling her nerves, she was on her way.

“I see you still have your hair, your head,” Bulby said while she sat down for her 1st mug of wolfberry wine, coins on the counter but for show not for pay. Everything was free down here. “Yeah, I’m not no Eldwina,” she said back, and both had a chuckle. Empty-headed, both knew or had heard about. “Probably didn’t even feel the fire burning it off,” one of the two joked a bit later.

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December 14, 2023 · 9:38 am

00410310

It was still before the Great War II that never was, leaving only the Great War in history books without a needed numeral to accompany it. Axis was not yet in control, and, even if he were, it would not result in war. Only a child (Alice Tart). 1939 would be the year by that time. But right now it was ’36.

They knew her as Clare by now, the Boss’ Girl Friday instead of Biff’s down at Southside. This was Northside or thereabouts, close enough to count. She heard the Desire streetcar pass by below and thought of conductor/driver Dennis Martennis, what he said the other week to her as the rain poured down outside, making it undesirable to walk to work like she usually does. He asked: Are you the One?

“*There*, Madam Mayor,” she said, her physical work probably complete for the day. “Ancient computer’s fixed. All we had to do was change the ribbon.” This made her think of her ribbon dress that she elected not to wear to work today. Instead she chose something simpler, something plain and black and more conservative. Maybe she’ll try the ribbon dress out next week on the public but for now: inconspicuous will do. Until they find out about the coins.

The mayor was right beside her, just having finished rechecking office files for the missing 3-n-1 folder, another thing the Boss had in common with private dick Biff across town. No luck.

“Clare,” she said, turning. “That grey haired man who came to see me last week… Dextre or something.”

“Keith B., right,” Clare corrected, knowing where the confusion came from. He *does* look like a serial killer, albeit with a code. ‘Nother one.

“Were you here when he left? Weren’t you on some kind of break at the time?”

“Let’s see,” she thought out loud. “I let him in, you guys talked for a while. It was about 12 and he was still in there with you. Yes, I took my lunch break at the time. I didn’t see him leave.”

“And I didn’t follow him out. Got sleepy all of a sudden — can’t even remember the next hour or so. We had coffee,” she said, thinking back. “And donuts… he brought donuts.”

“*I* brought donuts,” corrected Clare again. “Per your suggestion. Said you had a lot of figuring out to do and needed caffeine *and* sugar, a double boost of the grey matter… as you put it.”

“Okay, *you* brought the donuts in.” She stopped, trying to picture the scene. The information was stupendous, almost knocked her off her feet without the needed drugs. Moby Prick is alive and well out there somewhere off the coast of Flores. And pyramids are out there as well! Atlantis; Abyss. She had seen into the depths of her soul and it wasn’t pretty. Dr. Mouse and his Serapis Club may have a point after all.

(to be continued)

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November 8, 2023 · 2:55 pm

00400612 (holiday rotting away)

A homeless person in Millers Pond looks across the sim line and takes pictures of neighboring Millbank before it’s too late and all the Halloween oddity over there goes away for another 10 or 11 months or so. Specifically, he’s recording a supposed secret meeting between Dr. Mouse and Dr. Brown not far from the mortuary and mental asylum where we first saw them in this here photo-novel: 40, fast drawing to a close itself. Which will last longer might be a question to be asking, Millbank or this?

Two went in, one came out. Murder. Most foul.

—–

“Pretend you’re a woman of that type, Dr. Brown,” Dr. Mouse said within, “with alll these temptations just sitting there all around you. Would you stay on the grounds?”

“No red blooded man *or* woman could resist,” spoke Dr. Brown, knowing human psychology and physiology all too well. Convex and concave — attraction. Irresistible, especially in that overall climate. And he didn’t forget concave to concave; applies here too. The institution Dr. Mouse set up will not hold the girl, a true Venus.

“Serenity Lane, yes,” spoke Dr. Mouse about the fairer sex aspect of the situation, having studied the combined files thoroughly by now. “Drugged her, then drugged her over to the prison, the mother mayor’s magical cuffs in place. Serenity loved Marsha just as much as she loved ex-wife Shelley before; would keep her around at any cost. Shelley… Johnston — Johnston, right?”

“Yeah. Think so,” answered Brown.

“And the other?” Dr. Mouse tested.

“Brown,” answered Brown.

—–

Mouse couldn’t take a chance on the name synchronicity. He’d have to find another second hand to go along with his first in the aberrant bomb clock of time that is their story. Tick tick tick goes the sim of Millbank. Tick tick tick goes the text of photo-novel 40. Oh what the heck, let’s just start with this house to destroy the evidence.

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November 4, 2023 · 9:53 pm

00400607

She couldn’t stop listening to Black Sabbath after the Big Sandy party, even though she was in Donathan in Meat City now. Orders of Wheeler Malone Wilson the mayor, probably in coordination with Dolores the likewise Big Boss of Big Sandy who lived across Big Channel from her somewhere. Go over there (Dolores said over the phone again?) and get some *info*. She said back if so: give me a new black bed, a topline new black computer, keyboard, mouse, speakers, table and we’ll talk about it. Oh, and all the manga I can read, say, One Piece. Heck, all pieces. And some Reese’s Pieces, unlimited supply. And a man, a black man. No, make that any color I don’t care. I’m not prejudice against my own race, nor others. Oh yeah, a bunny — *do* make that black so that I can sit him behind my head to watch over everything. That’ll be the substitute for my dear departed daddy, making sure everyone behaves in front of him and puts on their best behavior, including me. I’ll tell everyone up front: Daddy’s watching, judging. He sees everything.

But eventually she tired of eager Big Sandy team volunteer Sandy Beech (name a chance relationship with his origin point), and One Piece overall, and brought in fellow Big Sandy alum Alice Tart to hang around with. Alice T. was still looking for sisters Wanda and Gloria, and although she understood they most likely weren’t in Meat City or the Omega continent as a whole, she went anyway. After all, they could have Black Sabbath concerts until the wee hours of the morning, cranking up Laura’s super nifty Sony Signature Series SA-Z1 speakers to the max. It was like Ozzie Osbourne lived inside their head, bigger than life itself, 1st or 2nd or any other number. All Osbourne. But first things first when Alice arrived.

“Did you bring Reese’s Pieces? I told (Wheeler? Dolores?) I was out and to send more over. Lots more.” Alice opened her numerous travel bags to reveal only candy within. Laura knew this new roomie situation was going to work out just swell.

(to be continued)

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November 3, 2023 · 3:41 pm

00400604 (Roy)

“I agree human, woman,” he clipped out. “We must have peace. But now you must direct me to the balcony region with a view of the stage where young Pink Krakow, Marsha will perform once again tonight at approximately 00:22:05. I do not have to add the PM you’ll notice, because I am former military, special ops. Retired 00:23:03 but that was just last night. That is an attempt at robot humor, ha ha ha. Ha.” Golden robot Roy Coy looks down. “And you do not need that belt, expressionless human, woman, to announce your desires. You are beautiful as you are. Peace!” He flashes a sign back as best he can then does something else on a whim. Golden Goddess’ prophecy is being fulfilled.

“Up here, Roy!” calls Madam Mayor Wheeler Wilson from the balcony just above.

—–

“I enjoy sitting here being Coy. Am I suppose to be shy? I looked it up. I’m suppose to be shy.”

“That’s the archaic definition,” Wheeler opposite him helped. “Try a newer dictionary; see what comes up.”

He updated his reference files. “Ahh. I see. A *pretense* of shyness now, often to aid allure. Like that peaceful woman downstairs. I took her belt by the way. I have it here in my chest container. I will put it on myself. That way I’ll be coy in a modern sense. Sexy coy.” He attaches the belt he stole from Bridgette downstairs to his midrift.

It does something to him unexpected, but he quickly reassembles himself. “Uh oh,” he says, hardly missing a beat. “Not allowed to do that. I must return the stolen belt or else keep falling to pieces; moral chip malfunction you understand. Excuse me human, Wheeler.” He flashes a peace sign at her in brief parting, thinking it was the thing to do.

(to be continued)

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