Tag Archives: Mr. Low^*===

the bird beats the bug

We follow him down to the door of — where he lived? We open the door. Not a chained prisoner as we suspected a bit. Not sentient Christmas excrement Mr. Hankey from South Park, another logical candidate. But Casey One Hole. Casey One Hole, yikes!

“A Blue Bird?!” he exclaimed, truly surprised himself. “I was expecting a Cardinal or perhaps a Rooster at worst, ha ha. This should be easy.”

“He swiftly moves toward me,” Blue Bird who opened the door to the outhouse — or tramp shack or whatever it actually was — kept on explaining to the others, “towering over me, cornering me, as the toys had tried before but didn’t succeed with. Then I looked down at his ‘weapon’ and started snickering.

“‘W-what?’ he managed between snarls, and followed the direction of my eyes.

“A mop instead of a golf club. He *had* no weapon. He swatted at my head with it anyway in the subsequent intensification of anger but it just kind of tickled my cheeks. Soft as downy wings — charmed obviously. Something had happened. Casey One Hole had been neutralized through the outhouse — I knew now this was an outhouse, a bathroom set to be cleaned, perhaps in perpetuity.

“‘Better get back to it,’ I joked while pointing in its direction as he jumped up and down in frustration, then swung the mop round and round, aiming at nothing now; crazy as a beetle. I left free as a bird. Appropriate.”

“Poe fellow,” said Mistress, seeming to miss the point but actually not. She unclasped her wing-like hands and settled back in the rocking chair again. Venus on the 1/2 bed decided to sing a song.

(to be continued)

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the Long and Yd of it

It was a particularly clear day at the library castle in the skies, kind of completed tonight, or as much as I want to flesh out right now. You see, this is a window into the past. Or the future. Man About Time stands before a portal. He’s on Rooster’s Peninsula. Several other castles *could* be seen in the distance — both west (the titular Roost Never Sleeps) and south (Arkaig) — if only the fog were just a little less thick. It never is; this is as good as it gets. And so Man About Time — MAT — enters the castle to oblivious folk who don’t really know where they are, and, by this point, don’t really even care. But one thing’s for certain. It’s not just a library any more. It’s a fortress, a Center Point that Collagesity desperately needs in the present. Because the Temple of TILE just wasn’t hacking it in that role.

MAT’s looking for a particular entity, let’s say, a Man who is also a Rump, and a big one at that, really big. His Huge Ass plane almost grazed the top of the temple after he moved it from lowest to highest in the village about, oh, about 2 months back I suppose (CHECKING). Yes: a little over 2 months. He wants to give him a piece of his mind if he can find him. He understands he could be locked up in a key-less cage because he is the key himself. But where?

Back to the library to start his investigations, he decides on the spot. The castle gate raises in response.

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She came in on a ship bound from Wommington (island), this belle of the billy dance, tradition over there. Navel motions they called it during acts of war. Wommington had fought Constance (another island) but dare not directly attack Long (yet another island but bigger — bigger in a longer if not wider way). Subterfuge was the answer. And positioning on Jourdain-Benvolia (another island similar in size to Wommington and Constance) nearest to Long (see above) and, especially, Capitol Hill, one of the high points of the island and a popular tourist attraction during season.  As we’ve seen, atop Capitol Hill rests the old gypsy wagon with the flying key inside a cage, unable to get out because of its self-enclosed nature. Then just outside this, another cage, another trapped *thing* (thankfully!), Democrats ruling for now. So Capitol Hill represented a pivotal spot.

As the sun came up, she turned away from it and acted like she didn’t want to have anything to do with the small, caravan topped summit. All was good over there, she pretended to anyone who was looking on, which she imagined were at least several, and perhaps one or two spies amongst them. She couldn’t take any chances.

She carefully avoided the rocks that guarded the opposite beach like anti-tank obstacles. So many lost already! Like that bigger one over there perched high in the air and later transformed into several apartments for the Jourdainian rich and trendy, second or third or even fourth homes most likely, often purchased just to show up those poor, lowly Benvolians that they’d always be attached to by that cursed little isthmus strip of land. If only our God had remembered to cut the cord from those *babies*, they lamented about the tag along, more undeveloped eastern side of their joined landmasses. They looked down on them fer sure.

Somehow making it through all that crap and pulling up on the beach, she spots Chef-inspector Petty still studying the prize he received from the otherwise empty coke can days and days ago, because time was frozen here. Strangely shaped, gold: a key in one word. 319 he knew. Triangle. He stuck the key in his pocket to go along with his (paper) pills and threw the empty coke can on the floor after crushing it with his free hand. The billy dancer looked on, thinking she had found the answer. She moved swiftly. Petty was on the floor with a slit throat in a second, a seeming mortal blow. The belle took the key. Now to find the proper door.

(to be continued)

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Capitol Hill

I found the key but I can’t get to it.

But neither can he, hehe.

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no “hi mister” for him

“Damn *plane*,” Man About Time speaks up toward it in a more unusual outburst for him. For, as we know, he’s quite mild most of the time, almost all of the time as he goes about it in his way. But this was different. The plane almost brushed the top of the only living tree of the newly placed temple (!). Lowest no more it was in Collagesity this temple. Highest instead, and on a high point for several sims around. Much to be studied here, and MAT is about to go on a jag.

The plane and its most important or at least most famous occupant, indeed a *rump*, as in *ass*, continues north over the high beige ridge of Lower Austra, soon to encounter the low green western coastline of Upper Austra on the second leg of its journey. Destination: could be Rooster’s Peninsula in the far northern part of Nautilus. After all, we’ve already associated this occupant with Rooster way back in novel 2.

https://bakerbloch.com/2016/09/21/talk-3/

Might be another trace.  So many now…

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Blue Rose

While Lena Horned sang the entirety of her new album “Creepy Alley” inside for an exclusive audience…

… manager Zach Black danced on the deck with the less affluent people, although almost all of them had gone home by now.

7 o’clock in the morning. And he and Lena had to do the same thing tomorrow night, starting at 8. PM, that is. Mr. Low’s orders — he’s always one to give commands and not receive them. But the pay was grand, and they needed it on their whirlwind tour of the Nautilus continent, back on since the Maebaleia army declared war on its own navy in another surfacing of the ever-present North-South tension down there. They decided to amscray off the continent to protect their neutrality. Besides, Zach was an old air force guy, and, like many of his kind, didn’t know where he fit in with the conflict. “We’ll take the army boat out and the navy boat back in, just to placate both,” he said to Lena as they were pulling out of Cassandra Bay in the dead of the day hidden behind a bale of hay. It was the only way (he reckoned).

—–

“How was the party up at the yacht tonight?” asked wife Alysha to Jeffrey Phillips as he *finally* reverted and returned. “Good, I’m assuming. It’s 8 o’clock. *8* *o’clock*.” I get up and you go to bed. Typical these days.” Julius was now 3 years old and playing in the palm shaded sand outside the beached submarine they live in. His sister Julia was nearly one herself. Tomorrow was the 4th anniversary of their marriage and hopefully it would get off to a better start than this one. They would be heading back to the same yacht, sans Mr. Low. Because he had his own tight itinerary to hold to. He was heading inland with his new wife of 3 years, following the high central beige ridge of Lower Austra and then the low green western coastline of Upper Austra. Bound for the north in a plane with military insignia both right and left. Just in case.

(to be continued)

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two primary cores now, racing to a portal at the corner of a sim

“Who’s that over there?”

Standing up from the magical bench of his namesake island where he was just born, Baker Bloch sees the Fox on top of the lazy and knows he must begin his underwater quest or mission commanded by this nefarious Mr. Low, who lives in the temple ruins just right over…

… there. Not the animal on top of animal spectacle Low the Ancient evilly insinuated, but obvious enough, he supposed. He was told he had exactly 199 seconds now to construct the demanded, fake cemetery and not one second or minute or hour more. One dive, one portal, and 200 seconds later: done.

But the situation had changed from before, the Before Times we’ll call them. Mr. Low didn’t need a highchair positioned above the pretend graves of 3 fallen comrades to know what we’re talking about, calling down to them that he was lowest no more. Shouting down to them.

Because, using hindsight again, he was still a baby obviously, with his lowest of the low tantrums and fits. When will he be able to truly say “hi” to the rest of the world and act like a proper grown up? Probably never, I’m thinking, or a very very *very* long time in the future only guessed at through layers and layers of needed “lesson lives”.


then


now

“One of us may not come back,” spoke Joey to similarly white haired partner/rival Methany on what amounts to be the same island almost 14 years later.

“I hope it’s you,” wittily returned Methany, because it was in the script, the white one. Thanks to the entrapment of Crystal in the art (and pottery) gallery, they had moved past monolithic orange (or red), but blue (or violet) and the possibility of 3 (or even 4) loomed ahead.

“Oh look, here comes Hamlet the 199 pig to remind us that we must act quickly and dutifully to complete our mission or quest.” Blast from the past.

Silence for a bit as neither acted, then, “I can’t believe you held that nasty skull in your hands and talked to it.”

“Only way to find out,” Joey countered. “Let’s go!”, and she dived into the Bay of Pigs first, quickly followed by the other. Surprise move to begin — any small advantage along the way may be the decisive one, she figured. ‘I hope it’s you,’ pheh. Well — right back at you “partner.” She kicked bubbles in her face to reinforce the edge. Feel the bubbles of the lost second, *eat* the bubbles, SWOOSH.

Wheeler always had the advantage thataway over Baker.

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Ancients Rising

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(joined in progress)

Carr.:

They’re all coming back, all the Ancients. Isn’t that marvelous?

Baker Blinker:

*No* Carrcassonnee, I don’t think it is.

Carr.:

You are the Original Baker. Ur Baker. B-a-k-u-r. But I will call you sweetie. I call Lisa cutie or hottie at times to cheer her up. Us women must stick together.

Baker Blinker:

You can call me Ms. Blinker.

Baker Bloch:

Or you can just call her Baker Blinker. And me Baker Bloch, Carrcassonnee. Or Ms. Blinker and Mr. Bloch. Just not sweetie, probably.

Baker Blinker:

No. I don’t like that.

Carr.:

I will call you Original Baker. Original Baker? (pause)

Baker Blinker:

Yes?

Carr.:

The Ancient you call Mr. Low, speaking of misters, has come to take Baker Bloch back to the netherworld. The old world. Baker Blinker, sorry, Original Baker. Okay I’ll just call you Baker Blinker, or Baker Too. Anyway, you must keep Mr. Low underwater — sleeping with the fishes.

Baker Bloch:

Why did he manifest in the very spot that Karoz crashed last night? I visited Karoz at his apartment this morning. He’s a bit hung over, but he’s fine. I believe he’s taking target practice now at Poppy Pond, but with his silencer on as you requested.

Carr.:

Yup. Don’t want those things popping right outside my window.

(Karoz walked into the gazebo)

“There’s another one in my pond.”

Baker Bloch:

Poppy?

Karoz:

Yep. (pause) I think he might be dead. He’s floated to the top.

Carrcassonnee:

Did you pop him one?

Karoz.:

No!

Carr.:

You did, though.

Karoz (confessing):

Yeah. I couldn’t tell what he was. He scared me.

Baker Bloch:

We better go look. Excuse us Carrcassonee.

Carr.:

Sure. Bring me back a leg.

Baker Blinker:

Creepy.

—–

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—-

Baker Bloch:

Well, he’s dead, Carrcassonnee. We killed an Ancient. What will we do now?

Carr.:

Wait for the worst and hope for the best. More are coming.

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Meanwhile in eastern Collagesity…

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… the worst of the worst arrives.

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