She lay on an inflatable slice of pizza in what was once the Monkey City sewer system, staring at her remnant home in the area. She should go with the rest of the characters back to Maebaleia, pull up stakes here on this Nautilus continent. She knew that. She’d been banned from basically half the old Monkey City sim already (!). But more was at stakes. Not vampires (she reads my mind), but something else. Not sand castles and the ability to blow up from small to really tall, although that will play a role later.
“I *see* you in there.”
Her energy had run low from the paddling, thus the “reversion” to witch form. She remembers — Paper Soap. The pizza “squeaks” unpleasantly as she shifts her weight on it with the thought. But she has her revenge.
“I had to move. The houses and structures kept closing in. Soon *I* would become a house, a structure. Time to go on. I searched for a sim, a place for center. Nothing would be as perfect as Purden, the 128 128 128. I had moved before, returned. I knew what it took to be Mobile and the consequences suffered or endured because of it. I changed. Out of the ground and into the air and all was different. I could be either male or female since I was both. I had to retain some green in my form but that was about all. I could even be a car. Right Alena?”
“Right Core,” he spoke out the side of his-her mouth to the other being inside the tree.
“Good thing we both can breath underwater,” returned female Alena from the other side.
“That’s just what I said when I showed up here in Iris!” offered listening Snowmanster, still present at the psychic talking tree in the exact center of The Shallows. 128 128 again, but without the third 128 this time. Not perfection. But it seems to do for the moment.
Floating Old Grey in her bubble piped up for the first time during the visit. “I was killed. Murdered. By…”
“Now now, Old Grey. Don’t try to think too hard. You’re freshly dead after all.” Snowmanster stood back and looked at her, snowy hands on frosty hips in a studying gesture. Core-Alena as one was scrutinizing her as well. She floated, she bobbed and weaved seemingly at random but basically in the same spot.
“Oily way,” the tree being(s) said after an interval. “That’s the phrase I was thinking about back there.”
Time to ponder Gong again and the Flying Teepot.
Later they all ate sushi with oversized toothpicks at Black Diamond’s. Big Wanda with “deflated horns”, as I’ve called her floppy pigtails, was in charge, Spore’s plan in action. Master judo samurai Black Diamond (background) gave Little Oakley Annie the honorable name Green River during a pre-meal tea ceremony and her mama the name Kummer, which was short (he explained) for, “coming mother”. Or so that’s what they thought he meant. We were working with places in Washington again, switched from Illinois switched from Mississippi. Faulkner had no hold here, the Rule of the 100 and the way of fame and fortune conveniently forgotten. Zzz was not about Faulkner, nope. This was the mother, this was the father, but not the son, the fruity one.
Big Wanda spoke. “Little Annie Oakley, *sorry*, Green River, has fallen asleep again, cutting zzz’s instead of being in the moment. Too much fighting in life will do that, drain you of the oh-so-precious life force because you have done so with others.” She turns. “But you’re holding up well, Old Grey. How’s that floating device going?”
“Pretty good,” Old Grey admitted, knowing indeed what is holding her up and propelling her forward. Snowmanster and she will be at the tree again soon. In fact: they’re there.
“Interesting,” Core-Alena says to begin in his-her feminine/masculine voice and staring toward Old Grey’s way.
Old Mabel had trouble getting to sleep. She kept thinking of poor Snowmanster and Spongebub and Snowbob. She decided to teleport back to the room where it happened. She simply typed “Ask” to find the location. Interesting.
“That woman over there must have seen it all,” she says while within. “Ma’am, are you alive?” No answer.
“What’s she staring at?” Old Mabel moved her camera angle behind the slut’s head.
“The drink machine? Hmmm, no drinks within.”
Then it dawned on Old Mabel as the sun sphere touched the horizon. Opening!