“I can’t emphasize this enough, Wheeler. We are *here*. Elephant continent. Until the end.”
“I’ll give it a year and a half,” spoke up the part owner of newly relocated Collagesity, just like before. “And you, Peter Oesseo — like an opossum. Are you: *Baker* yet? You don’t appear to be Axis any longer. Not at the core.”
“Hucka Doobie is going to be *soo* mad.”
He stands up, alone in the office that could have been his given different circumstances. Santman was going to be born right over there, Peter Oesso, formerly TronAxis (etc.) lamented. And now he shall. I have escaped the machine. I will let another be absorbed, an alternate self.
I have made a decision which way the current flows.
The Storybrook garage will stay for now. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Beige/Brown will return soon. I will tell them a joke about 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. Marsha will remember who I am, and also the aunt. Ant. She can leave, then.
“I couldn’t stay away from you forever, dear, you knew that.”
“I did,” he spoke over to his unfaithful but still forgiven wife. “Dogg would miss you too much!”
A work in progress still, but Collagesity has moved to Urqhart or thereabouts. Former land in Nautilus will be set up for sale in the next day. Big news indeed! These here Collagesity photo-novels have found a new center to pivot around in all its various locations. Home.
“We’re not here to play with chess pieces, my lovely Linda Halsey,” Marty opens. “We’re here to play with minds. Give me a report on the latest over in Urqhart (or thereabouts), dearest.”
“Sure, um. We think Wheeler may be back in the game.”
“Is that good?”
“Is it?” she returned, and then Lisa Smipson showed up asking if they wanted menus but only brought up Vegetarian selections for specials. They thanked her while shaking their heads about needing food, not realizing who she was in the moment. Lisa then dropped this broad hint of how the game should go.
“You know, a mere pawn can be turned into a whole board given enough time,” she said in her pleasantly squeaky voice, bordering between serious and parody. Kind of like stuck between a 2d and 3d existence. Fisher the fry cook called from the kitchen, needing her to pick up another order. “2 Perch, hold the fries, hold the slaw,” he called, giving more hints. She turned sideways and fairly disappeared in front of them. Another took her place in a frozen slice of time.
“Yes I remember now. It was called the Red Rose and I was Peter (Peet) at the time. Before the explosion that destroyed Club 88, you see, and accompanying Little Jimmy, the lesser boom. This would have been, oh, ’88 I think?”
“’98,” corrected Venus Flytrap, by his side all this time, an Ant to his Uncle. “But what about *my* place, the bar (across the street). Noodle?”
“It appears so,” Axis aka TronAxis replied. “And the battymobile was still intact,” he added, zooming into the garage of the building now. “Mr. Fix It was fixing it up.”
“Perfect,” responded Venus. “It all makes sense now. Red Rose; Marty; The Lamb/Ram fusion (Rupert). We must then inquire about Legos.”
“Later,” requested Axis. They had enough for the moment.
Marty and Harry’s son.
“I *hate* Star. I will *never* go with the Star, pheh.”
Marsha “Pink” Krakow was confused. She had come back home to Storybrook after being way up in the air over in Southeast (aerial), then landed here instead. Apparently a whole ‘nother town on top of her hometown (!), or at least the start of one. Was this the future of Storybrook, hidden in the sky only to descend when the right time comes? And — will the right time be at the end of the Corona V Beer scare? Why did she think that at this moment?
She turns. Just like her uncle’s shop in NWES City. How? She hadn’t seen him in years. Axis or Ally or something. Yes, Axis, um… she can’t remember the last name. Her own uncle!
She looks across a side street…
… to see herself exiting a bar called The Trunk Ant. Herself! A different timeline, she realized. One where her Storybrook never existed.
She had found the beating heart of the Big Inside.
Peter/Tronaxis checked the next morning. The Esso poster downstairs *had* changed again, this time to Oesso (from Osseo). But the Tiger remains. Him, according to Wheeler. He was both embarrassed and pleased with the title. He still regrets being Dr. Young Kane over in the Weird-o Islands instead of Dr. Young Harris. Weir did he go wrong? What path could he have chosen differently? Venus knows, but she won’t tell him. She’s always shutting her mouth when it comes up with that zipper gesture she found online. So he remains Mars — Marz. Trapped here in essence, in this Purple Marz house located in a sim dominated or defined by that weird-o color (like surrealism). Maybe Blue Berry Girl would know, having successfully removed violet from her own wardrobe, this so called weighty Purple Sphere that poor little Katy Kidd/Kate McCoy always talks about releasing as well in a more mental capacity. A mentor to her this Blue Berry Girl is, despite the continued nudity. Popeye-like, she declares, “I am what I am.” Bulging eyed youths obviously foam at the mouth with the gunn sight. If only Bullfrog would have had the courage to shoot her with his own, different gun when he had the chance back in novel 14, he thinks, taking the mindset of the current doctor. “I better get over there,” he utters while checking his oh so loudly ticking wristful of watch, also with bat wings. He stops looking at it just in time to avoid another catastrophe. Too early in the morning for BOOM.
“Your — sphere is back,” spoke Axis/Peter Oesso, stating the obvious.
Then the ghost of Dr. Baumbeer showed up and things got *really* interesting. He had a lot to say.
(to be continued?)
“What am I doing here? In this sim, pheh.” She waves the bat in the air, contacting nothing.
Downstairs in the Purple Marz house, somewhat human again Jack Snow answers the door. For no one.
“Rerro? (pause) Rerrooo?”
How much for the lot of you?” Peter Osseo asks in a neighboring Southeast sim.
“50 lindens,” the talking battymobile responds for both.
Your job, er, Tom — just like before — is to guard it day and night. Just stay here. I’m going to find out what makes this baby tick!”
“It’s like a really — loud clock,” mafia dude Tom Blinks complains softly, then wonders the obvious.
Peter Osseo wakes up with a start…
… then vows to get rid of that crazy bat wing vanity he bought yesterday on sale asap.
Peter Oesso wakes up.