Tag Archives: Peter SoSo^*

another return

Rocky Racco sat in front of his typewriter waiting for a story to happen but it never did.

He went to the theatre to try to envision a play being acted out onstage, perhaps an interpretation of the novel he couldn’t start. Didn’t work.

What *was* it about this place, Old Ben — Bennington — but now New Ben: Bena? Creativity seemed to be sapped from the town. Before going back to his cave-home and sleeping the rest of the day for lack of anything else to do, Rocky decided to go visit Ben at the town bar, the center of it all down through the years, gluing old and new together to make something most likely not quite as good as either.

“Creative drought, eh?” he responded to Rocky’s confession of writer’s block. “You know what I do when something like that happens to me? Go fishing.” He looks to the large castle out in the water with this, tucked away in the northeast corner of the sim. Quite similar in this positioning to the Northeast Castle of the Hilling sim featured in the last section of this here photo-novel, perhaps too much so. There be the answers, Rocky realized, picking up on Ben’s accent in his mind. He’d have to rent a boat.

“One more thing, laddie, before you be renting that boat,” Ben further advised. “You be also seeking a double to this town, but not Hilling. Don’t go back to Hilling.” Rocky was thinking: I’ve never been to Hilling and don’t even know where that is. Maybe that was his problem. He didn’t have enough backstory himself to go off and start creating microcosms of reality through books and plays.

He recalls… something about a hotel. Yes. I can start there.

“Hello, anyone… here?”

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Serenity again

He was just a kooky old Japanese guy on permanent vacation. But at least he brought his slippers to Rose-, er, this *place*, unlike fellow vacationer Donald Farr before him earlier this winter. He’d heard the robot play the 2 “Gouldberg Variations” in a row, a realm favorite thanks to Merry. Bookends they were, and belonged together as one. Now he was ready for Zoidboro’s sermon at the Church of the Fly Lord behind him here. Perhaps he’d meet Peter today. Parasol said he would like him. Another old dude. And spoke a bit of Japanese, even.

—–

“The world is a windshield,” Zoidboro preached through tentacle covered mouth, “waiting to take you out when you least suspect it. Take Little Timmy Flick last week over on Highway 52 behind the old Tastee Freeze. Take Thomas the Elder this past Tuesday before the last Wednesday after Monday’s Friday at the Yoko Ona Parody Museum, in the parking lot even. Yea, parking lots can be dangerous too. Central parking lots especially. To get to a Square, you must always Times something….”

Ji-San turned to the man sitting next to him and spoke low beneath the sermon. “Are you per chance Peter?”

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It’s perch for God’s sake.

Mr. Babyface direly needs to find his nephew in Hana Lei and attempt to talk some sense into him, but he can’t seem to stop studying this Big E provided with the apartment.

“Ahh, what the heck,” he says, prying himself away from the object. “Time to take the plunge…”

—–

“Me Gods, what a mess. A Messiaen Mess.”

He turns around in his tracks, staring into the heart of infantile Hana Lei. “Where *are* the stoneheads?”

He walks down to take a closer look.

The band now known as Lamb were all gathered at Chunkies playing Guess That Fish when Paul heard him grumbling to himself on Swingset Knoll beyond the door. There could be no mistaking.

“Uncle… *Babyface*??”

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Burster

“Next month??” Paul was incredulous. Peter SoSo and Tronesisia had paused their dart game to listen in. Mary Tyler began sobbing a bit.

“Yup,” states Terry the fire-ickle bartender. “The blue dude — Improvio I think — came in himself and booked the upstairs for October, same deal they have at Clownski’s. Levi wouldn’t give ’em any more than that at one time over there. But you can bet the bang on my belt there’s more deals to come. Mr. R. — Rocky — likes ’em, likes their music. Bang bang bang bang. More bang for the bucks, he said. Oops. I guess that’s a little insensitive.” But Terry was at least sensitive enough not to repeat the exact sentiment Rocky issued about their group, which was, “f-ck folk.”

“We… have nowhere to go,” Mary exclaimed. “We’ll have to leave Olde Lapara Towne! And I was really beginning to like it here. They’re forcing our hand.”

“Lamb must live,” agreed Peter SoSo. “There’s no killing it now, no going back to where we came from as Peter, Paul and Mary, separate and alone.” Tronesisia tried to nod in agreement but ended up just having a belly laugh. She excused herself by saying her gestures module needs rebooting.

“I think I might have an answer,” Terry said slyly. “Jacob… you know the groovy lawnmower…”

“Of course,” states Peter SoSo. “He’s what keeps us high as the sky.”

“Well… he found a portal right underneath this bar. It’s those sand dunes… sand castle. They lead to a cool and hip and far out place. Said it was called Melancholy Island. I tried it out myself. I think we — or you’s guys anyway — can help them with their problem.”

“What do you mean?” asks a sniffing Mary. Paul offered her his handkerchief.

“You have grass, right? Lots of it, thanks to those magical seeds you bought from New Lynne, Paul.” Mary blew her nose long and loud.

“Correct,” replies Paul, taking a fully loaded handerchief back from Mary.

“Well,” continues Terry, “turns out they *need* grass. They have the stubby version, the stuff that doesn’t really need to be mowed, but you people have the real deal, the weedy grass. The high version.”

Peter has a belly laugh with this as well. He quickly clears his throat and says, “catching,” while looking at Tronesisia. Paul couldn’t help sharing a small smile with Mary in the moment, each thinking that those two, forward looking robot and backward peering merman, were simply made for each other. Just like they were. Paul and Mary held hands.

“Alright, we’ll check it out,” Paul said. Everyone had forgotten about the secret weapon Buster set up, but were quickly reminded when Chef/Inspector Petty (not Pety — he’s different) burst into the bar through the red door and instantly began grilling.

“What all this about Renaldo O’Donnell springing back to life and then dying again??”

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Clown at Clownski’s

“Performance artist??” exclaims Paul.

“And he says he’s been doing this a long time,” interjects Buster.

“Yes,” answers the famous clown. “And I can help *you*”… he pauses and turns toward Buster. “Er, what did you say their name was again?”

“The Lambs,” replies Buster.

“No,” states Mary firmly. “Just Lamb.”

“Well then, I can help *you* Just Lamb.”

Mary sighs. This little bloodsucker’s plan better work, she thinks.

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pass the vegetables

Also the next day, a fully returned Mary made an announcement to the citizens of Lapara’s Malone Central gathered around the boob tube. “From now on,” she declared, “my name is Mary Tyler and our group will no longer be called Peter, Paul and Mary but Lamb. No argument.”

Everyone nodded their heads, just glad that Mary had put down her fishing rod and joined the living once more.

The great sim battle begins.

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high heaven

For a while, Nancy spent a good chunk of each day in the High Line park where she could gaze down at the last resting place of her beloved Danny in the long strip of eucalyptuses across the railroad track. Peter SoSo had joined her this particular morning, but kept his distance. He didn’t know Nancy personally but eventually figured out this must be the grieving lover of the town’s recently deceased plumber. He followed the direction of her repeated, teary stares and glances; understood the tiny Defiance family cemetery recently increased by 1/2 was their focus.

Peculiar talents considered, Peter decided it might be his fate to help the girl. After nightfall he approached the freshly dug grave, attempting to speak with Danny.

“Mr. Defiance,” he whispered. “Daniel,” he tried again, stronger. “Danny,” he then said, with a quick response.

“Yeah?” came a steady but muffled voice. “Is this the Lord?”

“No Daniel… Danny. This is Peter SoSo. You once unclogged my commode… when it was running over. The Grand Lapara Hotel. Room 401. Remember? I’m a merman, if that helps. A former carnie.”

“Yes, I remember. How’s that problem doing? Does it still flush cleanly? You may have to change the piping beneath the floor eventually.” There was a pause. The sound of night bugs began again. Then: “You call me first if you have problems, see. I’ll fix you up.”

Peter SoSo measured the spirit he was dealing with. Not uncommon — the recently departed didn’t quite understand the gravity of their situation yet.

“Yes, I will… definite-ly do that Danny,” he assuaged. “You did a good job before. I’ll remember you. You were… are a fine plumber.”

“Thank you. I am very tired. If you will go away now please.”

—–

So Peter SoSo understood that Danny *could* be brought back if the powers that be were willing. He was very close still. Just down in the grave. Itching to get back to work. He might be able to convince them. Peter made a visit to Pervimus Rex over at the local Gathering Bar just across the mountain range.

“Astarte, eh?” spoke the Northeast District’s judger of souls, sipping on smoking hot coffee. He breathed deep from the aroma. “Yeah, we’ve had trouble in that sim. Demons posing as regular avatars and stealing souls before their time is up. Okay, we’ll agree to send him back. But you’ll have to pay the delivery fee still. 1200 lindens.”

A poorer but smiling Peter then gladly took his leave of the stench filled bar. He’s sure he made the right decision.

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