Tag Archives: Phyllis Phox^^~~~
He’d run into Philip Strevor on the mean streets of Heartsdale, who told SEAN “Green” Penn to meet him here to receive more information about the Missouri “Most Foul” Murder Mystery he and Blue were now trying to solve together. “Hello there!” SEAN observed on the motel lobby’s window shortly after teleporting to the location. Optimistic!
SEAN sensed a trap, especially since Philip Strevor was nowhere to be found. Too late. The rats were upon him like tiny hounds of hell. Yeo the cat looked on at the carnage unbemused, seeing it all before.
“Whoooaa Nelly!!” *MUNCH*
*Down* goes SEAN. Only one original color left now. Blue was warned not to bring her into the story but — here goes anyway.
“Green is dead now, Olive. Brown too. Pink as well. It’s only — you and me.”
“Perfect,” she responded, and then split herself. Split in two that is, June remaining seated and Jane standing now. But call her Phyllis. Phyllis Phox. Still married to Ben Wolf last seen somewhere in the Southeast I believe, but heading toward Southwest. We better catch up with him. Or else…
She carefully checked her inventory. She had only 1 even satisfactory picture of it, a polaroid taken almost 2 months back now. Nothing worthy of showing former photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Banks for artistic reasons. But still, very *meaningful* to her.
A solid lime green car, formerly in the very back of the backyard of her neighbors the Hendersons who had since moved to even greener pastures. She thought she might make a poem about the object; call it “Lemon”.
There was no feined variation of hue
Lime green it was through and through
A car of such utter solidity
That it brought into question the rest of the city
It was a start at least. Her inspiration for the title, a Warhol print pointed out to her by Brown (Beige):
And now Tom Banks is accused of killing Gene Kelley (aka Jake Trimmer aka Mr. Fix It) behind another lemon of a truck, as he called it that day of the killing, in front of Brown and herself no less at his gas station. Of course they didn’t understand the circumstances at the time — couldn’t grasp the gravity of the moment. Now it weighed on her mind constantly, and she turned back to the other lemon in town, that queerly solid hued car behind the Henderson’s house, almost hidden within a small grove of trees there. The two *had* to be connected. But how?
She remembered being disappointed that the car was suddenly gone, followed by the Hendersons themselves. She never got to ask Gerald or Geraldine or Gerald Jr. or Geraldette about it, so quickly they left shortly after the sighting. But she has the polariod, she didn’t dream it up. A solid lime green auto. And now she suddenly feels that the town is empty without it, a shell of what it was. Growing pains are difficult. She better get down to SEAN at the beach, help him continue to move…
“What are these, um, *eggs*?”
“Oh… just something I bought from some witch over in Egg Hill Sink,” Green replied to Pink, obviously thinking of Olive here.
There was only one egg, he understood now. And it was a nest version.
It all looked so tempting to Olive, but she must choose — or die. Because she has to eat to live. Eating: a strange concept to her. She’d lost so much but wanted to lose so much more. The Black Moon was the healthiest place to dine in town. It was here she found herself hanging out more and more. And away from Pink and SEAN (Green) (or Green (SEAN)) down at the Black Elephant. Policemen also frequent the establishment and that’s how she met and begin to, ahem, interact with Bazooka Ferguson, father of Tank Ferguson who took his slot as the Storybrook Chief of Police about, oh, 12 years back now I suppose. But Bazooka has a lot of fire left in him, as Olive had found out. They’d even talked of marriage, or at least Bazooka has. “You realize you’re still paying for me,” she offered to the confused old geezer at the time of the first “proposal”, part real and part in jest and uttered after at least 3 Corona-V tall stouts, maybe up to 5. “I’m technically still your, well, you know.” “Whore,” he finished, head sinking low to the money filled table. “I *need* that income,” she furthered for him, raking it in. “I can’t give–” “You’ll be with me,” he pleaded. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
And thus here she is, staring at food as it rotates rapidly past her. Like the sands of time. *She’s* not getting any younger either, which perhaps exacerbates the weight problem, or what she thinks is one. And yet she knows she appears as a 15 year old to Pink and perhaps Green as well — she must remember to ask him sometime. “What is my appearance to you?” she imagines in the moment. “A girl… or a woman? I’m 15 years old after all.” “I thought you were 13, ho,” she fantasizes him coming back at her in his witty, urban style way. Yes, I’ll ask Green how I appear to him, she finalizes.
The front door slides open. Bazooka: ready for another “date”. Will he propose again today? Can she keep saying no forever?
A funny (funnier) thought then crossed her mind. What if Green stopped calling me “ho” all the time. Would I stop actually being one as well? Another thing to ask Green.
(to be continued?)
Whiteness. Purity. Sometimes associated with milk deliveries but most often not. These are the qualities you hear about storied Storybrook, legendary in upper east west central Corsica Prime. Until the day of May 2, 2020, when the Big Inside was finally exposed for what it was.
Rocky could almost see it from his laying spot in the dog park above. If only he were 12 feet taller maybe the story would be different, with brook becoming a book.
But no one saw the event. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Frankie “Beige” McCracken (later changed to “Brown” for practical reasons) just figured that creepy photography (and calligraphy) teacher Tom Eugene Banks had given Jake “Mr. Fix It” Trimmer a ride home after work, never mind that he had 3 hours left on his shift. The girls weren’t thinking that deeply about it. They had other adventures in mind that day. A trip inside the Big, um, Inside.
Jane Olive Green had already gone and come away unimpressed. SEAN swore off the thing, calling both girls “ho’s” and leaving on a jet plane back to the New Orleans Blues Little Rock bar over near Ashelaven, 5 years in the past, 5 years in the past, 5 years in the past. That left only Frankie for Marsha to bum around with on her most important mission to date. To find the beating heart of this Inside, where everything comes from and everything will go. Beyond the white purity of the surface. This was black, this was deep. This was starless. And a red book shall lead them.
“What does it say about your mother, Pink?” prompts Frankie later on the lower level of the Wired and Wireless, their favorite hangout and where they met. But at the same time she couldn’t stop tittering about the joke Pink just told concerning 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. So funny.
“It says…” She thumbs to the correct page: “‘A banana in a boat is worth two in the bush.'”
“*Somewhere* something,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow reinforces to her remaining bestie in town.
Time to head down to Southside for another row row row your boat ride.
“You don’t understand,” pleaded Olive to SEAN “Green” Penn. “Beige — I mean, Frankie *can’t* join our ranks. We must remain three colors and three colors alone. The contracts–”
“I don’t want to hear another *word* about those f-cking contracts!” shouted SEAN over the drumming, on his 5th Corona-V of the night. “And lean back and stay 6 feet the f-ck away from me, ho.”
Olive leaned back, but pressed him on the ho part. “When did you start calling *women* that?”
“That’s what you *are*,” he replied, defiance in his voice and washing another french fry down with a swig of beer. “With, erm, that *policeman*. The older one, not the younger one. Jeep or something.”
She laid down all the cards on the table. “Listen, *SEAN*. I’m here to help.”
Pink was sitting too close to Olive but Olive didn’t mind. She knew it was all a ruse.
“Weelll? Whatdaya think? Pretty good tonight. I was feeling it.”
But SEAN “Green” Penn had other things on his mind. “Listen, erm, Pink. We have to leave this town. We gotta get away.” He glanced over at Olive, understanding the truth now. He didn’t want to look too long.
“Leave?” replied Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “But we just — just *got* here again. What about Beige, I mean, Frankie?”
“We’ll just have to take her along,” responded SEAN rapidly, sobering up real quick. “*And* the creepy photography teacher. We’ll just have to drag out the story elsewhere.”
“2 weeks,” reinforced Olive to her left. “That’s all we have.” She looked down at SEAN’s big feet tapping anxiously against his bar stool, as if they were on fire.
Unholey Book (Red).
Catcher catching Ball below it (Greenilocks marble) during the meat of the event. Conclusion: It is Arkansas.
Later: Unholey Cave…
… and our Bigfoot protagonist Taum Sauk and his wife Mina bedding down within for the dark times ahead.
End of “Bigfoot Art Happening 2015”.
Much much *much* later (2020): He has miraculously emerged in Our Second Lyfe! On a circular island making up a D’Vine Club, with metal *golf* club also in hand and rope similarly wrapped around left forearm to remember his existence in Bigfoot by (formerly named Ironton, Iron, Middle Game, etc.).
And then the also circular but considerably smaller island at the center of the neighboring sim of Danshire he quickly “moved” to, complete with Small Kowloon House. Briefly, that is — was he killed there along with the derezzing of the shack by neighborhood watch fanatic Red Pepper? Fellow former Danshire resident Phyllis Phox might know. If she weren’t combined with anti-self June Bug in the current novel. Current.
Whether dead or alive or something else altogether, we know he still exists in the Twin Peaks Laboratory’s Red Room — a waiting receptacle for both the Black and White Lodges — as confirmed later by Marion Harding and crime pal Philip Strevor. But where is his wife Mina now? (“Where’s Mina? Where’s Mina?”)
Is this what Marion is really asking here? Too bad about Phyllis.
“Who *are* you?” Marsha asked.
“My name is Jane. But you can call me Olive. Olive Green. I’m really just a kid beneath it all. Like you.”
“So I see.” She looked at the contract again before her on the table. With all the information.
“Sign… just there.” She pointed.
June Bug Jane had found her nest egg in Paradise. “Olive Green Pink”!
Two more contracts to create and she’s done.
Plain Jane Phyllis
Klondike Phox suddenly found herself not with the widows. In Plain Jane (sim) she was now, in the middle of some kind of pandemic, she sensed, disinfectors all around. The present, in other words. The nearest one spoke to her, holding out his hands. “Now, now, I’ll handle this.” Phyllis moves forward toward him…
… only to find herself somewhere else once more: in a boat with a blanket on a cool summer day, freshly baited rod in front of her.
On a coffee break in a nearby gardening shed, not-so-plain June Bug sensed the manifestation happen. “Another Plain Jane,” she groused, looking up at it. “Nancy Kulp should have never opened that can of worms in front of Jed.”