Sunrise. June 16, 2018. Indigo returns to the trailer confident that the walking tree can be reasoned with. “Just polished off chapter 13,” she declared to her yawning sister. “‘Unch.'”
Tag Archives: Ragdoll
“We’re going to be here a long time. Aren’t we daddy?”
Angus didn’t know how to answer the pointed question by his daughter but he knew they were. The energy was just too strong here. Much more palpable than Obscure. True source revealed!
“It was those woods all along.” his daughter Ragdoll spoke again. “Wasn’t it?”
When they had returned inside, Ragdoll asked her father if Rubi was spelled with a “y”, with a negative response coming back at her. Then who’s Ruby? she wonders afterwards. Misspelling? And why the attachment to the Max deity? She could sneak out of town and ask Max directly, she supposed, but that had become illegal thanks to Sister Martha Lamb. But… middle of the night. Who would be watching?
Sister Martha Lamb, that’s who.
“Ssooo…,” Martha Lamb hissed from behind, startling her. “You’ve chosen Max (over the others). Looks like we’ll have to talk to the *Town Council* about *this*.”
And she hadn’t even received a clear answer to her question tonight.
“Maybe (the graffiti) was all just some kind of elaborate trap set up by Lamb herself,” she theorized to her sister later back at their shared room in the Rubi trailer. She stopped typing in her journal and turned to face Indigo directly. “You’ve never talked to him. Have you?” Indigo just shrugs from her lying position in return. She’d almost always assumed the conversation between the two was just in Ragdoll’s head but rarely said anything about it out of politeness. Let the child have something to believe in, to hang her hat on, Indigo had thought down through the years now. We’re stuck in a trailer in the middle of nowhere. But, anyway, it was all leading up to this. The woods. The town. The religious battles between the Oo’dites, the Cheeseheads, and now, most likely, the Maxers who can’t be x-ed out. Ragdoll would soon turn 13. Old enough to know the truth. She will be initiated into the fold.
This is what Pot-D was about now: The woods. The town. And, of course, The Diagonal itself. She will hide in the 125/125 tree tomorrow until the sun comes up. And she must remember to take Karl’s book with her for study and entertainment. Tinbaby, hrmph!
Ragdoll was the first person to point out that if you stand atop the Stairs Gallery (still vacant as of this writing) and increase your draw distance to just over 300 meters, the almost totally white Max Statue will appear to the northeast. It then became sort of a fad to have impromptu parties there on Friday nights to celebrate the mysterious, 20 meter high deity perched atop the Second Lyfe Railroad in that direction. But Sister Martha Lamb quickly snuffed out any chance for the get-togethers to develop into yet another rival religion in town to her own. She declared it idol worshiping, and threatened to write the Lindens (rulers of our world) to have the statue torn down. The threat worked: either avatars moved over to Ragdoll’s old trailer park to continue worship (these numbered three: 30something couple Richard and Linda Abingdon, along with octogenarian Steve Barker), or people stayed in Collagesity and conveniently forgot all about it, including Ragdoll. After all, by this time she had a new boyfriend named Jerry Richardson to deal with, an older man himself and well into his 50s when they shared their first bowl of Bumpy’s ice cream purchased from the new Bodega Marketplace dessert bar. Yeah, Collagesity is doing just fine these days, and another religion may have muddied the spiritual waters too much. But Max remains there for all to see from Stairs, and — if you increase your draw distance to the, um, *max* (512 meters) — from about anywhere in town within eye shot actually. Long Live Max!
After the physical (dinner) grilling the next day, Ragdoll planned to start in on the verbal grilling while they sat on the porch and let their bodies digest all that heavy meat they’d just consumed. Beef and chicken and fish all! For they had expected Indigo and her new bo to show up, the same dad burn Justice that Alma had just gotten rid of. Ragdoll thinks her sister may be doing this just to irk everyone around her! But Justice complained that he still couldn’t sit in a regular chair for more than 30 minutes at a time, and they ended up having dinner in bed over at their own trailer in Tinseltown. More food for them, however, and Ragdoll had overeaten due to nerves. Yet she instilled zen calm within while sitting in her lawn chair pretending to doze, and was seemingly good to go after about 10 minutes.
“Daddy?” she began.
Angus Nuffin roused himself from an actual nap. “Yes, pumpkin?”
“Do we have, um… any pie left in the fridge?”
Ragdoll just couldn’t do it; couldn’t get herself to talk about the conversation she overheard last night. Or mainly overheard, for there was still the wall that muffled some of it. She loved her daddy so much and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and knew he’d tell Indigo and her when the time was right. But she was planning as well: she’d just herself started dating Tin Tin, a cousin of Justice actually (and how they met), but considerably smarter and nicer. She’d miss that relationship. But maybe something else as good or better would come up in this Collagesity they were heading to. Not far over the hill, Bill had said last night. Just a hop and a skip, as she put it — just beyond the wall.
While her daddy began dozing again, Ragdoll quietly got out of her chair and walked around the side of the trailer, “show property lines” toggled on.
The Diagonal, she thinks, staring at the northwest corner of the Obscure sim. So close yet so far. And in Rubi it would be a little further still, according to Bill. But the woods amplified — those were her exact words, she recalls. Ragdoll returns to her lawn chair, pondering what it could mean.
Ragdoll watched the dogs play outside her trailer for the longest time, it seemed. Newte was so bad about not coming upon being called. And she’d given up training Jaspo in *anything* when he was not much more than a pup. What was the use?
They’re collecting at the door, she thought. Pops must be inside rattling around keys, getting ready to close up for the shift. Ragdoll knew Alma would be here any minute in her old, beat up blue Chevy truck to relieve him. She was reliable but testy, and could shout the skin off of any man alive if needed. More than once, her daddy had been the victim of scattershot, both of a verbal *and* a physical variety. Former bo Justice will be needing that specially made seat cushion for a while, haha. But it wasn’t a laughing matter at the time; Ragdoll thought that Alma had killed him. But Justice was just naturally a heavy bleeder, and all that blood covered much tamer wounds than spectators of the scene could imagine. Then there was the other time… oh, there’s daddy. Pops. At least *he* comes when called.
Upon exiting the building, Angus Nuffin petted each jumping dog individually. “How’s my Salt; how’s my Pepper?” (those were his nicknames for the mutts, bought for 2 lindens apiece from Gingus Kind Jr. after the death of his father). He then spotted his daughter sitting on the warm blacktop, waving brightly. Although not planning it, she finds herself jumping up as well, mimicking the dogs’ admiration of the man. But she resists running toward him and giving him a big hug. She had other things on her mind today. The Diagonal. Ragdoll had been plotting her dinner grilling strategy while waiting and watching. Again in both a verbal and physical variety, for she was the designated cooker as well tonight.
Meat Wednesday. That’s another thing she needed to talk to her daddy about when the time was right — about her vegetarian leaning ways. But for now, as a kid of 12, beef and chicken and the rest tasted okay still. Remained pretty delicious, except when she came across one of those hard parts that was probably, *hopefully*, a bit of bone or cartilage or something. Fish, she thought again. One day, not too far off, she will only eat fish as a meat. Snapper, flounder, perch. Mmmmmm, she thought. But for now, her mouth still watered a little for beef, for chicken, for the rest. But not ham. Never ham. That was a firm rule for Meat Wednesday since she learned that pigs might be smarter than some men. *Obviously* Alma’s Justice, hehe.
Angus Nuffin walks toward her and she couldn’t resist any longer. The big hug came swift and easy as Alma pulled in. “My little Zero,” he says, holding her tight.