Shelley Struthers testing out the redwoods near Somoco where we saw Wheeler Wilson and Baker Bloch earlier. She likes! Not Leni and the full pack of dances, but swell enough. Thumbs up, she gives us the reader while continuing, head screwed back on tightly as hell.
“It was the end of the line for me, Baker Bloch. Car broke down, you see.”
“I see.”
“Couldn’t go further down this road. Had to give over to another.”
“Who is yourself,” the male Baker attempted to clarify.
“No.” Fellow core Wheeler Wilson left it at that. I suppose it was like saying Baker Bloch here was the same as Clifton Mahoney — oops, there he goes again.
“You’re breaking down too,” Wheeler pointed out, staring over at the new figure. We’re *old*, Baker Bloch. Time to yield. There’s… even Liz standing behind Shelley now, 2 down the road instead of 1. Clifton Mahoney—” But Wheeler shut up here, not wanting to revealed too much future stuff again. No need to know about Carbon Glow right now.
Baker/Clifton extended his draw distance out to the maximum (512 meters), stared out across the flat plain toward the mountain he now rents the top of. The castle never rezzed above the bus stop in front of him, although it did when checking from this very spot yesterday. He sat and sat…
Broken once again. Our Second Lyfe has a fatal flaw, he thinks.
Wheeler could view it fine but she could see in the dark. And twice as big. Secret weapons. Among others.
“Nice redwoods over there,” Wheeler tried to deflect. But he couldn’t see them properly neither in the moment. Moving on…
A mysterious red being directly beneath a towering redwood tree, extending all the way into space and a bit beyond.
Another appears in the center of a circle of pink albuca flowers (see: shoulders of Dr. Back before). Both are completely invisible to the naked eye, like outer planets.
This one is without a head, in contrast to the first. Dr. Back indeed.
Looking directly into the face of already decapitated Man About Time, Shelley struggles in vain to get away. Trapped.
Only one other blue around to help her, but she’s on a different level. She heard the screams for help, though.
Too late (OWWWW!). Although the now soul-less body still twitches.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0416, Corsica, Northwest^
Rock Ramby sure knows about trees and plants, thought Allen Y., listening in for the second hour now as the muscular dude babbled on. “The redwoods are a hybrid clone,” he was currently saying. “I got dwarves as well. I created all and everything on this sim,” he reinforced again. “Horses too.”
“Tricksy?” Allen ventured while scratching his chin, testing the water.
“That a horse name?” he came back. “Doesn’t sound like one.”
“Yeah, that’s the one I mentioned meeting on the way over here. All the way back at the first of our, er, conversation.” A long, long way back, he thought to himself. And he hasn’t mentioned this mysterious Hitchcock in a long time either.
“Mirabel,” corrected Rock. “A transer, yeah. Tricksy could have been it.”
“That’s what she said,” Allen held firm. Blasted know-it-all. In truth, Allen Y. had become weary of the chatter about 20 minutes in. He’d heard enough blowhards back on his home planet of Elven.
Just then, what appeared to be jingle bells sounded outside the cabin, breaking the banter. “Cool,” Rock Ramby then beamed. “Sven’s back. Runs a packing industry over in Meat City Misty Mountain, you know. Let’s take a look.” Rock springs up from the chair on his powerful legs and moves toward the front door. He draws his knife just in case. Less spry Allen Y. stands and follows; peers through the opening behind him.
“More veins and arteries for your boy, Rock,” called Sven merrily, landing just behind the circular train track. He threw a bowed package in his direction, which Rock deftly caught, knife still in hand. “Schweet,” he yelped. “Thanks Santa!”
“Sven, please. Merry, um, Something!” he shouted as his jingling reindeer lifted him and his heavily packed sleigh back into the sky. “Merry Something to All!”
Shuffling behind Allen Y. as he watched the sleigh recede. He turned. “I heard my name,” issued a Zeus-like voice.
Where the hell have *you* been hiding? the yellow alien thought.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0617, MISTY MO^^
He wandered around the living room while Misty was preparing herself upstairs. He eventually found the open alchemy book in the locked art deco secretary, as she had planned.
He had to make out what was on the pages in reverse. Oh, he thought while staring at the tree rising backwards from the man. That’s interesting, hmm.
Hmm.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0011, 0112, Heterocera, Myron^
One wasn’t suppose to do so, but Mrs. Misty Dorn often walked the 150 or so meters from her Philo retro-home to the lip of what “later” became known as the Catsocks Sinkhole, a portmanteau name derived from the Catalpa and Tussock sims which share the depression.
And behind her from this vantage point: the main gallery of hot tempered artist Angelina Dickenson who drove Pitch Darkly and Buster Damm from VHC City spring before last. Like driving Frankenstein’s Monster away from the village with fire, except in this case vampire monsters are involved instead of collaged together, electronically activated beings.
But Misty knew them as tamed pussycats: a rather henpecked Pitch (by Mary) and a somewhat dominated Buster (by Bettie). Like a modern day Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubles they are, neighboring Collagesity pals who enjoy going on adventures and do male bonding stuff with each other like bowling for dollars. Totally harmless; the sustaining blood they need now supplied by an herbal substitute distilled from locally grown turnip plants. The progression of monster medicine!
She turned back to the hole. But it all started here. Birthplace of Monsters they will also deem it, not technically true but that is how it will be remembered. Plane crash. Mary had told her all about it. She said everyone within a 1000 meter radius of VHC City came to witness the aftermath. And the insulated crates containing Pitch, Buster and others which were opened, freeing their contents. No humans survived, although they were they ones who wrecked the plane. On purpose. The rallying cry according to legend: “Let’s rock.” The target: well, most would assume the giant Hotel Chelsea itself only 300 meters from the site, not much further away than her own house in Philo. A fascinating and tragic story, which upon retelling Mary usually got a little choked up about. Not only for the dead humans but the still living, breathing monsters who emerged from the intact tail piece. The ones who received part of the blame, however undeserved. Like her husband Pitch. Mr. Mary.
She rose from the ground. But it was time to get back to Philo and meet with Septimius, who offered to come over and escort her down to Swindon’s Coffee and Tea Emporium in the center of town. She had other plans, however. Might as well get it over with because the event was inevitable. She knew Septimius, or the man behind Septimius, and the attraction would reach a logical conclusion. He didn’t have a General Grant tucked away in his back pocket like didn’t-die-in-Vain Abraham Lincoln, but it was still upon him. Thus the reason he thinks the 28th president of the United States is a female. Trees. Giant tree. The largest in the world, between it and Sherman, another back pocket filler upper. Another 2 fer 1, it seems.
With her standard 128 meter draw she could just make out the top of an autumn tree in Philo from this perspective. The town is afire with leaves brightly burning yellow, orange, red. If only their user’s real life world beyond the mirror was so blessed.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0011, 0110, Heterocera, Myron^
“You admit you are the girl that goes by California.”
“Cal, yeah. That’s me.”
“You have an unregistered navel. You declared All Orange back in 1914, before such things even existed. Do you admit you are also a time traveler?”
“I can admit that. I am allowed. Now… give me something hard.”
Natali Woodhull did not respond immediately. Then: “I’ve lived here since the lemony days. I know a thing about citrus.”
“Good for you Natali. Can I let Rocky in now? We must practice for the big ball 2 weeks from Friday. End of story. Completio.”
Natali paused again. “Not quite yet,” she decided. “As California, you are created by a man named Wilson, true?”
“I *am* Wilson. I am the 28th president of the United States of America born in Staunton, Indiana.” She smiled.
“But… you are a woman,” points out Natali.
“Then: Wilsonia. The feminine form of Wilson. I tipped the scales in favor of me. I am both feminine and masculine. General Grant knows.”
They sat there for a while. They could hear Rocky rapping on the door of the coffee shop, saying stuff like, “come on,” and, “let me in already.” Finally he seemed to go away. Tronesisia nodded her head a little with this. “It’s going to be difficult for him to come back. He’ll get lost in the city lights, he will.”
“I’m sorry. But this is important. There’s a wall in this town of course. In olden days it was called the Green Monster, not because of its color but because it ate green — trees to be specific.”
“General Grant allows glimpse into Navelencia at Orange Cove,” says Tronesisia cryptically, and then reaches down to lift her metal shirt a bit, exposing the orange in question. “Green Monster. It has a hole in the center.” She circles the navel with a silver index finger, then lowers the shirt back and beams blue eyes at Natali. “I heard you used a recording of our signature song for a dance last week.”
“I did,” admitted Natali, hoping Tronesisia wasn’t mad about the borrowing (what was *that* about?). “But just for a particular customer. On a whim, if you will. I got it from Chris.”
“Did it have a certain effect?” Tronesisia’s pace was crisp and precise.
Natali didn’t know. She recalls she was really into it. Trance dance. “I’m not sure,” she offered. “Can you explain?”
Tronesisia got up out of her chair and danced the same exact dance, right there on the spot. Natali Woodhull’s mouth remained agape at the beginning. How? she thought. How?
And then she began to remember.
There was a ship.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0010, 0510, Wallytown/Fishers Island^
Karoz needed to talk to someone about his theories concerning the collages he just reviewed, but there was no one left in town that he knew well. Baker Bloch and Baker Blinker had disappeared. Hucka Doobie had already given him his assignment, which he was attempting to carry out. Carrcassonnee seemed finished with him too for the moment. There was always Furry Karl, but the bar was still closed for some reason. No one here. Then Karoz realized he could ask Wheeler to join him. Dare he?
—–
“It pleases me that you’ve changed, Karoz. Baker Blinker is happier too. When she comes back you will be rewarded. She has entered the blue and the grey. Civil War.”
“What does that mean, Wheeler?”
“It means one comes out a victor and one does not. It’s always about directions. But we’ve not come here to discuss that particular subject. Blinks can wait. Collages are up. I’m trying to help. I’m trying to further the Collagesity cause. So spit it out.” She then softens her voice. “Please.”
“Very good,” says Karoz. “Well, I understand that *you* understand the nexus. Where everything links together.”
“True enough,” responds Wheeler. She takes another sip of her 4 shot latte. Starbuccarina is still guarding the portal next door, but they were nevertheless able to retrieve the drinks from her. Good ol’ Starbuccarina. She’s a winner, Wheeler thinks. Not just a mere creation of fairyland.
“I’ve studied the collages in Falmouth, Red Umbrella, and Boos tonight. I believe Hucka Doobie is telling me to go back to Stonethwaite. I went there once before. To retrieve Story Room, or attempt to retrieve them. They were suppose to teach the course at my Noru college called “Composing with the Colors Red, Yellow, and Blue.”
“True enough,” says Wheeler again.
“I think they are me in summary. Me as baker b.”
“Yes,” she says. She is wise in this way.
“It’s the three ways I create music, or created music. Because I don’t really do it any longer.”
“No,” she says. “That should change. Spongeberg[ is here to help].”
“Anyway, I am the 4th. I realize that. The other three are improvisation — blue; chromagraphs — that’s red; and then yellow is composing in the regular or normal way by ear, something I do naturally since I was a kid. [The word] ear is between the yellow guys’ legs in that Falmouth collage. No. 12 I believe.
“Yes.”
“Wait, I’m checking now and it’s 11.”
“Not really that important,” responds Wheeler. “Go on. You are the 4th, yes.”
“Let me review in my head what I saw.” He reviews in his head what he saw. “Dancer, obviously.”
“Yes,” replies Wheeler. “That’s me!” she then exclaims.
“I suppose so,” he says, not joining her in raised voices.
“I’m sorry that you do not approve of my important hobby, but Blinks does and that’s the important thing I’ll say about that right now. To you.”
This is the kind of stuff Karoz didn’t want to deal with tonight. He wanted to focus on the collages and his assignment. Yet here was Wheeler, trying to draw him into the entanglement. He resisted for now. He wanted to see his analysis through. *Then* he would ask some questions about all that.
“Back to Stonethwaite. I think I can enter it through (he checks the number again) Falmouth 36. Master Shake opened that portal a while back in Collagesity Noru.”
“He’s just Master here,” Wheeler corrected. “But he holds the keys to the Civil War and which way it will flip. Depends on if he has one of those General Grants in his back pocket still.” She stifles a grin, but then wonders if she should have said President Lincoln there instead.
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” Karoz was trying not to get sidetracked still. “But that’s where the opening occurred before,” he repeats. “I just walk into the collage and I’m in Stonethwaite, just like [I did] in Noru. I can talk to Story Room that way; get their story. Hucka Doobie says to talk to the one without a head, so I’ll have to check that. Might be the blue guy.”
“Steptoe,” responds Wheeler firmly. “Use to date. He was something of a perv.”
“Yes, that was his name. Or is.” Karoz let the ‘perv’ description stand as is without further comment.
“So it’s settled,” says Wheeler. “You go to Stonethwaite again. You know how to do it. Anything else tonight? I’ve got to get back to my training.” She thought of asking something else but held back. Karoz didn’t need to go in that direction.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0002, Heterocera, Rubi^
Sunklands 
![[The word] ear is between the yellow guys’ legs in that Falmouth collage.](https://bakerbloch.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/snapshot8291_008.jpg){kind=link}
