Tag Archives: Rhoda^*$

Spin

Karoz requested Baker Bloch clean up around Collagesity as much as possible to free prim space for his future projects, such as the flight to Second Life’s moon. Excitement to come! In doing so, Baker finds Furry Karl stashed away in the 7th Spire next to his former bar.

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But he didn’t seem to be “alive” now, so Baker made a mental note and moved on. Newcomer Rhoda was still in charge of the bar as far as he could tell, his blood stains finally removed from the counter. “Hello Rhoda,” he said in greeting as he passed by the door. “Just making my nightly rounds”. No response.

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Also mysterious was the spinning pocketbook Baker Blinker left behind on the table in The Grove. Why was it spinning? Was it trying to tell Baker Bloch something (and me through him)? Was it a direct communication between the 2 inworld Bakers, even? At any rate, Baker Bloch decided it would be unwise to return it to Baker Blinker at this moment. 4 more prims, however, to deal with.

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Using distant vision, Baker peeks around the House of *True Lies* (formerly the House of Truth) where the rocket launcher now exists to see if everything is in order.

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He adjusts some of the spacing between the pictures around the launcher, but all else seems okay. Nothing to delete there either.

Baker Bloch takes a look at the most westward structure in Collagesity and wonders if it will ever be “filled in”, given the town’s constant shortage of prims. He has a possible new name for it, then: Smithy’s House. This is where The Master entered Collagesity from unknown dimensions about a month back now. So much has happened in the meantime! A door opened.

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His rounds done, he settles into his comfy chair in the attic of the Norum College and enjoys the play of shadows across Collagesity’s skyline caused by the rising sun. He misses the view into the forest, but that’s Baker Blinker’s place now.

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Mossy

He teleported in a little way into the woods. He approached the house and then spotted the rocking woman. Too late to retreat back or teleport away in case he had been seen in turn. He strolled out of the woods and onto the porch. He did not know the woman. She didn’t stop rocking to greet him.

“Is… Baker Blinker home miss?” he asked, peering down at her from near the door. He could not stand in front of her because he would sink through the floor — right on the sim line.

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“No need to be so formal Karoz,” she spoke in a somewhat derisive tone. “We are kindred spirits of sorts.”

“Who are you?”

She finally looked up at him. “I’m Mulholland. Dr. Mulholland. Not to be confused with Mulholland Dr. because that would be the reverse.”

“I don’t understand. Is Baker home or not?”

She didn’t answer him directly. “You had your chance Karoz Blogger. You criticized her eyes, and then when she tried to get you both to change in tandem you held back. Look at you.” She scanned him top to bottom. “A moss being, the texture of standard Linden default grass. Do you really think that’s so attractive?”

“I am what I am,” Karoz defended himself. “My father was a moss being and my true mother was an alien, perhaps of a praying mantis variety. We cannot change who we are.”

“Can’t we?”

“If Baker Blinker is not home I’ll take my leave.” He was getting angry and frustrated.

‘No. she’s here,” answered Dr. Mulholland, or the person claiming to be so. She called inside: “Baker?!” An old friend here to see you.” Karoz peered through the window on the porch offering a view of the couch inside, and a bit of the bedroom. “Baker?!”

They both waited. No one came to the door.

“Looks like she doesn’t want company right now. Maybe you should ring her up in a week or two. Maybe you can even be friends down the road. Or drive.”

He left without saying goodbye. Next stop was the Hole in the Wall bar just around the corner, where he could drowned his sorrows, and where reborn Rhoda was still trying to remove her own blood stains from the counter.

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Bitch

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“Oh, I got woes floaty man. Yes I do.”

“You gonna order anything today, Karl?” asks Rhoda impatiently, his little stick arms protruding from below his oval, blue-green body per usual. He is a true flattie or cutout in both Real Life and Second Life — rather unusual. “‘Cause I got a business to run,” he continues in his slightly nasal voice. “A new business. Old Kent is looking over us all the time from… heaven, yeah. You gotta order something. You can’t just freeload in here. Load’s not free.”

“Rhoda, I’ve already drunk three frigg’n beers and positioned them on the counter over there,” responds Karl in his typical gruff manner and nodding in the appropriate direction.

“N-no you didn’t. They were there.”

“No, I distinctly remember the golden goodness of 3 Krings beers sliding down my throat and into Tummyville. And I paid you.”

“Oh, okay,” Rhoda says matter of factly. Then: “That’ll be 3 dollars.”

“Nah, I ain’t doing that.” Karl waves him off, and then looks over at the picture on the wall to his right. “So what’s with you and that Old Kentucky or Old Kent or whatever — *shark* anyway? It’s like you’re his bitch or something.”

“He looks down on me and tells me things to do and to order,” came the reply. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you Karl.” He leans in closer. “We’re[ all] dead.”

At this point Karl got the sudden urge to pull out a gun and point it directly at Rhoda’s head. Or his body which is the same as his head. He’s psychically tapping into the violence that regularly occurred at Rhoda’s former bar. It wouldn’t be the last time.

“I don’t understand. I don’t get that,” he said instead.

“Aren’t you going to point that gun at me?” Rhoda was truly perplexed.

“How did you know I wanted to point a gun at you? Is this some kind of strange time loop?”

Karl blinked, and then Rhoda was laying dead on the counter, riddled in gunshot wounds.

“Holy shit what just happened!?”

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But he’s okay.

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Ch-ch-ch

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“Karl? Are you in there?”

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Rhoda

Baker Bloch hung a picture in The Hole in the Wall in anticipation of the new bartender, only to find out later on he got the wrong Rhoda.

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Here’s the actual Rhoda in question, pictured here on the first day at work. Old Kentucky Shark became his first customer, and promptly issued a stern warning to the new guy. Territories needed to be established right off; sharp boundaries drawn.

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And the remembrance that this had all happened before.

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