Tag Archives: Rocky Racco^*=$

triad

The next day, Danny’s chest triangle lit up after breakfast and told him to visit a man named Great who was also Good and So-So and then back to Great again. He knew where to look.

“Piggies,” he grumbled while looking inside that cop car on the way. “What’s next in town? Marshmallow men? Confetti parachuters?”

Like any superhero, he was simply going to walk through that fence ahead separating the town’s two sims.

Made it! But in turning around Danny finds he can’t go back through the barrier from this direction. Power neutralized on this side of town? He tries to melt the top of a nearby building with his laser vision. It doesn’t work! Yes, he’s a mere mortal again. He doesn’t like it. Onward to the hotel.

He instead decides to walk up the stairs straight ahead to the town’s raised park where Rocky was performing on a much larger piano this day, grand in style. “Shut up,” he says softly from the top of the stairs. “Shut up!” he then shouts toward the animal pianist. “Shut up!!”

Third time Rocky finally heard him. He stopped playing the 2nd movement of John Cage’s “4’33″” and turned around. “Great,” he muttered. “The Jester has arrived.”

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going world? 02

“Rocky is playing a wonderful tune tonight. Cage, you say?”

“Yes. John,” answers Bettie. “‘Suite for Toy Piano.’ Debuted 1948 in Black Mountain, North Carolina. Not far from our user’s home. Very close, say, if it were 5, 6, 7 years down the road. If users are even around. We may be on our own by then. Us down here, alone with our actions, our consequences. Might be nice, Nancy. Just us, this town, its inhabitants. The Atoll Continent as a whole. Sansara can go to hell.”

Nancy frowns. “I don’t know. I like the old continent. We should go visit the climbable beanstalk (in Welsh) sometime.” Rocky’s piano tinkling ends and he gets up.

“Babble,” replied Bettie. Then: “Shush. The rant part of Rocky’s performance piece is starting. Let’s dance while he speaks.”

—–

Each one of us must now look to himself. That which formerly held us together and gave meaning to our occupations was our belief in God. When we transferred this belief first to heroes, then to things, we began to walk our separate paths. That island that we have grown to think no longer exists to which we might have retreated to escape from the impact of the world, lies, as it ever did, within each one of our hearts. Towards that final tranquility, which today we so desperately need, any integrating occupation–music and writing are two of them, rightly used–can serve as a guide.

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begending

“I don’t quite get all these references to clowns, Buster. Could this be a Clare Nova influence on the town? Clown town?”

“Here it is, Wheeler,” said Buster beside her, not really listening. “The stairs I took up to my death spot. But now Peter says there are two such structures (in town).”

“Well, let’s go look around. Anyone coming in has to land there. Why did they do that? Some things here puzzle me. Puzzle me greatly.”

“My guess is that there are two forces in Olde Lapara, one for each involved sim. The town is split, in effect. Male and female. Black and white. Good and bad. Old and new. The town needs to heal itself in order to go forwards. It’s the same with every one of us.”

“Quite the philosopher you are, Buster. I guess that goes along with you being 10,000 years old or something.”

“Yes. I’ve seen a lot. Do you know how hard it is to kill a vampire?” He answers himself. “*Really* hard. If they don’t want to be killed. And I’m simply a coward. I enjoy life in death.”

“Jesus could give you that,” offers Wheeler. “So says the protesters. Where’d they go anyway?”

“So many questions, but we must start at the beginning. And the end.” They walk up the stairs.

—–

“We could just wait here long enough and meet up with everyone that regularly comes through the place,” says Wheeler, staring inside. “Manifestation spot. What does it mean?”

“Stop asking that. Meaning meaning meaning. Maybe it just is what it is. A work in progress. Continual progress.”

“Let’s go see the other one. This one’s empty to me.”

Buster took a closer look.

“You don’t understand, Wheeler Wilson. I couldn’t even look out to see who was continually shooting me. 47 times. They thought I was already a vampire. But I wasn’t. At the time.”

“Who turned you?” queried Wheeler (yet again). “I mean, to become a vampire someone has to kill you — drain you of blood, right?”

—–

Synchronicity. Just then, Bettie manifested in the south side of town using Rocky’s Unique Mushroom Portal, as she called it — RUMP, for short. That was part of the deal. Rocky would possess the small house, but Bettie and her alts like Little Tonshi Ashokan could use it as a shortcut when they wished to come down the mountain for a visit. Which was turning out to be often, much to Rocky’s irritation. He was attempting to jumpstart his second novel. Current working title: “Two to Know.”

On August 8th, 1926, cubic Arnold and Betsy Layne had just arrived in town, demanding a room in the already booked up Grand Lapara Hotel…

Rocky took the sheet out of the typewriter, wadded it up and threw it toward the wastebasket in the corner. “No, that won’t do,” he sighed.

—–

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I’ll go. You go get some rest for tomorrow when we explore the other end.”

—–

“I said *I’d* go.”

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Searching

It was simply going to be too expensive for Wheeler and Buster to live in Ratcliff. $L600 a week for a store and an apartment (!). And they weren’t even going to use the store part of the equation.

But wait… the store property directly across the street is only $L200 per week. Hmmm.

They talk at the neighboring Corner Pocket after a tension releasing game of pool. Buster sank the 8 ball to win. Wheeler proclaims she is sleepy and lays her head on the bar table. Buster ponders options.

“This doesn’t feel right Wheeler. We have no business to promote here. I’m not sure a residential status by itself qualifies for town citizenship. And you always seem drained and unhappy.”

“Something about the place, yeah,” Wheeler admits, yawning. “Thank you again for not selling me out to that Tonshi person up in Lapara. I certainly don’t want to be anyone’s wife.”

“Nor will you have to,” reassures Buster. “But we do need a place to exist. Why not Collagesity?”

“I’m not ready to go back. There’s too much else in the world to explore. Time is short.”

“I agree. VHC City?” he then offers. “Let’s go see the PCH Woods anyway. An old haunt (for me).”

“Alright. Can I change costumes first?”

—–

“We could stay in the witch house over there,” states Buster, laying in a familiar, old tree.

“No, I’m not doing that. No more dueling witches. Oz is dead.”

“Oz *is* dead,” agrees Buster. “The forest here is history. And… VHC City? Obviously I can’t go as I am now. I’d have to be in disguise.”

“It would just be too hard for you Buster.”

He sighs. “You’re right. It’s not like the old days when the Novas — Clare, Summerhill, Golden Bee-ing, even Orange — cooperated with each other. Clare was so good to hide me here in these woods when I got in trouble in Olde Lapara Towne. Then she used her sibling ring to get me set up in VHC City. But all that’s over. No… but we’re running out of options.”

They looked at each other. The obvious option remained: return to OLT.

—–

Bendy’s door stood wide open. “Bendy?” they called. No answer. “Let’s try the hotel,” suggested Buster.

“Peter! You’re still here.”

“Not… for long,” he exclaims. “Bendy… left town. With Prissy!”

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Abode

“Oh look Bettie. There’s Rocky. The guy who wrote the book.”

“But not the play,” added Bettie.

“Hi Rocky!” Nancy waves.

“It just appeared out of thin air,” he chanted to them from his stump seat. He kept looking up all googly eyed at the house, a smile upon his face as broad as Clownski Avenue. “Not 6 feet in front of me. I always wanted a house. God has rewarded my grand accomplishment.”

Nancy turned to Bettie, who just shrugged. “He’s the one who’s responsible for us being here,” she said. “Maybe he’s right.”

Bettie sighed. “Okay, we’ll remain in the hotel together. But I want you home at quarter past 8 at the latest tonight.”

Rocky saved the day yet again. As soon as the shock wore off, he was packing up his stuff in the hotel’s crawlspace. Rocky would go on to write many more novels after “Bible Truth” while based in the mushroom house, some better some worse. But none that came close to being as controversial. Or as cursed. Rocky’s path was set from this point on. Trajectory.

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top to bottom

The search for Nancy goes through Bakers. So decrees Buster Damm, in an Olde Lapara Towne pool now but still playing. He’s hip to the Oracle. Too hip? Wheeler Wilson floats nearby, trying to decide what clown costume to wear at the first rehersal. Number 304 is an instant wowzer, she thinks. Yes, I’ll go with that.

—–

“I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. Magill,” he types. Stepping back, Rocky realizes he maybe just might have composed the final line to that GAN. Celebrations are in order!

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Arrival

“Hello, anyone… here?”

“How can I help you?” Rocky said. He was writing his Great American Novel.

“Um, my wife… and I… (are) here for the carni-val,” replied Peter SoSo, looking down.

“2 rooms available,” spits out Rocky. “145 and 100 per week.”

Not knowing that there are cheaper rentals in other parts of town, Peter sighs and hands over L$100 to Rocky. “I’ll take… the latter.”

“Follow me.” The small mammal jumped down from the desk and scurried to the elevators in the back.

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