Tag Archives: Sandy Beech^*$
“Soup anyone?” Melvin asks innocently to both.
“Not now, Melvin, thank you.”
The small demon dutifully withdrew toward the stairs, biding his time. Chloe directed her attention back to the visitor who had just teleported in through her offer.
“Okay, Sandy. What’s going on? *Are* you still Sandy? You look all weird.”
“Well,” Sandy Wanna Be tried to counter. “How about *you*? Where’s, um, your *hair*?”
“I have hair. Blue like the sky. The sea and the sky both.” But here she reaches up to feel her stringy, wet curls and only grasps air. “Whe – where *is* it?? Aaarrgggh.” She flings the swim cap into the sea from which she just came at this point. I mean, the stream from which she just came. One of ’em, perhaps both of ’em. She pats and feels and pats and slaps. Still no hair to find up there. Certainly she would be pulling it now if she had some.
“May I suggest,” Sandy WB then said, watching over at the tantrum, “that someone *stole* it,” and with this himself disappears. Teleported out to safer lands. He didn’t like scenes.
She tries to google “instant hair loss” on her smart phone but stops at the lock screen displaying her name. It was here she noticed something else missing about her: the “h” in Chloe. Cloe instead of Chloe, it said. She looked around in disbelief, shaking her bare head, but in just a moment forgot all about both losses.
Melvin approached again with upheld bowl. “Soup, miss?”
Perspective shortened, she “accidentally” dipped her hand into the morbid concoction. The hand disappears, followed by the rest.
A peninsula would be a good place to swim, she then thought in a somewhat different form.
“The blue hair will buy me more time to think about the next step, Ingo…
… er, *Sandy*.”
“I’m not Sandy,” spoke the figure across from her who looked like a cartoon version of actor Sandy Beech or character Herbert Dune (a cartoon figure himself, hence doubly so). Doppleganger, she realized. But what about herself? Fresh from a swim?
She leaned back, studying what had just happened. Swimming hair… swim cap. Yes, this could work…
“Feel the emptiness in the center,” the small snowman instructed his pupil Herbert Dune from the, well, center.
The first explosion happened, rocking this Northside building. The snow-being, named Hugh, fell off the puzzle table onto the cushiony, knitted rug, losing his bell. Then the second, smaller kaboom happened, making his head separate from his body. No more instructions tonight from the diminutive, white guru. No more instructions ever. The dream was over.
Actor Sandy Beech stood up, looked southward.
But too many buildings were in the way to see clearly. “That wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t in the script!” he repeated, a second outburst louder than the first (mirror). He turned around to find the director, the cameraman, the soundman, etc. No one here. Any evidence of Bob Waffleburg’s dystopian parody film had disappeared. Sandy Beech was on his own again.
Actor Alice Frame also suddenly found herself alone and without direction after the explosions, large and less large. The script she was reading for tomorrow’s shoot suddenly turned blank, nothing having ever formed or shaped out of these snow white pages.
We must reluctantly say goodbye to NWES, its four jigsaw like pieces unable to come together to form a story any longer. But there’s always the possibility for return within the larger arc of another tale. We must move, Grasshopper-like, forward…
It just came up from one of those illogical cracks in the road. Broad daylight; scurried sideways toward the park to his right. Directly in front of him. In a hurry, as rats are wont to be, but not *too* much so, he also noted.
“I *hate* rats,” Herbert Dune managed after watching it disappear down another hole, thinking back to Spunky’s and Bob Waffleburg’s slip about a secret room the night before.
I don’t mind rats atall, thought Sandy Beech inside, actor countering character once more, as in a yin-yang relationship. Day and night. Guess that could be one reason they hired me for the part, he then realized.
“Just ignore the rats,” sweating Herbert Dune chanted while continuing forward over the crack. “Ignore rats.”
They were watching “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” on the tellie tonight, a logical choice. At a predictable chase scene through a haunted castle, Merry Gouldbusk leans over and tells Herbert Dune that she got in contact with her brother about the banners. Herbert Dune arches his spiraling eyebrow a little higher, Spock style. “Welll?” he replied, thinking she needs to speak up for the microphones. But, overall, her acting was acceptable lately. She’d been taking lessons from one of the best. She’d learned a lot since Rosehaven. Except for the occasional name slippages she was fine. But just that: acceptable. Ordinary, even. Oh Alice Frame, Sandy Beech thought, how’d I get chained down with you. I am like a clipped Icarus.
“He said he had nothing to do with it,” answered Merry Gouldbusk, speaking up a bit at the encouragement of Bob Waffleburg off-camera.
“How,” stumbled Herbert Dune, then started again. “How is that *possible*?”
“*Dad-dy*,” Satan’s spawn Melvin complained from the pillow beside them, totally immersed in the castle shoot.
“Tell you what, young demon. You’ve stayed up too long past your bedtime already. Time to join your brethren upstairs. We’ll continue the movie tomorrow night.”
“Awww,” he exclaimed not too loud while obediently getting up and stretching and yawning. For a little demon, he was quite well behaved. They all were. Except Spunky of course.
“So explain what you said before.”
“About the banners?”
“Of course.” Stop ad libbing, Sandy Beech thought bitterly inside. Stick to the script!
“Wellll?” Herbert Dune echoed back.
“He said he didn’t do it.”
Sandy Beech complained to director Bob Waffleburg afterwards. “Jeez, it’s right there on the banner. *INGO*. How could her slightly older brother, her *Big Brother* after all, not be head of the police state here and spy on her all the time? Answer me that genius director.” Before, Eraserhead Man and his disjointed plots. Now, Bob Waffleburg’s logic gaffes. And he’s not a surrealist. No excuse for him!
“We’re… working on it,” is all he could answer that moment. Later, while the two were drinking at Spunky’s on Southside (no relation to Spunky the little demon), he let slip a little more. “It involves rats. *hiccup* And a secret room. *BURRP*”
The next day they explored the city together, finding mysterious yards full of containers and pipes…
… non-operating, unfinished subways…
… and loads and loads of apartments, the great majority unrented.
Well, if they don’t like the present neighbors (and they *do* have neighbors themselves — more on that soon, perhaps), there’s plenty of other places to live here. No land for sale in the area, though, except for one small 512 going for 58.6 lindens per square meter. By contrast, Baker Bloch paid an average of about 0.7 lindens for the land he set up 7 Stones on about 5 months back. So: expensive! Way too costly to contemplate another purchase, even if he had the tier freed up for it. So this is strictly a rental scene for his extended family, to tell a story about a burg much larger than 7 Stones, and its promise but also, yes, failure to live up to expectations. Rows upon rows upon rows of apartments, a strong police presence, pockets of interesting neighborhoods. But not enough, Sandy had determined a while back, and now with Merry Gouldbusk joining in the lament. Not enough to ultimately survive.
I compare with VHC City, a considerably smaller affair than NWES (still much bigger than 7 Stones, though), but with a strong, central *structure* the whole community is built around and which keeps it thriving. This would be the Virtual Hotel Chelsea, a dominating force. NWSE has no such centerpiece that I can tell, *unless* this police hq can become it.
Probably not, but thought I’d mention. Merry and
Sandy Herbert also visited there this fine, crisp early October day. Merry saw something she didn’t understand.
“Look, *Herbert Dune*,” she declared while pointing upward. “INGO,” she pronounced clearly. She had said INGOR before and they had to reshoot the scene. But it was a logical mistake, *because* Ingor Ratts was a famous figure from WES, the town that kind of sort of prefigures New WES, or what we now call NWES. “Like the four directions, North West East South, combined into one,” Herbert Dune explains another time for Merry about the town’s name origin. “It’s pieces of a puzzle fitted together. Here, let me show you. I know this dude uptown who can tell us more.” But before we get to that: the first name. Merry Gouldbusk again here, then:
“INGO, Herbert Dune, is my *brother*, my slightly older brother.”
“Big Brother, then,” states Herbert Dune while nodding. “I know how they are.”
She stared at the banner again, realizing: he’s been watching me all along!
It was the piece de resistance of the move. A celebratory endpoint. The return of the Shape Pullers from Merry Gouldbusk’s past. Now she could enjoy them at any time, 12:37 or not. “Thank you *so* much, Sandy Beech!” she said while cameras were rolling and leaning over for a kiss. It was not reciprocated.
“And CUT! Okay, *kill* the shapepullers, kill the lights. Benny, you were looking away from the camera. And Horace, you weren’t even in the shoot! Get your little red keister out on the balcony and take a gander with brother Marvin at what’s happening outside, why don’t you! Oh, you little devils!” Director Bob Waffleburg kept complaining. “But *you*, my fine friend Alice Frame (playing Merry Gouldbusk/Breeze). You’re going to *have* to learn the difference between a role name and an actor name!”
Sandy Beech, the actor playing Herbert Dune, just nodded his head and stared over at her. With bile.
“Merry, I have only a little over a day on my rental on the south side of the sim. Let’s just move in together.”
“Hmm.” She leaned her head against the back of the chair, thinking of the choice she’d made again.
“We’d, er, have to move into a bigger place with more available prims.”
“I have a really nice, feathery bed,” he said more seductively. “Wouldn’t fit in here with the little devils, butt…”
“One day, huh?”
“Yeah.” He looked around the room. “You could have Satan’s spawn just have their run of the place. Only 50 lindens a week. We could get a better place. Not on my side of town,” he continued. “Nothing going on over there.”
“Maybe next door,” she proffered, thinking of the bill again.
“Maybe next *door*,” he echoed, offering his hand to hers. They drew each other in for a celebratory kiss. She changed again.
“What about the other Herbert?” Hucka Doobie logically asked.
“Sent away,” I responded. “Too old at the core of it.”
“Core,” responded Hucka. “Interesting word.”
“She decided last night. At the Faux Rhino.”
“That was just… satisfactory.”
“*Just* satisfactory?” the other Herbert, Herbert Gold, replied with widening eyes. He had tried his best. He knew he didn’t have anything more in him than that.
His Mission had failed.
Oh well. Back to April Mae in that Fi sim he can never remember the full name of, pheh. He left her a 100 linden bill on the bar counter before leaving. Just enough for a week’s rent in that new place she’d had her eye on for a spell.
It’s a strange place for certain. And big! It *could* work — that’s why he’s here. Especially given that he’s just found his long sought for All Orange. I started to write “seemingly”, but, no, he’s found it. The Rose but also The Thorn.
“I’ll *make* it work,” he says aloud to no one in particular. “I have motivation now. But where to next?”
There was a simple answer. Home. Just in the back there.
I must do something with the place, he ruminates when entering. Especially since he has a bonafide assistant now. Joy!
“Soooo. Herbert Dune — that’s his name?”
“Yes,” answers Baker Bloch to Hucka Doobie. They’re back!
“He’s in one part of Apple’s Orchard. And his girlfriend — *assistant* — is in another part, more to the north. South and north.”
“That’s our limits (!) For the present.”
Meanwhile, in the Faux Rhino Club across this sim, Breeze, reverted to plain ol’ Merry Gouldbusk for the afternoon at least, had just heard out Herbert Gold’s profession of love for her. Two in two days! she thought to herself. When a woman is in demand, she’s in demand! “H-how did you find me?” she asked innocently. She knew the larger answer to that. Destined couples have a way of getting together, no matter how the surface odds are stacked against them. But she has Herbert Dune now. Confusion! Good confusion, though. She is wanted! And… another *Herbert*. What’s with that?
“It was your last letter to me,” he explained. “About half a year back. You mentioned NWES — New WES I think you called it at the time.”
“That’s right. I remember. I said I wanted a change, a new life. Ingo can run Rosehaven by himself now. It’s *his* kingdom, yes.”
“As opposed to your queendom.” He looked her over good. “Soooo…”
“And he basically asked her flat out if she had decided on a sex for herself. He’d touched her in two places before; knew there was some mixed up boy-girl confusion going on up here… and down here.” Hucka Doobie was fondling the appropriate places on her body.
“I know what you’re talking about, Hucka Doobie. No need for the grabbing and such. Welll?”
“All of a sudden,” the bee-person continued, “she didn’t know again. It’s when she first laid eyes on Herbert, walking down the street beside her apartment on 108 Rib Lane.”
“Actually, I think it’s Serpent Avenue.”
“Whatever,” Hucka Doobie quickly followed. “But the skin came back, the *mask* came back. She was all glinty goldeny again, much to her dismay. She thought it was over and that she had found true home. Home with Herbert. But there was *another* Herbert to deal with.”
“Maybe *he* should just steal her golden skin. His last name is Gold, after all. And — what about April Mae? Is she left behind forever down at West End in, where was it, the Irish Village in that Fi sim?”
“Well… the 4th had to be reached. Rubedo. End of Work.”