Tag Archives: Snowmanster^^+#

Topper

Recommended by my friend Veyot, I had already visited the gallery of Karly Twine through Old Grey earlier in the day, but a lingering trace of my avatar’s demonic status ruined the snapshots I took then. So I returned through her late at night. Very late. You see, she was invited by Robot Derak Jones to the New Island Community College faculty dance and stayed until five am cutting the rug. In her younger days she could shake and shimmy for a week solid. Now it was down to mere hours, but more than even the youngest and most fit professors and administrators at the event could handle. In the end she was dancing alone. Typical. I should also add here that the walking cane she favors is only an outfit prop.

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Very beautiful photographs here by Karly (who I also met earlier) — go to Veyot’s tumbler site for more information about the gallery — but Old Grey was admittedly more looking for clues about how to move ahead with the “Collagesity 2016-2017 Winter” storyline. Since the parcel was called Da Vinci Gardens, she was hoping for Mars again; instead Karly’s gallery was set in the midst of a winter wonderland. Still, this structure found outside in the ice and snow seemed to knit the two concepts together.

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Old Grey had seen a variation of it before on her way to spy on Baker Bloch in Martian Jacksboro this past November. The spiral based building sat on a plateau beside an amphitheater of dancing automatons. Old Grey had landmarked the place and returns every once in a while to prance amongst them, sometimes as a ballerina in the Nutcracker. Very limber bones she has, but of course that has more to do with the demon inside than any exercise regiment.

Up she strides around the building’s external spiral path.

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She pauses to take in the view. Snow seems to be getting heavier.

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She reaches out to pet this wildcat (Old Grey has no fear) and the feline disappears (!). Shades of Jorondip and its quantum cat here. This is clearly a magical place.

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Finally she reaches the top. Even the very fit Old Grey is slightly winded by the long trip up.

Well, tempted as she is, Old Grey hasn’t got time for sledding or skiing. She senses someone inside. An ancient nemesis.

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Vicky Diamond? No not you Vicky. But you might come in handy anyway.

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Books. Surely not Professor Jones. She’s just been with him and knows his wheezy ways. He wouldn’t have a hideout so difficult to reach.

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No, there was only one deity who would summon Old Grey to such environs. Well, two maybe. But turns out it was both. Snowmanster and Satan Santa sat next to each other on the couch to her left, eating popcorn and, hmm, sharing frequent, buttery kisses.

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The late Mrs. Squaredpants.

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Snowmanster sat on her couch, soaking it all in. Home again… so good. But where was everyone? Spongebub? Snowbob?

After a while the truth began to settle in. She was late. She had missed something. But what? Snowmanster went to the window; stared out at the familiar Rubi Woods. The purple hummingbird below her outside twittered loudly.

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“Meeting Place,” she mutters, staring at the appropriate flat spot of the forest. “That’s where I’ll find out.”

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Hearts 02

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She was back at Cry I. but underwater now. Down to a putter: end of hole.

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This was the night she met Dr. Low with red and blue eyes. Splitsville.

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But first… some lemonade at the conveniently placed Joker’s Wild bar to her left. Old Grey awaits through the Red Door.

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—–

“Guess it’s time for that heart to heart, Old Mabel,” she starts. “Lemonade’s on me tonight. Karl!” she then yells, banging her cane on the bar counter. She waits just a second and bangs again. “Rhoda! Whoever!”

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“Oh it’s you. ‘Bout time. Well… a 24 oz can of Pabst Blue Ribbon for me and the little lady will have a lemonade. Start a tab.”

“I’m 113 years old, *Old* Grey,” the Martian proclaims defiantly. She then glared at Snowbob behind the counter. The last time she saw the hybrid being was in the mystery cabinet or closet or whatever. She didn’t really like what was happening there, but perhaps it was all a dream.

“Yellow is missing,” he said, staring back. “Replaced by green!”

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“He’s right this time, you know,” agreed Old Grey. The Martian now noticed the lemonade already in front of him.

Splitsville.

—–

Snowmanster exits the closet.

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Closet Dweller

“That man had 4 hands,” said Spongebub to the emerged Snowbob Snowmanster after Keat Owens had left. “Bahahahaha!”

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Interview

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Keat Owens gleaned important scraps of information from his Wednesday morning meeting with Spongebub (son Snowbob wasn’t around), but didn’t get to the core of the matter. He asked what his wife was doing over in the Askja sim of Corsica. Spongebub plainly told him that she was on assignment. Owens asked for more details. Spongebub said his wife was an employee of the space program, but they didn’t discuss her work. “So if she works for the space program,” Owens probed, “is she an engineer, a technician, a, I don’t know, an administrator?” Spongebub shook his head at each guess. “Well you seem to know what she *isn’t*.” Spongebub laughed nervously. Owens switched tactics and ask how Spongebub and Snowmanster met each other. Then he playfully added, “If I ask ja, would ja tell me?” but the yellow fellow didn’t get the pun. Turns out they met right here in Minoa, in this very house at a neighborhood Christmas party dating from 2007, or at least that’s what Spongebub told Owens yesterday. Snowmanster is a native of the region, Spongebub explained. A demon, he supplemented with a whisper. His uncle, Spongebill Triangleslacks Sr., owned the house at the time, and was, in fact, the original owner of the property, which Spongebub then inherited upon his passing. “Well,” said Owens, “I’m rechecking the About Land information right now and it says the property is owned by Clarity Dagostino. This would include both houses and then that lighthouse over in the corner of the lot.” Spongebub explained that the land was deeded over to Ms. Dagostino in a complex 3 way interaction also involving a rental company, but Uncle Bill technically remained the owner. Owens then cut the meeting short, feeling there was enough to chew on. Plus he had other concerns this morning.

I’m sure glad he didn’t ask about my extra pair of hands which suddenly manifested around my belly when I sat down, Owens thought while leaving. When he stood up: all gone again. Queer!

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She has a name:

Old Mabel had trouble getting to sleep. She kept thinking of poor Snowmanster and Spongebub and Snowbob. She decided to teleport back to the room where it happened. She simply typed “Ask” to find the location. Interesting.

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“That woman over there must have seen it all,” she says while within. “Ma’am, are you alive?” No answer.

“What’s she staring at?” Old Mabel moved her camera angle behind the slut’s head.

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“The drink machine? Hmmm, no drinks within.”

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Then it dawned on Old Mabel as the sun sphere touched the horizon. Opening!

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Bogota 08?

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“It’s a shame about Snowbob’s mother. Surely he knows, along with the father.”

“They know that she’s on assignment in Corsica, Old Mabel, and something has happened. Mr. Owens just came from Corsica and the sim in question.”

“I did. I just got information that I may not be returning,” spoke the chef/detective. “The filly I was tailing got wind of my investigation and set sail in the middle of the night. I may be staying here a bit longer than I planned. But the new mystery has got its claws in me now. It’s that book.” He pulled the stained slip of paper out of his pocket and opened it in Baker Bloch’s direction. “Pill,” he repeated. Baker Bloch could clearly see the word. It was the third time he had shown it to him. Yes, his interest was certainly piqued. “In the wine,” he added. “Wine,” he emphasized.

“Yeah, we’ve known something odd was going on (in that direction) for a long, long time Mr. Owens — Kenny. I might as well start calling you Kenny since you may be staying with us a while. The main question for now is: why did the giant female show up in the middle of the sim in question and play a game of roshambo with the tiny Minoan who is now Old Mabel’s good friend? Then why did that somehow open up a door or window or something into the place beside the motel you were staying in and allow (us) a glimpse into the firey death of Snowbob’s poor mother caused by this Jerome fellow? Who is Jerome T. Newton? He’s obviously a killer. Then there’s the burnt-to-a-crisp cow across Robin Lane.”

“I’ll talk with the giant,” said Old Mabel, sitting on the floor between the two and still staring up at the newest Bogota collage, at its central Snowmanster and what might have been. Christmas. “She’s got a name, by the way: Brenda. Jiff — the tiny Minoan you speak of — and Brenda are friends.” More than friends she almost said, but decided not to reveal that whole story yet. So big and so small. How does that work? she asked herself yet again.

Kenny yawned and stretched his arms. “I guess I better head back over to Collagesity North and get some shut eye now; have to get up early for the interviews with Snowbob and his father. ‘Preciate you showing me around the galleries tonight. Weird I’m in them. I know more. I must digest.”

Goodnights all around after that, with Baker Bloch and Old Mabel remaining in front of the newly hung Bogota 08 as Kenny teleports downstairs.

“He knows too much,” said Baker to the Martian.

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What might have been.

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Scissors?

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—–

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“The giant appeared here. Right in the center of the sim. Blame Lemons, eh.”

“Yes ma’am, I understand,” said Jerome T. Newton, downing a sugar cube. “Process and eliminate.”

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—–

“Process and eliminate,” he said again, back cooling.

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