Tag Archives: Summerhill Nova^^

away

“I wish you didn’t have to go off to war again, Jack.”

“Me too,” he wanted to say, but instead uttered: “Duty calls. Heterocera needs me — us.”

“So you’ll take Tronesisia with you?”

“Of course. Unless you think you need her more here for your services.”

“No no,” his wife Kate McCoy insisted. “She gives me great pleasure but I can find that elsewhere. There’s a little shop in the village that sells somewhat acceptable alternatives.”

“Good.” He pauses to think of the likely alternatives and shakes his head a bit. The price they pay for war, specifically 680 lindens or so in this particular aspect — last time he checked. “I’m sorry again that I have to do this.”

“Well. Summerhill Nova *stressed* that Heterocera isn’t dead and that VHC City can continue on as a powerful ally for us. *And* as they face a threat from the west I suppose there’s no alternative than to help out a — friend? Can we call Summerhill now a true friend? She tried to kill our mother, brother, and niece and nephew. And that was only in the last year!”

“She’s assured me that’s all in the past,” Jack Snow reinforced, thinking several weeks back to the, hopefully, final attempted assassination of a family member at the hands of Clan Nova. Poisoned ketchup. Luckily, Nephew Jimmy was a mustard guy. “We can put all that behind us. If we–”

“–help them,” Kate McCoy finishes for him. Her makeup applied, she gets up to accompany her husband to the awaiting battle ship. So much more needed to be said. Why the Fries with Cheese Church again, of all the religions Summerhill could have chosen? The one that would obviously lead to conflict.

(to be continued)

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Northeast Castle

Kate McCoy always left the table to (softly) play the piano when there was after-dinner talk of war.

“Heterocera is *not* dead,” spoke Summerhill Nova to his right. “We can carry on. The Sister sim will remain strong — I’ll make sure of it my liege.”

“Good, good,” the person at the head of the table spoke. “I won’t worry any longer about that direction. I trust you with the matter.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to his left. “And you, Walter.”

“Um hmm?” The tree being’s voice was hollow and husky.

“What say your people about the matter? About the changes in VHC City?”

“As long as Bob Dylan’s okay with it we’re okay with it.”

“Alright, then”. Jack looked straight ahead.

But the CB Dylan Dresser containing the other Snow at the table didn’t immediately respond. Then they realized the Manster within had gone to the wrong dimension — again.

(to be continued?)

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Knotted up

Collage 17 returns to Collagesity from Muff. Whole SoSo Gallery along with it. Red-green split fades and disappears.

—–

Woody bids farewell to his “summer home” in Bermingham. *He’s* moving to Collagesity! But I don’t think our story as a whole is quite done with that realm.

George is still there, for one thing.

Maybe Bendy as well. Probably is.

—–

Without Pitch/Baker in tow, Hucka Doobie says goodbye to the News and Views coffee shop across from the great hotel.

Yep, heading back to Collagesity too along with the others. He thinks of Pitch and what went wrong with this town. Or went right, now that the last of the vampires have been vanquished. After years of abuse Pitch has given up on VHC City. He use to be in the center. He became tired of living on the edge, without security, without a role to play. So he unconsciously attracted the end. More on that soon.

—–

Buster Damm came back to VHC City from the PCH Forest to find that his coffin underneath the Blue Angle had been deleted. He was exiled just like Pitch. Dead ball era over, I suppose.

—–

Mary: One last bit of “reeling them in” from her favorite fishing hole across the tracks from the city. Like Buster, she’s following Pitch outta here.

There’s too much at, er, stake, not to. Within the Realm of Orange or overall Sphere of Influence of VHC City, she remains sterile. Outside is another story.

—–

Another nearby red-green dichotomy. The abode of hot, temperamental Angelina Dickenson, a police woman of sorts. We haven’t met her in our story yet, and maybe never will. But she’s the one who drove the nails in the last two vampire coffins of the area. Again — for better or worse. Siren always set to on.  Continuously looking out for the town, especially the Sister side.

—–

But what of the Bemberg part? Still reading Sunklands, landlady Summerhill Nova sits in her office contemplating what to do about Baker and his several rentals there.

Obviously, she thinks, since Baker is the same as Pitch he’ll be leaving too. But should he be forced out? Punished, in a way. Summerhill is hoping he’d just quickly exit of his own volition and she could wash her hands of the matter. Let it just fade away.

—–

Baker himself stands before the blue door, thinking he should never have gone through it and made another dwelling place in Sister. Illegal, yes. Indefensible, correct. But, overall, temporary and harmless, like *everything else*. Like many of us after November’s big bump, Angelina was way under her land impact limit. Had the story been worth it? I think so. Else it would never have been told, I suppose.

—-

And we’re not quite through yet. The Musician is still circling around Clown Central, trying to find a way out for both he and Wheeler. Trapped in a dream. Sikul Himakt. He suddenly realized what had to be done.

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dead and alive

But Summerhill Nova certainly had her own issues apart from all this new stuff. An estranged sister front and foremost. “Why did you have to go away?” she asked while staring over at her ghost in Eastside Park. They had played here often as children. Baseball was the game then. Dead ball era. She always took the role of pitcher Baby Ruth. Her sister was Butterfingers, an ironic name because she was best at catching. Always hanging around home.

Across the tracks, Pitch Darkly became lively again.

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Going all nova.

She had a right to know. She *created* all this. Who is this Baker Bloch upstart? Vampires, pheh. There are no vampires in VHC City. [Work] like this could give her town a bad name. Best not to confront him directly yet. She decides to instead track down The Musician. Not hard — he had fallen asleep on the couch of his Ear Bar, exhausted from playing pinball all evening. He was at the green wall. Sikul Himatk. Summerhill roused him from his dreams. “What’s all this about,” she immediately started. “Vampires? Black holes? How do you know Baker? Who’s this Wheeler you run around with? Answers, please.”

The Musician understood who this was after his head cleared, but could give no really satisfactory replies. They were just existing in VHC City as best they could, he explained — just getting by. He and Wheeler now lived in Allen Martin’s vacated apartment. Summerhill also knew about Allen Martin. “Well, what happened to him?” she asked, thinking back to the supposed murder or death (something) at another place she knew well. “Heart attack is all I know,” The Musician attempted to explain. “Wheeler was with him at the end. She said it was fate that he passed through the gate there. Something about seeing a monster blasting through a wall. Didn’t say much more about it. (She’s) clearly upset.”

“Is Wheeler still at the apartment?” Summerhill continued grilling. The Musician nodded. “Let’s go see her. Maybe she has the answers.”

—–

So tonight was when Summerhill Nova learned about Pitch Darkly. It was actually this: Pitch Darkly *pretending* to be Baker Bloch pretending to be Pitch Darkly, as Wheeler explained while they shared a pot of coffee. She had just gained the knowledge herself. The vampire was very real. He had existed in what later would become VHC City for a very long time. Hundreds of years. Maybe over a thousand. This from the mouth of Pitch Darkly himself, now living on the other side of the tracks. Chuckles Greentop partially backed up the story, what she remembered about it. Pitch Black was his property. “And he was also friends with Sikul Himatk,” Wheeler then said.

“I think I know that name,” The Musician piped up on the couch opposite them, becoming fully awake again.

“Well of course you do,” replied Wheeler.

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Sibling Sims

Wheeler was tiring of the chit chat. “You said you had something important to tell me.”

“More ‘Winesap?'”

Wheeler looked down at Baker’s Pitch Darkly’s extended hand. “If you mean wine, I’m good. So spill.”

“It was such a good name I couldn’t wait. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything over at… where did you say you were?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh all right.” He put his hands behind his head and made the announcement. “It’s Silver. I’m sorry (!): Sister.”

“What is?” Wheeler asked.

“The sim. The name of the sim we, I, couldn’t determine before. It’s really clever. Want to hear my logic?”

“Oh sure. I’m here. Drinking suspiciously viscous wine with you.”

“Well, first off, the sim in question is kind of the sister to Bemberg. Together they hold about 80, maybe 90 percent of VHC City. The town’s kind of split between them. Brother and sister, maybe.”

“Ok, that’s understandable I suppose.”

He removed his hands from his neck and leaned forward. “Now here’s where it gets really clever. Take the last six letters of the actual name, rearrange them — not adding or subtracting any letters — and you, voila, get Sister. Go ahead and try it.”

Wheeler worked the problem out in her head; took her a moment. “Okay, that’s kind of cool, admittedly — starting to make more sense.”

“And there’s more. Has Chuckles told you about the Seven Sisters yet?” He nodded his head in the direction of the perpetually reeling fisherwoman outside.

“I don’t think so,” Wheeler said without turning around to look as well. “What are they?”

They’re pools in the sim I’m rather insisting we now call Sister. You have to go through the blue door. The Musician may have already found them. Anyway, you pass through that door and soon you are upon an inundating, grassy plain dotted with these small pools. Trouble is, there are only six pools out of seven present now. The seventh is gone. The seventh *sister* is missing. Where is it? is what I’m asking. What is it? Can you guess?”

Wheeler scrunched her mouth up, indicating she couldn’t.

“Black horse. Oh, drat, sorry again, black *hole*. I’ll quote to you from a famous music song directly related to all this. Let me make sure I have it right — wrote it down in preparation.” Pitch Darkly pulls out a piece of paper from his ragged black coat and reads:

In the constellation of Cygnus
There lurks a mysterious, invisible force
The Black Hole of Cygnus X-1
Six stars of the northern cross
In mourning for their sister’s loss
In a final flash of glory
Nevermore to grace the night

Pitch Darkly then stabs the paper on the table several times with his forefinger. “The Oracle indicated this.”

—–

Meanwhile, The Musician had moved through the pools called Seven Sisters and up a sewer ladder giving access to a green wall marking the southern line of the property formerly known as Pitch Black. “What was hidden by Harrison Head before is now exposed,” he said in a confident voice, looking at this similarly green picture at its east end and thinking back to the new collage called “The Point of It All” he had seen earlier in Bemberg’s Clown Central.

“The monster swallowing its own tail; perpetual. Cardboard Derek Jones was right all along (about Greenup).”

—–

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