Tag Archives: Terry^*

resting place

“Well it’s a beautiful mausoleum they’ve built for Furry Karl, bless his soul.”

“Yes, Baker Blinker. Jacob I. and Broken Heart intuited the death in the near future and prepared.”

“So Karl was a member of the pirate’s guild. No wonder he was always looking over his shoulder!”

“And he never made peace with those woods, that tree.”

“And in the end, that kind of did him in,” she continued the thread. “He didn’t have enough information about them. Too scared to follow through with certain lines of investigation.”

“Like the existence of the two Lucky villages, the center of the second built on the circumference of the first.”

“Wop, wop, wop,” Baker Blinker illustrated with her chopping arm.

“Wop, wop, wop,” Baker Bloch echoed.

They both stood silent for a moment, taking in the atmosphere of the new interior. Baker Bloch then walked over to one of the other coffins inserted around the walls, a more modern looking one, like Karl’s.

“Terry over here, then, Baker Blinker,” he indicated. “Let’s hope this is the last death for an Audrey’s bartender in the foreseeable future.”

“Here’s to *that*,” Baker Blinker says while raising her strong German beer in the air and then taking a big gulp.

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she then makes a request.

“Sure,” Baker Bloch replies upon hearing it. “You might as well see how it fits.” She gives a thumbs up, changes, then enters.

“Marvelous, Baker Blinker. But the wall has turned yellow again.”

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upstairs

Now Mr. Babyface really likes Simple Wunderlich’s snapshot from Ichelus upstairs, depicting its famous volcano. He makes a note to visit soon, perhaps even before he returns to Hana Lei. The picture corresponds with the sim map here as well.

And on the other wall, the totally water Redazillion.

He’s good here; no rules broken that he can tell of.

“I’m Gregg Oden. I live downstairs.”

A startled Mr. Babyface turns around to face his neighbor.

“I like Baileys in a shoe,” he continues. “Do you like Baileys?” Through his panic, Mr. Babyface was thinking this dude looks a lot like Rick James.

—–

Meanwhile, Baker Bloch discovered Terry in a bad place at Audrey’s Bar after he left Gregg Oden’s desire for love unrequited. The Bakers would have to find a new bartender, but probably all for the best, since Rocky Raccoo seemingly won’t be coming to Collagesity after all — staying in Olde Lapara Towne. Baker Bloch uses the bar’s phone to call up Greg Ogden at his father’s place in Farmington.

“Good news, sir. Gregg with the extra ‘g’ won’t be needing the apartment after all.” The man at the other end of the line yelped so loud in joy that Baker had to back the receiver off his ear.

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Old

Gregg Oden glances over at the second redbird he’s seen tonight before entering Audrey’s.

“Ahh, a fellow greenie,” Gregg directs toward Terry in a high, wispy voice. “I just saw you today. Terry the Royal Prince. West Virginia. Don’t remember?”

Not answering, Terry just stares at the strange green man with seaweed hair and pink tutu.

“Would you like to see something?” Gregg then asks. “Then you will be mine and I will be yours, Royal Prince. A Redbird for the Blue Jay.” Gregg pulls up his tutu and shoots a blinding light toward the bartender from beneath.

Baker Bloch should have seen it coming, pheh.

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new face

Mr. Babyface attempts to return to his new Collagesity apartment but realizes he set home to Audrey’s Bar instead. So he just asks Terry if he can use his phone to make the call.

“We’ve found them,” he starts for the person on the other end. Twittering; he waits, then seems to answer. “It’s fine. Commode is kind of out in the open.” More twittering from the phone. “Baker Blinker owns the property. She’s the one who set me up.” Another round from the other side. “I haven’t been in the woods yet.” A long bout of twittering, then, “Okay thanks.” After a small click, he hands the receiver back to Terry who puts it underneath the bar somewhere.

“Trouble in paradise?” Terry probes, as bartenders often do.

Mr. Babyface thinks about asking Terry if he perhaps knows the whereabouts of Caucasian Tommy Brade but then decides against it. No need to rouse suspicion so soon. That will come. So he pretends Terry is asking him about his recently rented Kidd Tower abode.

“Nah, the apartment is basically fine. Phone has some static. The bed needs a new mattress. The downstairs renter controls the heat. The stove doesn’t work.”

“But the view, eh, Mr. Babblefarce?” Terry smiles and winks cooly.

“Mr. Babyface,” he corrects. “Yeah. Good view.” He takes a series of puffs from his pipe, contemplating the next move. “When will you get your liquor license?” he then thinks to insert.

“End of October. First of November at the latest. Then Collagesity will be back in business for real. You’ll see. Baker Blinker has filled me in on all the detail-i-o’s.”

“She seems nice,” offers Mr. Babyface. Ah, yes. *Baker* would know, he realizes. But there’s the other Baker as well. Which is the real power in town? That’s what he has to find out next.

Pretty man Wilson Wheeler walks around the corner and into the bar.

“And what the f-ck are you suppose to be?” he asks the small, pipe smoking figure. Terry keeps grinning and winking.

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pretty things

“Bucket of nails,” requests Wilson to Terry. “And make it bloody.”

“Ahem,” intercedes Baker Bloch. “Not open yet, Wilson. Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry,” echoes Terry. He tries to size up his new potential customer, but can’t quite make out what’s the deal-i-o. Baker helps.

“So you’re a man again,” he states to Wilson.

“Yeah. A pretty man. Let me show you. You haven’t seen yet.”

“Just a glimpse at the police station. How’s Burt the Cop doing?”

“Brutus?” replies Wilson. “Prostitute problems as usual. Gaston’s filled with them, even choking on them. Berries. Cherry, Raspberry, Blueberry. Lemon. Yes, Berry is fully intertwined with Gaston. You knew Lemon on Mars didn’t you?”

“I did,” states Baker, thinking back fondly to his stay in futuristic INSCO. “Have you seen her? She ran around with Sugar then, but wasn’t a prostitute (like her) at the time. Circumstances must have changed. Science is getting tough to swallow for many.”

“I’m not sure she’s really a whore there,” says Wilson. “She could be undercover. Brutus hinted at so much. Purple Gang. Burt Lake Band. Crooked.”

“Oden, then,” responds Baker.

“Yeah. Have you seen him?”

“Old Gregg?”

“Right.”

“Maybe a glimpse as well at Morrison. Rockabilly Cafe. But we’re done filming there.” He pauses. “And you haven’t shown me the new face yet.”

Wilson changes.

“That’s way too pretty, man,” Baker offers. “For a man. How about a scar? What do you think Terry?”

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prep

“Terry. I’m glad you’re here already.”

“Yup. Mr. R. sent me ahead to set up the place, make sure all the correct drinks are loaded up, (and) so on. We’re playing cards later tonight. On the clock, of course.”

“Of course,” Baker Bloch responds.

“Sorry we don’t quite have our license nailed down in Minoa yet,” the green fire-ickle states.

“Perfectly all right. Just checking to see how things were going.”

“Mr. R. should be here by the end of the month, first of next month at the latest, Mr. Bloch.”

“Baker, please.”

“Mr. Baker. Mr. B.” Terry emits that cool clicking sound with his mouth again and points. Baker is a bit smitten himself. Such a groovy dude.

—–

“Norum,” Wilson Wheeler says. “This is the place.”

“And there is the man.”

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Bodega Market

Chroma gets around. The next morning she visits Baker Bloch’s new upstairs gallery at the Olde Lapara Towne’s Bodega Market and takes notes. She especially likes the large red work of the 8 piece exhibit: “See title 02”.

A balance for “See title 01” on the opposite side of the room, hmmm.

Chroma’s all for symmetry. And mystery for that matter. But now it’s time for an early martini at Audrey’s just below (a.k.a. Red Door Bar) and a chat with Terry. Not the same as Terri, obviously, but related.

Teleporting down, Chroma didn’t realize what a big boy Terry was getting to be. He’s grown!

They talk of New Lynne and the purchase of additional magical seeds.


Bodega Market: Red Door Bar in back; Art gallery upstairs; Teleporter inside door.

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sixes and sevens

Rocky Racco was in the middle of rehearing his piano solo in Story Room’s “Fire Ants” legacy single when Baker Bloch rezzed a chair beside him and broke the news.

“You’re leaving?” he uttered while still tinkering with the solo a bit. Baker answers affirmatively. “How many are you taking?”

“We can take *you* if you wish. But, otherwise, Wheeler Wilson I assume. Maybe Buster, maybe others. Unsure still.”

“And who is already in Collagesity?” queries the anthropomorphic raccoon.

“Well, Pitch Darkly is there, kind of a new alter-ego I suppose you could call it. He comes from VHC City. Also: Woody Woodmanson, formerly of Snowlands. Now see, this is a trick — *our* Mary use to be engaged to Pitch, and maybe still is. Somehow realities have split apart by us — me — being here. If Mary goes back to Collagesity with Wheeler and the others, say, she may not even remember her life with Paul here, both black and white versions of him.”

“You have more stories to tell (in this town),” countered Rocky. “How about my cousin Tealie from the underground?”

“Tealie can show up in another book, another place,” answered Baker Bloch, standing by his resolution.

“Just because your last two — graphic novels is it?” Baker Bloch nods here. “… these graphic novels of yours end in 6 sections doesn’t mean that the situation can’t change now. You can extend to 7. Think how much more story could be told in another 20 or so posts? My story, for instance. Who made me? Do you even know who made me? I was merely an ordinary raccoon at one time far in the past.”

“My guess would be Paul, if Paul resonates with Paul McCartney strongly enough.”

“Oh. Well, you knew that, then.”

“But you could be a nuclear mutation caused by that explosion which was winnowed down just to your mushroom house thanks to the quick actions of All Nancy’s.”

“Could be that too.” Rocky looks directly into Baker Bloch’s eyes. “Please stay. I don’t want you to go. I want to…”

“Live?” Baker offered. “Then come with me… us.”

Rocky abruptly slammed down the lid to the grand piano’s keyboard. Chef/Inspector Petty turned around from interviewing Mary and Paul in another part of the theatre room.

Rocky gets up and brushes by Baker on the way to the teleporter. They soon find him in Audrey’s below, drinking and talking with his new best bud Terry.

“They want to end me. They want to end *us*,” he says, trying to ignore their presence.

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Burster

“Next month??” Paul was incredulous. Peter SoSo and Tronesisia had paused their dart game to listen in. Mary Tyler began sobbing a bit.

“Yup,” states Terry the fire-ickle bartender. “The blue dude — Improvio I think — came in himself and booked the upstairs for October, same deal they have at Clownski’s. Levi wouldn’t give ’em any more than that at one time over there. But you can bet the bang on my belt there’s more deals to come. Mr. R. — Rocky — likes ’em, likes their music. Bang bang bang bang. More bang for the bucks, he said. Oops. I guess that’s a little insensitive.” But Terry was at least sensitive enough not to repeat the exact sentiment Rocky issued about their group, which was, “f-ck folk.”

“We… have nowhere to go,” Mary exclaimed. “We’ll have to leave Olde Lapara Towne! And I was really beginning to like it here. They’re forcing our hand.”

“Lamb must live,” agreed Peter SoSo. “There’s no killing it now, no going back to where we came from as Peter, Paul and Mary, separate and alone.” Tronesisia tried to nod in agreement but ended up just having a belly laugh. She excused herself by saying her gestures module needs rebooting.

“I think I might have an answer,” Terry said slyly. “Jacob… you know the groovy lawnmower…”

“Of course,” states Peter SoSo. “He’s what keeps us high as the sky.”

“Well… he found a portal right underneath this bar. It’s those sand dunes… sand castle. They lead to a cool and hip and far out place. Said it was called Melancholy Island. I tried it out myself. I think we — or you’s guys anyway — can help them with their problem.”

“What do you mean?” asks a sniffing Mary. Paul offered her his handkerchief.

“You have grass, right? Lots of it, thanks to those magical seeds you bought from New Lynne, Paul.” Mary blew her nose long and loud.

“Correct,” replies Paul, taking a fully loaded handerchief back from Mary.

“Well,” continues Terry, “turns out they *need* grass. They have the stubby version, the stuff that doesn’t really need to be mowed, but you people have the real deal, the weedy grass. The high version.”

Peter has a belly laugh with this as well. He quickly clears his throat and says, “catching,” while looking at Tronesisia. Paul couldn’t help sharing a small smile with Mary in the moment, each thinking that those two, forward looking robot and backward peering merman, were simply made for each other. Just like they were. Paul and Mary held hands.

“Alright, we’ll check it out,” Paul said. Everyone had forgotten about the secret weapon Buster set up, but were quickly reminded when Chef/Inspector Petty (not Pety — he’s different) burst into the bar through the red door and instantly began grilling.

“What all this about Renaldo O’Donnell springing back to life and then dying again??”

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Earie, Rocky and Terry

Earie decided to teleport over to the sim named Ear for potential musical inspiration but found only an empty sim with nothing in it except Route 02 and some lining Linden trees and plants. But just to the north: another potential Heterocera Smallerville.

And yet another Bodega Supermarket and Deli within. Is this where the pink elephant went? he asks himself.

Nope, no red door in back like Terry said there would be.

—–

Rocky heard a noise in back. He quickly picks up his gun and gets in ready position. “Alrighty come on out of there scoundrel.”

“Whoa, chill there Mr. R. It’s just me. Terry. The guy you hired to replace the comedian, getting off his shift. You didn’t drive him away by trying to shoot him too, did ya?”

Wiping his brow, Rocky points the gun down. “Oh Terry. I forgot you were behind there.” What a handsome demon, Rocky thinks again. Is Terry so pretty he’s turning him gay? He gets out of the way so the new bartender can pass.

“Well… see you tomorrow. About 3 o’kay?”

“We don’t really get any business until around 4, Terry. So come at 4.”

Terry pouts, and so cutely that Rocky yields.

“Alright you can show up at 3. We’ll play cards together if no one is here.”

“Swell Mr. R. I can use the extra dough. I mean, from stealing your money at cards.” He points to him and emits a cool, clicking sound with his mouth before departing eastward. The smitten raccoon watches with great interest.

Rocky begins to plan where he’ll set up the card table and how the seats will be arranged. “I hope that dreaded pink elephant doesn’t show up early again reeking of marijuana,” he then mutters.

A light bulb turns on above his head. Pot!

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