“We’ll figure it out, Axis, er, Tropp. Umm.” He was truly stuck in the middle and 1/2 and 1/2 (sorry!).
Tag Archives: Treelor^^~~~~~
It was a short vacation for Hidi but meaningful. She reconnected with her past: bruisers Delbert, Filburt and the rest. But she was back now in The City, and boyfriend-husband Axis and she had had a wonderful evening just staying in the room and, afterwards, strolling down the westward facing beach in the morning and enjoying a beautiful, forced sunset over the ocean waves.
No, he preferred to go by Opp now. Tropp, actually. True Opp — 1/2 and 1/2 (dang!). And she: well, we’ll get to that soon enough. She created him in effect, a reversed Adam to her Eve. The Apple had been, um, turned inside out.
Anyway, she’d learned something at the beach. A Mercury capsule like astronaut John Glenn use to pilot bobs all abandoned and shite out in Neptune’s Bay, but then when you walk just north past the Neptune sim you reach a property called Mercury Rising, like the sun was rising on the couple at the point where she discovered this coincidence. If it is coincidence. And all those celestial bodies (!): Sun, Mercury, Neptune. Tropp sometimes quips she has a celestial body, ha. Not last night — that would be too weird or obvious I suppose — but sometimes still.
She needs to check her horoscope to see if something is resonant there. Let’s see, Mercury rising. That’s easy. And the sun with it, but also in forced opposition to it (forced sunset instead of natural sunrise to enhance the effect of the walk). And Neptune in the, er, adjacent sim — that must be a neighboring zodiac sign.
She thinks back to an astrologer (name?) who told Hidi about what she felt at the time was a forced association between her birth horoscope and the positions of towns in an Ohio county bordering the Great Black Swamp back in the days. Importantly, Neptune is the only town that is named in the association. The rest of the planet-towns are, or were, inferred. She has the notes somewhere in her filing cabinet downstairs in her actual apartment. This is just a room she and Opp used. For reunion purposes. She decides to check out and head home. Actually, that’s just a figure of speech, for the place has been locked up for weeks. Hidi and Tropp just like the view of the beach and beyond from that large, paneled window; the couple is big on scenery and enhancing it in ways they can if possible. Forced sunrise here, forced full moon there, extra lighting in a darkened alley, so on. But Mercury rising… she must go back to that beach to scout out the place. The owner said in his property description that visitors are welcome. No forcing action there at least.
She lathers sunscreen over her oh so pale face
and hands and heads out.
Ahh yes. The Mercury capsule is labelled a *hideout* by the owner. Just like she had been hiding out over in Gaston and just returned. She sits only a bit beyond the border of Neptune on a sand dune in Mercury Rising and thinks about Ohio. Then when she recrosses into Neptune from Mercury Rising she is able to sit in the abandoned capsule. Interesting. Another true hideout (!). True Opp, true hideout. Hidi.
A map charting celestial bodies on a pillow inside; the whole thing is owned by a person from Consignment. Consignment shop! The plot thickens as they say. Better gather up Tropp and hand over there. If this capsule is truly cursed he needs to be in on it.
Geez, what a pathetic prop. Grey intestines look *nothing* like that.
On to the interesting subjects… just around the corner.
Ahh so. An actual living, breathing vein and artery person. Thanks to *us*. And then her sister, but without the internal circulating system. Sorry, Girl 01. The sister — Girl 02 — will have to remain on the ship. But *you*…
“I was a girl with long, spindly legs,” spoke Misty Felton to her new bestest friend Sep Felton back at the latter’s apartment (125 Wall Lane, Wallytown). They hadn’t determined a blood relation, if there was one to be found. To Sep, that left the door wide open to… experimentation.
“Interesting,” Sep replied. “I always imagine horses. It affects people different ways. So I take it you like the dance… oh, silly question; you were gyrating just as hard as I was during the heated moments. But not as hard as Molly, tee hee. A better question would be, what didn’t you like about the dance? Personally, I was a little disappointed that Molly was glitter-free by the end. But it’s a small criticism. How about you?”
Chatty again, Misty thought. But with that nice, pleasant tone. Still probably makes up for it. Yes, it turns out that Molly’s routine involves *one*, count ’em, one dance throughout, but with many variations of themes tried. On and on the music went, a combination of Pink Floyd’s “On the Run” and Judy Garland’s theme song “Over the Rainbow,” as Sep explained. Being from 1920, Misty wasn’t familiar with either. Combined title: “OTR” of course. Born to be mashed up, as Sep also said.
“I can’t think of anything,” Misty offered to Sep’s question, hoping to switch the subject back to the spindly legged girl. And the sister. What *were* their names? It was right on the tip of her tongue.
Just when she was thinking this, Sep leaned over the counter separating them and pecked a kiss on the lips fronting said tongue. It took her breath away. But it wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary… “You know I may be your great grandmother or something,” she said to put some distance between them again.
“Nope,” spoke Sep. “We ruled all that out. We called mom… we traced our ancestry back 4 generations. Thanks to Uncle Bert as well. (The name) Sep’s just a coincidence.”
Hmm, pondered Misty. She decided to reintroduce the subject bothering her more than anything. She was a little irritated that Sep had skipped over it so quickly. It seemed super important to her. Horses… why did the music invoke horses for her? She decided to say this aloud, then work back to the girl. Sex, or whatever’s coming up, could wait. “Why horses?”
“I’ve always liked them. In a past life I imagine myself being a horse. Tricksy. And with Capricorn my stud lover. We’d gallop the fields to the Misty Mountain, where the lighted ones are found, the beings who lead us down to the big head Brainard in the valley beyond. Altona.”
“That quite a fantasy you have going there,” opined Misty with a slight laugh and shake of the head. Misty Mountain? she then thought. Why *my* name? Again she decided to vocalize her internalizations. “Coincidence about the Misty Mountain?”
“Oh… didn’t think about that. Yes: coincidence. Chance — again.” But suddenly Sep knew that Misty and herself couldn’t be a couple. Because something *had* happened beyond that mountain; down in the valley. She was remembering this now — lingering effects of The Dance. They had both been *absorbed.* Assimilated… yes, that was the word she was looking for.
Misty was thinking the same word at the same time. And realizing the same thing about the couple part. Their minds were synchronized now. Because, actually, they had one mind.
That of Brainard.
They stood there for a while, just staring at each other. The 2 “heroes” had gone elsewhere. It was only the girls now.
Already in costume, Molly Lustrous walked into the bar and took her customary violet latex seat at the base of the stage. Queen of The Dance at night. But by day?: humble, naive Natali Woodhull, counter attendant at a rival bar in town on the other side of the wall. The California part as opposed to this dry, desert Nevada (according to California).
“15 minutes late,” bar owner Natsu Lemon called from in back. “That’ll be taken off your wages.”
“You don’t *pay* me enough to show up on time,” Molly replied in a rough hewed voice, showing both age and wisdom. “I make my real money from my *customers*, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the owner replied sardonically. They often played these roles before the dancing commenced. Where Molly showed her *real* value. Yes, Missus Lemon would certainly pay Molly more if she knew she would quit. But she also knew that Molly loved doing her craft, and this was the best venue in town for that. More tips for certain. And Natsu allowed some, er, experimentation in form.
“Hi Molly!” Sep Felton then cheerfully called over. “Can’t wait to see the act again tonight.” She walked toward the violet sofa; Misty followed her, still stunned from the revelation. We’re not in Second Life any longer! “Molly, this is Misty. Misty: Molly.”
“Pleased to greet you.” Molly stuck out a glitter covered hand. Misty grasped and shook it. Some of the glint came off on her own hand, which Molly noticed. “Sorry about that. Gotta get some better glitter — more sticky.” She turned her head back to Missus Lemon at the counter. “If *someone* would *pay* me more,” which the bar owner just waved off with an, “Oh, you.”
Dirk Jeter then showed up. Tom Sprout. Derek John Toms and his cousin Billy Budd Grant from out of town. But not out of Orient, importantly. Then Stacy Augman, Pretty Pat Puffcake, Jimmy the Geek, Orange U. Glad, and finally the mayor himself, Struddledoo Lemony Pie Chittles the Third. “Quite a crowd,” Molly whispered to herself while looking around. She seemed to do her best work with more people in the room. More energy, she surmised.
Misty and Sep wedged in between Batty Man and Superduper Guy on the couch, who had also slipped in again from the back door. “Smoking a fag,” whispered Sep to Misty in explanation. “*Anything* goes here.”
Clapping. Molly took the stage, a wonder of shine and glamour. Whistles. This would be a good night for her.
The audio began booming out of the speakers to each side. Clapping grew louder as the motions started, the gyrating. Molly was in superb form.
Misty suddenly remembered the ship.
Funny how I asked that girl what she wanted and she said veins and arteries.
Hope she’s happy.
Occident to Orient, yes.
Bar in Another World to Bar Lemon. Let’s see if Wheeler, ahem, Misty is here yet.
No, that’s just me. Talking to Batty Man. What a loon! Also introduced me to his pal Superduper Guy. Both jerks to the nth degree. Althougth Batty Man saved some face by talking about his cats for 2 sentences. I turned to Superduper: You have any cats? He didn’t even know what one was. Is that one of those scrunched up dogs? he replied. So that was the end of him. Batty Man still has a chance. Of course I can swing both ways. Hehe, *Felton* might be convenient. Neither of us would even have to change names if it went that far. Which it won’t, of course.
I didn’t use to be this way, she then pondered. Too close to Lemon here. Lemony Past. It is powerful.
Misty/Wheeler walked in the bar.
“Oh hey. Rescueing me from *these* two chumps you are.” She stood up.
“Hi. You must be Seppy — Sep.”
“I am in the flesh. With my dark lemon peepers along with me.” What kind of joke was that? she asked herself. But: appropriate to point out at this moment. She gauged Misty’s reaction. She kind of looked around the bar without replying. “I like your hair,” I said to bridge the pause. “We have the same taste in color and style.”
“We do?” I replied from the other side. I looked down at my glove covered hands, the Edwardian Dress, looked up at the brim of my bowed hat. Took it off, even. Peered all around it, examining every corner.
“You okay?” the Felton opposite me asked. “You look a little… discombobulated. Said you were from out of town. Is that out of town Occident or out of town Orient? There’s a difference.”
“I know there is,” replied Misty/Wheeler matter-of-factly. “I… I don’t know what year it is,” she admitted, looking at the hat in her hands again. “Space is not currently my problem. It’s *time*.”
“Ahh, I see.” Sep glanced back down at Batty Man to the right, Superduper Guy to the left. Both were nodding. “You’ve been lemoned,” she said to begin an explanation.
Batty Man and Superduper Guy instantly changed places with each other.
I’ve got to text Baker to come find me and get me. But what year is it? 2020? 1920? If the latter, then Septimius might be of aid. If the former, then Baker alone.
She looks down at her spacesuit like garb; realizes it has to be the former.
Unless we had children, she ponders further. Grandchildren. She searches for Wallytown + Septimius. Name is probably archaic but it’s worth a try.
She studies the search results. No Septimius. On a hunch, she tries Seppy. No luck again. Then Sep. Sep Felton. Ah ha. 8 hits down. Sep Felton. 128 Wall Lane. Number: 882-226-4371. She dials through her notebook.
“Hello?” Female voice — Wheeler was thinking male.
“Hi. Is this Sep? Sep Felton?”
Wheeler decides what to say. “I’ve been looking up possible relatives in the area. My name is Felton as well. By marriage.”
“Well, that’s interesting. I only know of 1 other Felton, and he’s over in Meat City. Runs a small packing industry. No relation, though.” The voice was pleasant, inviting.
“I was wondering… could we meet sometime today? Or tomorrow perhaps? I’m only in town the two days. Today would be preferable.” Wheeler was thinking: it better be today. I’m ready to get the heck out of Dodge!
“I get off work at 5. How about 6? Bar Lemon is a popular place to meet. Dancers there as well. We can chat before the entertainment. Molly, one of the dancers, is a good friend of mine. She can get us a good deal on drinks.”
How strange, thought Wheeler. Of all the places. Does she know as well?? “Swell,” she answered. “See you in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks. It will be nice to compare family trees. See if we’re actually related. Perhaps you’re instead related to Sven over in Meat City. Or perhaps — I’ve often wondered this too — there’s a missing link between the 2 Feltons. We would be so isolated otherwise. Perhaps we can figure it out together. That would be nifty.”
A little chatty, thought Wheeler. But otherwise: quite nice. Pleasant — that’s important. No nasal in her voice. “Super. I’d like to see the dancers.” It was a hobby of Wheeler’s as well. So many dances in the world. So many more to learn.
“That’s wonderful. I’m a dancer too, but not professionally like Molly. Just amateur stuff.”
Queer again, thought Wheeler. Just like me once more. But enough talk for now. “Goodbye. I’m looking forward to it.” She touches the phone symbol on the notebook, making it turn from green to red. Disconnected. But later, perhaps connected in a much more meaningful and deeper way. Love.
“So tell me about this Treelor of yours,” Allen Y. requested, a bit of bitterness mixed in with his phrasing.
“He’s nice,” Jennifer M. Friend responded with her usual, confident voice. “He’s innocent. He’s… Tropp, actually. I always forget that too. *I’m* Treelor.” She pauses a beat. “In another life.”
Silence for a spell. They look over at the pirate ship, looming huge before the horizon. The glare of Allen’s facelight was bothering Jennifer. She politely asked him to turn it off. Or down.
“I don’t know how to turn it down. I’ll just detach it.” Now he can’t see her beautiful face as clearly, he thought. Oh well, the setting sun casts it in a different, if less visible light. All angles and shades are good for her. I believe I’m falling in love. He was preparing to give her flowers. One of a line of gifts stretching into the future he has in mind. Leading to…
“Tropp’s great, really,” spoke Jennifer again, breaking the spell.
Tropp, sulked Allen Y. He must be eliminated. But they seem to have quite a long history together now.
He’s heard of… assimilations. Maybe that will be the ticket.
She knows she saw it. The sea had DEMO written all over it, like it was mocking her very existence.
But she can’t seem to recreate the vision.
Wait: there it is.
Is that woman nude over there? The owners said: no nudity. And… well, where is perpetual birthday boy Tropp? It’s not Allen Y. obviously. That’s Pine Ridge. The bastard. Going rogue on Baker and me and creating his own batch of lousy characters. Dollie — what the heck? And a *frog*? I’ve seen *him* before: Middletown, where he was called Brazilian Bill. I assume soon enough a puny, sickly apple tree will show up sprouting off some craggy rock or such. “Make it so,”
Treelor Tropp might say, and it would be. Why… do I keep writing thinking Treelor instead of Tropp? Another 2-n-1? 2 Hearts in One. The glue? She better get back to the lodge. Of course she’s not going to report *these* 2. It’s going to happen here. The rule is more a suggestion, perhaps, as long as you do it in a harmless, non-graphic way.
Now back to looking for a nice car for when I get back.
When she looked up again the couple were gone. In their place, Allen Y. and Archibald Duke sat around a nearby campfire. Dollie and Piper are probably luring somewhere nearby, Jennifer rationalized, hidden by the tall grass or something. Looks like the lodge came to me. Better go see what they’re up to. I suppose. Or… she could just walk the other way. She eyes the exit route. Nah, too easy to spot — can’t get away with it. So it’s be *friendly*, true to my name. A last name I might share with Allen Y. someday. If he’s so inclined. Could be an interesting story. Story within a story.
“S’up guys?” She spots Dollie hidden in the nearby grass. “And gal.”
“Did you know Johnny Appleseed supposedly planted his *last* apple tree right here in these mountains.” Allen Y. pointed back in the direction they came. “Said so in the lodge brochure. Probably really old and shriveled by this point, wouldn’t you guess. Let’s go take a look.”
Jennifer looked west. *Knew* it, she thought.
The mists move in…