Tag Archives: Tronesisia^^+++++#

gynoid too

It was logical to bring Tronesisia next into the current story for more clarification. Tronesisia, after all, was originally created as a pleasure bot for earlier Collagesity, usually seen hanging around The Mission LINK. Later she evolved beyond her initial programming and eventually became married to soulmate Bendy — after she learned she actually had a soul herself. Bendy, however, will not be part of this particular story. We cannot locate his whereabouts and Tronesisia is quite protective of him. But Tronesisia states she is very available for questioning. She has nothing to hide about her past, her present, even her future as she understands it. Which is a lot.

“Tronesisia,” I began. “Thank you for chatting with us a bit.” I found her in Dewey, exactly where we left off her story in, let’s see, well it was the last photo-novel. 16. We decided to talk about that first after reconvening in my NWES coffee shop for, again, logical reasons.

Cut to 3 exchanges later….

“I was asked to be the judge and jury of an art theft, Baker Bloch,” she rattled on. “I originally decided to kill the determined criminal before reversing my decision and bringing him back to life. This would be Herbert Gold, husband of April Mae Flowers. They are both alive, last I checked, and living in Snowlands.” Here Tronesisia tilts her head, her blue eyes gazing over my shoulder into the distance.

She stared back. “I stand corrected. Herbert Gold is again dead, having succumbed in his sleep earlier in photo-novel 17.”

“The current one,” I decided to add.

“Yes.” She tilts her head again; her blue eyes go blank once more. “No, new information has revised the old and found he is still alive. Just as — I — was — receiving…” The eyes go dead now. Tronesisia has shut herself off, perhaps experiencing some kind of overload. We would have to continue our chat another night, pheh.

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penultimate

“Help Tronesisia. I’m stuck between the floor and ceiling!”

“Get down from there, Duncan,” she pleaded again. “You’re going to hurt one or both of your keyboard playing hands (!).”

Alice Farrowheart walked into the psychedelic records store looking for her husband of 40 years. Ignoring Duncan Avocado doing a one handed stand on a bicycle seat — she’d seen enough of those kind of circus acts this week over at the bot cafe — she spotted the small, grey alien sitting on the opposite side. Oh well, she thought. At least he’s upright. I’ll ask him instead.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Oh, ahem, what’s that?” Ingo pretended to shake himself out of a daydream, but he knew full well where he was and what he was doing here.

“I’m looking for Fred. That’s my husband.” She came closer to him. “About yea high; wears a cardigan.”

“Nope,” Ingo exclaimed. “Just us freaks in here today. We *wish* more people would come in and buy stuff. That would allow us to get better instruments, do more gigs. You see, we’re a band.” He pointed around the room, ending with himself. “Her, and him over there, and then me. I’m the drummer. You may have heard of me. Ingor Ratts. I was pretty famous back in the days.”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I have.” But she was more trying to ignore the large red rat that had just emerged from behind the counter. It reminded her of…

—–

“Baumbeer!” she exclaimed while waking up. “Baumbeer was killed by the drummer!” She must get to Black Drake asap. Now where is that confounded belt?

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R

“I *knew* I’d find you here, Eighty-eight.”

“Yeah. You know I can only get so far from you, Apple of My Life.”

“How’s your flu going?” Sarcasm.

Eighty-eight didn’t answer, but instead looked to the door. The door to *her* night club. She was the Star. It all revolved around her. Like planets.

“You gonna stick around and hear me play?” she then asked, not seeing the person enter that she wanted to. Her voice was steady, unfaltering. She knew what she was doing and was in command. Not Tracy Austin Newtonia Kashkow. The latter wasn’t use to that and didn’t like it. Not one bite she didn’t.

—–

She sat at the drum kit, calmly waiting while the singer and keyboardist remained frozen around her (like planets).

Her lover entered with the sphere.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Just afterwards his car parked outside burst into flames. Like the Sun.

—–

“I think I get it,” exclaimed actress Alice Frame in her rented apartment next to Spunky’s while reading the latest script. “Ingo is controlled by the Sphere, the Sphere is controlled by…”

—–

“HIT IT!”

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Tin (double)

“Ahh, I found it. The place Roger Pine Ridge was born. Dewey.”

—–

“Tronesisia.”

“In the nuts and bolts!”

“Did I choose well? Did I do right?”

“You are leaning slightly more toward fame than obscurity but (the margin) is acceptable. Your *doppleganger* is balancing you by leaning toward the opposite. You may approach.”

The sweating Man About Time moved forward then bowed.

“I have *so* much to ask (!).”

“Let’s brighten the place up a little bit first…”

—–

“We should have given it back,” Herbert Gold reinforced to his wife. “The object was obviously set on the wrong permissions. I *told* you at the time.”

“I just thought it was… *fate*(!),” April Mae tried to defend about the stolen art.

“Like the rare atlas that you could have stolen from that library because it was already checked out to someone else, hmph.”

“Y-yes.(!)” She couldn’t pass up another opportunity.

But now they were in *trouble*(!!).

—–

“This is like you and Madame Silver, Herbert Gold,” Tronesisia spoke behind him, referring to one of his exes. “But you had the decency to move beyond her. Question, though: is she silver, or actually — perhaps — *tin*?”

Similarly sweating Herbert Gold, who knew he was in hot water, expressed relief that Tronesisia didn’t say platinum.

“Oh yeah,” Tronesisia corrected with a small laugh. “Pla*tin*um. That’s what I meant, ha.”

Oh boy.

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Presidents’ Ball 02

“Hey Tronesisia, I think this little yellow girl in our user baker b.’s newest collage also happens to be Lisa Smipson of Corsica, coinkidinkally enough, last seen by these metallic peepers on New Island. Fisher had a massive crush on her there. It’s fantastic they get together now — just like *we* are now together.”

Tronesisia pries herself away from the featured picture of the foyer exhibit to rejoin Bendy, who has reverted to the name Lord Bendington the Third for the purposes of this royal gala. As a Baroness herself now, she kisses the Lord on the cheek, then, hand propped under chin, studies the work before her. She’s good with these kinds of analyses, just like a certain bee-person we all know and love.

“Ice Cream,” she then exclaims. “Dr. Ice Cream. This is about the recent sexy union between Captain Spocari Nemoy and the Good Doctor. Heidi, aka Biker Chick, turned out to be just a warm up. Same with Natali Woodhull, at least when she dons the role of exotic dancer Molly Lustrous.”

She turns back to the featured work.

“And ‘Fractured Violin’ is the same, a mixture of red and green blood. Human and Vulcan. Exchange of bodily fluids. That’s how Dr. Ice Cream Yourinsides will survive and thrive on this island, this Fishers Island. That’s how all red blooded humans and aliens alike will survive. Turn to different colors.”

“Funny how all these unions are taking place now in this Collagesity novel 10,” spoke Bendy. “You and I; Spocari and Dr. I.C.; Lisa and Fisher. We must be nearing the end.”

“I predicted 2 weeks ago to the day to Natali that the ball in all its guises would represent the endpoint: Completio. But we should go inside. Rocky is warming up without me. Then after our gig and signature song of ‘OTR’ we’ll have the introduction of the Presidents, all Democrats, all urbane blue Socialists discarding rough hewed, reddish exteriors. And then at the end we’ll meet the most liberal of all. For from now on it will always be Christmas in Wallytown and on Fishers Island as a whole.”

Bendy whistles in admiration of Tronesisia’s prescient prowess powers. “I’m with you all the way, babe.” They hold hands and proceed within…

(to be continued)

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Boo

“But as you can see, Molly and Tronesisia…”

“Natali,” interrupted Natali/Molly Lustrous. “When I’m out of costume, mind you. It’s more a contractual thing than a personal preference. The name Molly Lustrous© is copyrighted.”

“So I see. I will begin the last paragraph again, then.” Walldo the photo droid started once more. “I witnessed that transformation. Mr. Roger’s head became one and the same with the swirly, multicolored sphere he held in his cracked brown hands. I have pictures of the wall behind him, white or white-grey in hue. But as you can see, *Natali* and Tronesisia…”

He indicates the open space to his left where the wall in question formerly was.

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Walldo 02

Sometimes earlier shots with less windlight work best.

That yellow lady having a fit again, maybe brought on by greasy snacks. But my code is record, not interact. I hope she will be all right.

Lavender’s friend Glyph or Gliph somewhat down the Wall likes to sneak into this place and watch shows. But I do not like cages. I do not like entrapments. I like to be free to roam. Still… it is part of my Wallytown experience and I will record.

The lady is gone, and these balls are exposed. Ah yes, I see. Just animations. The yellow lady will be all right.

Too close to opening in Wall. Must hide under pallet for 15 minutes and 23 seconds. 15:23 seems to work best for hiding.  Then I can explore the alley. Trees are not allowed in the alley behind Drugstore Orange. Trees are not allowed in a lot of Wallytown places.

Sissy and Natali are here in the alley. I will talk to Sissy and Natali.

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Scrutinizer Central

“Tronesisia, in her sly way, has led us back to VHC City’s Realm of Orange, also known as Sphere of Influence. George is pictured here peering intently at it in Collagesity novel 4 — scrutinizing…

… and then also here in the current novel (playing Young Herbert Dune in EM’s ‘Urbane Blue’ production). He peers at the orange in each case. Circular perfection.”

“No, you don’t get it, Pitch. I should know. He *doesn’t* peer at the orange, but just outside. Around the outside but not within. That’s what Tronesisia is warning us about.”

“We’ll have to bring her back, Bill. To Collagesity, I mean.”

“Baker Blinker’s old house…”

“Of course. Just like before.”

“But there’s Bendy to consider.”

“Bendy and Tronesisia — or Tronesisia and Bendy — go the way of Fisher and Lisa.”

“Or Lisa and Fisher.”


“I knew they’d let me come back.”

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gormanbozia

“You admit you are the girl that goes by California.”

“Cal, yeah. That’s me.”

“You have an unregistered navel. You declared All Orange back in 1914, before such things even existed. Do you admit you are also a time traveler?”

“I can admit that. I am allowed. Now… give me something hard.”

Natali Woodhull did not respond immediately. Then: “I’ve lived here since the lemony days. I know a thing about citrus.”

“Good for you Natali. Can I let Rocky in now? We must practice for the big ball 2 weeks from Friday. End of story. Completio.”

Natali paused again. “Not quite yet,” she decided. “As California, you are created by a man named Wilson, true?”

“I *am* Wilson. I am the 28th president of the United States of America born in Staunton, Indiana.” She smiled.

“But… you are a woman,” points out Natali.

“Then: Wilsonia. The feminine form of Wilson. I tipped the scales in favor of me. I am both feminine and masculine. General Grant knows.”

They sat there for a while. They could hear Rocky rapping on the door of the coffee shop, saying stuff like, “come on,” and, “let me in already.” Finally he seemed to go away. Tronesisia nodded her head a little with this. “It’s going to be difficult for him to come back. He’ll get lost in the city lights, he will.”

“I’m sorry. But this is important. There’s a wall in this town of course. In olden days it was called the Green Monster, not because of its color but because it ate green — trees to be specific.”

“General Grant allows glimpse into Navelencia at Orange Cove,” says Tronesisia cryptically, and then reaches down to lift her metal shirt a bit, exposing the orange in question. “Green Monster. It has a hole in the center.” She circles the navel with a silver index finger, then lowers the shirt back and beams blue eyes at Natali. “I heard you used a recording of our signature song for a dance last week.”

“I did,” admitted Natali, hoping Tronesisia wasn’t mad about the borrowing (what was *that* about?). “But just for a particular customer. On a whim, if you will. I got it from Chris.”

“Did it have a certain effect?” Tronesisia’s pace was crisp and precise.

Natali didn’t know. She recalls she was really into it. Trance dance. “I’m not sure,” she offered. “Can you explain?”

Tronesisia got up out of her chair and danced the same exact dance, right there on the spot.  Natali Woodhull’s mouth remained agape at the beginning. How? she thought. How?

And then she began to remember.

There was a ship.

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burning

“New Island, Rocky; Mid Hazel’s place to the right. If you cross that bridge, go down that road, you may never come back.”

“I hear ya, sister. Let’s go back to the night club. *Our* night club now. No renting any more. Don’t dwell on all this bad stuff. Turn your back on it. Literally… turn around.”

So Tronesisia takes Rocky’s advice and pivots away from the bridge to face full on the island that is truly home now. Her new New Island. Or at least Fisher’s.

She has become mobile again and will not return.

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