Tag Archives: Turchin McGurchin

thankfully

Axis certainly gets around. Here’s he’s on an island in the northeast part of Heterocera (Eggar sim). It’s hot down here at the beach, and he pulls off his duster coat and carefully lays it by the shoreline. He must get back to the art store soon. Too bad he can’t wear those paint splattered paints they sell for free within…. merely a mesh figure he is. But perhaps they’ll fit burgeoning artist Annie to the T.

Or Bill.

Or Mabel.

One way to find out…

—–

“Aren’t they just the dreamiest, Turch?! Now when Baker Bloch reopens the Red Umbrella we’ll be back in business. Buurb should be here soon.”

“Sure,” reassures Turch, because he knows Mabel can’t take another loss like her brother Little. But probably she won’t have to. Most likely, yes.

—–

“I can’t do this Precious; put your wings back on. I have to find Mabel.”

“I… understand.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Heartsdale, Heterocera, Rubi

link

Just like that, Mabel was back in Collagesity. It wasn’t their house that was the key, it was the *Mission*. She’d just completed a long and fascinating conversation with long time dual resident Turchin McGurchin about the nature of “Beach” and “Time”. Precious Snowflake had been working on The Rainbow Sphere all along, a final gift.

But what is The Rainbow Sphere? That’s what former town resident Roger Pine Ridge was aiming to find out.

“Gilmore, I’m going to be out of this water world and back on dry land before you know it, you hateful bastard. You’ll see.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Iris, Rubi

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Mabel’s primary goal today remained the mission, however, and speaking with Precious Snowflake who she knows is the same as Baker Blinker. On her way, she stops to take a good look at that tanker. “Yes, this might do very well for subject matter,” she says.

She walks into the fire within but remains unharmed.

Onward to the mission…

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Mission

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“Great,” whispers Urch to Turch. “We have to sit next to Smelly Santy; got here too late.”

Luckily Turchin McGurchin was perhaps the only person in the hobo camp who even compared in odor to “SS”, as everyone called him, and correspondingly minded less than anyone else about sitting within his circle of stench. Barely hesitating, he plopped his old bones next to him and offered salutations. Urch took a deep breath and then took the seat opposite Turch.

At the other table of the mission sat Jim Jackson Jones Johnson directly behind Urch, who we’ve met, then beside him the old man who likes to read books over at Furry Karl’s Joker’s Wild bar, then caddycorner to him another shabbily dressed man reading a book who looks suspiciously like the Librarian in a new guise, and lastly Tronesisia, the pleasure bot of the camp, although no one acknowledges her by that title. Currently she’s playing around with a giant 3×3 rubic’s cube, and having no difficulty getting each of its sides to turn a solid color again and again after a reset, the object of the game. She’s very fit in both mind and body, as the camp found out 2 years back when she first showed up as another one of those exiles from cursed Bennington.

There was a polite period of waiting before Turch moved to the food buffet on the opposite wall. Everyone else had done eating, with paper plates and utensils already disposed of. Despite the stomach rumblings, Urch decided to beg off food this morning, saying she had a lot on her mind and didn’t want to weigh her body down. “Oh?” said the stinky but kind Santa being at her table, trying to help. “Did your brain eat something disagreeable in the last several days? That could do it.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” offered Urch, use to SS’s strange words.

“Then perhaps a parrot brought the disease in from a foreign tropical country, perhaps that one with the long coastline. Seas breed disease. That’s why the one word is nested in the other.”

“Could be,” Urch said, trying to agree with Smelly Santy so the conversation will end in this direction. “How’s Farmington doing? she then asked. “I heard you went back there for a couple of days.”

“Nice in late autumn when the leaves are dive bombing off the trees and creating bloody colors on the ground. But this is early spring apparently.”

“Then how was it?” asks Urch again. She was use to this drill about having to ask the same question to Smelly several times to get a type of proper answer.

“The sand blurred the dimensions between people into fuzzy cantaloupes. Dust everywhere. Hoofprints. You know the story.”

“I do,” Urch began again. “And how was it by the way?”

“Oh kids are fine. The wife is asking for the alimony check. The elves are back at work.” Smelly Santy paused, the corrected himself. “*Out* of work again. It’s early spring, right?”

“Right, SS.”

Turch now returned to the table with a plate containing a huge egg and piece of bacon, obvious products of the Bennington experiments. Suddenly glad she wasn’t eating this morning, Urch excused herself to check the upstairs. She was looking for someone in particular.

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“Get me a glass of water while you’re up, Urch,” Turchin McGurchin requested before she left, nodding toward the food bar. “And don’t forget about telling me about your dreams,” he then demanded. He was hoping that Urch would spill the beans wine while he ate, but there’s that condition of hers to cope with. Poor Urch, he thought. Always running away from food and eating.

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Filed under *Second Life, ., Heterocera, Rubi

Home

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Urch finally woke up after what seemed like weeks of dreaming. But it still took her almost an hour to physically move away from the bed. Everyone else had already gone.

She took advantage of the solitude; kept thinking and reviewing the series of dreams in her head…

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Finally she realized she was hungry. Everyone else was probably already at the mission beside Fal Mouth Moon receiving breakfast. But she still dawdled.

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One floor up, she met Jim Jackson Jones Johnson also hanging behind the others. They sat down on the couch which doubled as his bed. He complained about the poor condition of his back for half an hour. Urch moved on…

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… to the third floor. Old Turchin McGurchin still hadn’t woke up. Urch decided he needed to be roused. Sometimes when they sleep this late they’re actually dead. Urch was greatly relieved to see the old man stir after being yelped at.

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“God?” he began. He looked up from the bed at Urch, eyes focusing. “Oh… it’s only you Urch. Breakfast time?”

“Sure,” said Urch. “Wanna walk over there with me? I’ve got some more dreams for you to analyze.” Turchin McGurchin was probably Urch’s best friend at the hobo squat ruin they called home, a kind of, um, poor man’s father figure.

“First I have something to show to you,” Turchin replied. “Top floor,” he commanded.

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“Newcomers, Urch. Call themselves The Martins. Like the bird.”

Urch kept looking at the Spookmobile still parked on the lift inside the garage. It seemed familiar.

“I believe I might have dreamed about them last night,” she says to Turchin McGurchin. “I believe they have… a pet. Not a bird but a snake.” She was suddenly remembering more. “A bigger snake that turned into a smaller snake. Shrunk down.” She moved her hands apart and then slid them together as an emphasizing gesture. Urch then realized or remembered that *she* was such a shrunk down being. She was John Jack Lemon, old man and child at once. She sat still for several minutes.

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“You okay, Urch?”

She roused herself, then got up from the ledge. “Sure, Turch. Let’s go get that breakfast. Lemme help you up.”

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Filed under *Second Life, ., Heterocera, Rubi