Tag Archives: Wendy/Breeze^^~~~~~$

00270415

He placed a call himself: for help. “SOS,” he exclaimed to the girl who was not a girl on the other end, a friend this time instead of a fiend. “I’ll be there at 7 past 11.” She was currently resting against a rock wall, reading a red book and eating a red heart tart for health and good being. She was balanced. Actually it could be either of two girls, Alysha or Billie Jean Kidd. Let’s go with Alysha Billie Jean Kidd Alysha. She packs up her book and heads down to the police station to steal a bike. She tries to put Ruby the green Grey alien out of her head, the matter being out of her hands. “She’ll be fine,” she calms herself. “I can do this one thing without worrying about her. Kolya is important too!” By the time she arrives at the station through the shortcut tunnels a cooler head prevailed and she just takes a rented boat over to the other side of the continent from the 765 Village. Paperweight was the destination, which had strong resonance with Paperville from a couple of photo-novels ago, perhaps 3, maybe 5 back (it was 7).

Kolya was in his thinking chair under the Wasteland sign when she arrived.

“I’m – so – *wasted*, Alysha.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re so kind.”

“Yes I am. *Now*. Let’s go take a peek inside that Monster Book over there and see what we’re potentially dealing with.”

“Okay.” Kolya had moved away from Saturn and more toward Jupiter. Wendy had been right about cheering effects of the girl.

(to be continued)

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Paperweight

He sat at the table outside the bamboo hut he’d rented several days back and thought about All Orange and what he’d lost. The phone rang (D Flat). The phone never rang.

“Hallo?” He was expecting someone jovial, not saturnine. He was surprised. He stared at the missing blue eye on the Book of Monsters before him as she continued to chatter. He dare not crack the cover lest the other one roll off. Especially now. Would he get a word in edgewise?

—–

She hung up the phone. “We’ve got to keep an eye out on him,” spoke Jeffrie Phillips, glancing over at his bamboo hut across the water. “He may even try to off himself, say.”

“No he won’t.”

Her hair was now the green of seaweed but she was no monster, or at least Jeffrey thought. Was she?

“What next?” he queried about her appearance. “Your skin turns green?”

“Maybe,” she shot back quickly. Both knew that if this happened she was lost for good to him. Maybe even the mohawk would reappear.

Something was happening on this sim. A painter paints. A complainer complains. ART appears. A perfect circle. Pooh with his honey pot moves away from the scene with little to no impact now.

A perfect circle, eh? I thought, yellow included. I knew what this meant.

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new direction

She’d lost her spaceship. She thinks she may have left it back in what the locals called Mayberry, an airy mountain of a hill (or something). But she was too tired from all the walking and searching to get off these Lost Angel chairs right now. Maybe in a 1/2 an hour. But maybe: never. The many and the *done*. Truth be told, she was a variant character anyway and will probably not be missed.

—–

Troop was a truly important character though, and it’s baked into his name: True Opp. He started out as a “mere” toy, an Mmmmmm, just like his cousin Grassy from another mother who just happens to be sisters with his own. They don’t talk about Jerry any more. And Philburt is right out of any discussion between them. But Uranus… ahh, that’s a different topic and one that’s interested both of ’em for a long time, starting way back when Tropp, then just Opp or Campbell O’Pine, had his first (Sunklands blog) post dedicated to himself.

“Well it looks like I found it, Grassy,” he says 1/2 to himself, since the only other person in the room was only 1/2 listening. “Uranus; the blue planet.”

“There’s someone out there, in the dunes,” the other person spoke. “Someone… fidgety.”

“Okay, CUT! Let’s change fidgety to nervous. Is that okay, Campbell?”

In another scene later that day:

“Alright, then the crook comes in and you drop your gun and it hits the floor and goes off, hitting your right heel. This is going to be *hilarious*.”

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Y and Z are 10 and 11

It was time for a longer post else we get off track. Wendy had her man, strapped to the Big Wheel, a prisoner in other words. In his own pirate ship: trapped by a woman of all things. But he suspected a man-woman because of the strength, the speed. He was wrong… kind of. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed as the tire iron came down on the knees and then the head. If she was truly a man he might be dead. As it was, he almost bled out, but was brought back by her powers of the mind. Hidalgo — but enough said of that (magic practice) which also gained her many more years than her immortal contemporaries. Only Mummy Suisan out in Swannanowhere had outlasted her. How many years now? She decided to count them out tonight (again) while — whatshisname listened in, helpless to turn off his ears by plugging them with his fingers or something. That was another point to this. She decided to use the base 12 way of counting just to prolong the agony a bit more for him. She stopped at 143Z to see if his head had started to bleed again (only a little). At 1Y876, she thought of the 765 Village and the hidden green grey alien there and how Brut or Burt or Brutus had turned all traitor on her and taken over the Fortress for himself in its two locations to bind the magic more tightly. She hit (whatshisname) on the noggin again simply because she was frustrated now. And, heck, she’d lost her count. She’d have to start over again. At 765 she spaced out and lost count a second time. “One,” she began once more, “twooooooo (*yawn*).” Finally getting sleeepy. She lets him hold her in his arms but just one trick and he’s back on the wheel. She uses the rest of her daily brain power to heal his head completely.

Out like a light now, but this was a test. She knew he could twist her head off if he desired — she had given him her superpowers as well. But if he still had the *mistletoe* somewhere upon his body — and she knew he did — then: no. That small sprig of evergreen would take them both a long long ways.

(to be continued)

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saturnine

She looked down at her, this Winnie, but obviously Wendy again. As she was Wendy. We’re all Wendy in this Second Lyfe of ours, a Wendy City of sorts through and through. Cub Run. Centerpoint. Release the Pooh! she wanted to command from afar with voice so loud you could hear it clear over to Heterocera. Allow Winnie to become Wendy!

Someone asked once why she wasn’t herself in Our Second Lyfe and instead always in disguise, a strange question at the time but perhaps starting to make some sense. The man-woman uttering it was obviously kind of insane, though. She suspected a sea monster because of the seaweed hair, despite the pink tutu. Release the Pooh, she also mentioned. The famous toy bear rolled the wagon with the honey pot down the cobblestone street of town, pausing in front of Perch to peer in at the past. Spaced Ghost turned back into Space. The honey pot was suddenly something else; the held red umbrella was both inside and outside at once…

The pirates were coming and she didn’t know what to do. Directly over the throne now, they had stolen her mistletoe. She wasn’t jovial about it.

They’d make landfall by nightfall. The clock kept ticking, tick tick tick.

I should strike first, she suddenly realized, thinking of the Big Wheel and the 12 at the top. Everyone was scared of her, after all.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed at 12:37.

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Newgal

“It’s moreso now don’t you think?” speaks Jeffrie Phillips to sometimes/always companion Charlene Punk Brown, perhaps the best of all his girls. She puts up with a lot at the very least. “The hair, I mean.” He points to his own hair here between bites of the spinach pizza. “Blue. Whaddaya think?”

Charlene also steals a glance, trying not to be jealous. This *could* be her replacement. Why did she arrive so mysteriously in the middle of the night, as they say, on a plane originally bound for Starfish Sea, or Starfish Lake as some call it? Jeffrey said it landed just outside the town over the sim line in Siliconicus. He said he’d been meaning to put a small landing strip over there if he could only figure out how to position the anchoring prims properly, since it’s not technically his property but instead abandoned land — a lot of that in Siliconicus, which is commonplace in the beige highlands part of the continent. She *is* cute, probably as cute as she is. She’d also look good in that pink babydoll Jeffrey keeps around, she suspected. Maybe she should dye her own hair blue.

“Are (bite) you going to answer me or not, woman?”

“Woman?” Not now she isn’t. “Listen *man*–” but then bit her tongue as Jeffrey hesitated to take another bite, waiting for a lashing, which he knew he probably deserved. Sometimes he slips into old world talk, as his daddy use to say. Poor old dad: he hadn’t thought about him in a while, nor ma-ma. They didn’t approve of his playboy ways so he had to leave the family hearth. So long long ago at this point. Seems like a different lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he ventured, then finished his bite.

“No — me. And in answer to your question it does look a little bluer. Is — she really the woman of your dreams?” She meant *in* your dreams but she let the statement stand, too ashamed to go back and correct it. She flushed a bit, even. He stared at her, trying to figure out how to get past this awkward moment so he could finish his pizza.

—–

He couldn’t stop thinking about her as they lay in bed later, bedposts not put up yet so nowhere to hang his tie and suit. They remained fully clothed. Charlene wasn’t anxious tonight to slip into that babydoll. She was just as worried as Jeffrey was excited. “What do you think she was looking up on the interwebs over there?” he asked his likewise restless partner. “Man About Time said she was a scholar of some kind, but he didn’t know what of.”

“*I’m* a scholar,” muffled Charlene, mouth to pillow. She moved so she could more easily speak to her partner. “Perhaps you got us confused with each other. Let’s try that quiz again.”

“Okay,” he relented, knowing he may or may not pass it.

“Alright, who’s your wife? An easy one to begin.”

He knew he shouldn’t say, “you” — that never seemed to work. He remembered the roses. He remembered the checkerboard face. Or chessboard face, take your pick. “Wendy,” he said.

“Right, and where did you get married? I’ll throw that in for a new wrinkle.”

“Er… Urqhart?” He remembered a house across the road from the Illuminati place.

“Correct. And *why* did you get married… to Wendy? And, say, not *me*?”

“Because…” He couldn’t remember that part.

“Yes?” She wasn’t going to drop hints, it seems.

He simply didn’t recall that he was recently dead and had been resurrected by the power of the vows. It happened a lot when he’d just returned home.

(to be continued)

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cowed

It was raining when he got back to Collagesity and it made his depression worse. He decided to go to Vivian Blue Hair, the new girl — or one of ’em — for advice. She was a fire scryer, using candles for the most part, like here. He asked what was foremost in his mind. “Which… one?”

Vivian could have been selfish and said she was the one, but almost immediately upon staring into the flame saw black and white patterns all around. She slips deeper into trance, closing her eyes. “I see two countries — or counties — one black and the other white, but both named Austra.”

“Austra, yes,” Phillip replies. “There’s a Lower and an Upper — everyone knows that–” Phillip stops here, understanding that Vivian Blue Hair arrived off continent just day before last week. She was a friend of… he can’t remember. Maybe Man About Time, wherever the heck he is these days. Phillip is already itching to leave his Collagesity but has nowhere left to go, he doesn’t think. Not after Wendy.

Vivian Blue Hair changed into someone else, chessboard patterns moved to the face. “A promise made, a promise lost.”

It was the cards (!), heart upside down being a spade.

Jeffrie Phillips wakes up from the rabbit hole as the lot of ’em fall to the chessboard floor in a disheveled mess, like roses. He’s received his clue.

“Charlene,” he says to the woman beside him, the usual one, but probably not *the* one. This also stirs her.

“Yes, Mr. Jeffrie Phillips, sir,” she dutifully and groggily recites, automatically reaching for his red tie hung on the bed post but then realizing it was still the middle of the night. She returns her hand to his bare chest.

“That new girl in town…”

“Right… see where *this* is going.” She yawns and looks at her nails.

“No, no, I don’t fancy her or anything.” Jeffrey Phillips definitely fancies her as he does most women, but that wasn’t the point here. “She has black hair, correct? Not blue or anything crazy like that.”

“First off, blue *isn’t* crazy. My Aunt Zelda had blue, red, and green in a row before her death in the early 80’s.”

“She lived that long, huh,” Jeffrey replied, starting to contemplate time and the colors that one can change into at the end. “But to my point…”

“In a certain light,” Charlene said in answer, “yes, it could be considered blue. But the light has to shine upon her hair in a very particular setting, I’ve noticed. Early morning or late day perhaps: hafta check.”

“So: blue.” Jeffrey decides to lay the cards on the table, this time in an orderly manner. “I dreamed about her just now.”

“I bet you did.”

“Not that kind of dream. A dream of this whole continent, which (he then realized) broke down into a series of black and white squares — *sims*.”

“Fascinating,” she deadpanned, and put on her babydoll and got up to get some water. “Want anything to drink or eat while I’m in the kitchen?” He watched her move away from him in a satisfying manner. Nice to have compensation when he returned home. Charlene is a swell mate as well as lover. He’ll keep her around for sure; a short leash. Strange way to think about it, he realized. I don’t *own* her. Or maybe… maybe I do in a way. I pay her bills, I give her a place to stay here at the Blue Feather (building). She was rummaging around the kitchen now. “Are you going to answer me?” she called, hoping he could hear her over the static this time. “I’ll get you something anyway.” More noises, and then about 5 minutes later she returned with some milk and a plate of choco chip cookies. She lay down beside him, put the plate on his partially bare belly, and picked up the top one for herself, studying it. “Cow chips, they’re called. Saw them advertised on TV. Big beaver holds one up in his paws.” She extends her arms here and holds the cookie between them like a small steering wheel toward the static filled TV on a table just beyond the bed. “Like this.” In the snow, she imagined the big beaver mirroring this back to her.

He studies her, then he follows her arms to the cookie, realizing what this meant. “That’s disgusting.” He picks one up himself using just the one arm. Oversized and heavy on choco chunks, he sees, but otherwise just an ordinary cookie.

—–

In another dream that night, the cookie Charlene holds expands and turns into a whirling vortex, sucking up everything in the room including his milk. “And so on the 5th day…” he heard her say beside him as they fell and fell, blobs of white and chunks of brown all around. The rabbit hole seemed endless this time.

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00270207

After a night of, ahem, renewing their wedding vows, Wendy and Jeffrie parted ways, he back to Collagesity down in the southern part of the continent and she over to dutifully waiting Kolya just out at the bay of this same fledgling town. Apt. 2 had been put to good use after all but just for 1 day. Wendy stops at this brightly lit citrus fruit shop below where they stayed, studying what appears to be an All Orange, naval down. Lemons and limes on the side, yes, but this was the centerpiece, the center*point*.

But it can’t quite obscure the green plate hung on the wall behind it, acting like a lingering corona for a solar eclipse coming from the cool side this time. Only we the readers have the perspective to ponder what it means, as Wendy isn’t viewing remotely right now, distracted by the trees in the forest. She turns.

And an Oz colored plate! she thinks. I want it! I’ll make Jeffrie come back tonight or the night after that or sometime soon at least and I’ll get him down here to purchase it for me. Real metal! And I want those lemon and lime citrus drinks that go along with it too.

A small earthquake hit the town and the plate starting ringing in a perfect D Flat. Steady Kolya walked in from the bay. “I’ll get it.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0207, Nautilus^^, Upper Austra^

four

He studied his hands while they waited on their food. “I think I’ll keep these for a while, Wheeler. I can play the guitar real good with them, frets included.”

“Call me by my real name,” she purred from across the table.

“Wendy,” he acquiesced, staring into her eyes. The scars around them were disconcerting but they were suppose to be. He could look beyond. He wondered about the 2 eyes becoming something else. Pools. Vortexes. He looked away, just in time. Back to the hands…

“The tune was called–”

“I know what the tune was called,” she interrupted. She smiled. The location brightened considerably, he staring down all the time. If he had a watch on the wrists of his new hands it would be…”

But you know.

—–

Done.

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rolling with a number

Ahh, just as I suspected. An early form of The Rolling Joints controlled by Jon Deere, their *manager*. I wanted to say, “Hi George,” but I didn’t want to interrupt their playing. I could still hear the green clad Sheriff strumming along to the same, partially improvised tune “(“4:20”) in the distance; just around the corner. But (she thinks while staring into the bakery), it seems I am already here…

He dare not turn around to see that schweet secret smile. He must remain a baker dedicated to his craft.

Almost ready.

(to be continued?)

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