Tag Archives: Wheeler Wilson^^+++\@

not clowning around 02

Pitch Darkly continued the formalities. “Nice of you to cease your fishing and come for a visit, Chuckles.” He was thinking she cleans up nicely.

“Please. Call me Delbert. No: Wanda.”

“Alright, Wanda. What brings you here this fine morning? And if you’re wondering, by chance, I’m not a vampire chained to a night and day cycle. I’m *weaker* during the day — certainly don’t do any large killings at this time — but I’m perfectly okay otherwise. I avoid direct exposure to the sun for long periods obviously.”

“Understandable.”

“Wheeler said there was news about the Novas.”

“There is. The, ahem, *immoral* person Tronesisia brought to your and Buster Damm’s Kill Shack the other day…”

“Fisher,” inserted Pitch Darkly. “But not a fisherman. I don’t think. Just a name. Yes, he was immoral and thus worthy of sacrifice as determined by the Book of Blood. The chess game was indeed rigged. His former slavebot Bendy has been freed to go back to his proper place in the skies.”

“Anyway,” Wanda/Chuckles continued, “turns out he was also someone else at the same time: Clare.”

“Clare?” Pitch asked. He pretended like he didn’t know who this was.

“Clare Nova,” Wanda clarified. And not an alt. A rebis. Like you and Baker Bloch. Something to do with the clowning disease.”

“Oh, Clare *Nova*. What does this imply?”

“Fisher is dead,” spoke Wanda, wondering how long it would take Pitch to get it. “And Clare Nova is Fisher…” she urged. “So what does that mean?” Pitch Darkly shrugged.

But he knew what it meant. Wheeler had just gone from understudy to star.

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pulling a sis-bro

There was a second death in the Underground. A dreaming Wheeler had foreseen the event. It involved herself.

—–

It took her ages to figure out the correct clown costume to wear. It had to be extreme enough to be believable — she had definitely been clowned. But not too over the top. Not at this time.

The shark-man lumbered up for their prearranged meeting. “Claribel: greetings. That a new outfit? I thought you didn’t like dresses.”

Must ward off suspicions at the start, Wheeler thinks. “Oh just something I threw on.”

“Threw up on, haha.” Orange was known for his bad jokes. “And your face. You look redder. You sick or something?”

“Ah, who knows with me,” and then she pretend retched but only ended up spitting on the ground beside her.

“Good one, Clare. There’s my little clown-face coming through.”

Wheeler’s plan seemed to be working. Chuckles Greentop had provided the keys. Just dumb down all interactions to a crude minimum and let the feigned clowning disease do the rest. Not-so-bright Orange Nova was becoming comfortable; any doubts about identity abating. Perhaps this wouldn’t be the day she perished.

—–

She didn’t want to sit this close to him but Orange insisted. He sniffed her a couple of times during the conversation but that was the only signs of lingering skepticism Wheeler detected. They were now in the northwest corner of Bemberg, technically Summerhill’s realm, Orange said, but he liked the bench poses in this small, remote park of the city and would “take his chances.” The shark-man was helping Wheeler put the pieces together with almost every uttered sentence. Why the Novas were here in the first place, these *Super*novas as the locals under their subjugation once called them and still do at times. Orange was the 4th and youngest sibling, with last definitely representing the least in this case.

Wheeler just kept leading him through a maze of clumsily collected information. About an hour in, Wheeler figured she had enough to chew on and opted for safety. She excused herself, saying she needed to check the air in her shoes before an evening hike.

She walked south in the direction of Hooktip to complete the ruse, while Orange trod back north to Saturnia. His sim, he thinks while reentering the grounds of Muscle Madness. Or will be one day; Claribel be damned. The Realm of Orange.

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Greater VHC City

“Catsocks (Catalpa-Tussock) sinkhole, Buster. This is where VHC City and its Chelsea hit a new low.”

“Deal with the etheric Plane of Vampires.”

“Plan-*et*,” Pitch Darkly amended. “Planet of Vampires.”

“Or just (an airplane) full of vampires,” Buster tacked on. ‘Or all three or any combo of two of the three.”

“Or none at all,” added Pitch Darkly.

“I always thought it to be a planet sized meteor, Pitch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Buster.”

—–

On the opposite side of VHC City from the sinkhole, Wheeler was attempting to sit on a bench in a small Saturnia park with little luck.

On a large, smooth rock beside the bench she found a jar of fireflies and a book describing what appeared to be a town in the Lapara sim, also located on the Heterocera continent but considerably north of VHC City. Owner of the book (and town?): Clare Nova.

While she studied the text and photos within, Wheeler heard and then saw a tautly physiqued shark coming up the hill toward her from the direction of Saturnia’s Muscle Madness store. Not Clare but Orange, the brother. Yet another Nova.

Wheeler stood her ground and got ready to transform. Would this work?

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here and there

“So you’ve decided to play the role of Clare Nova, Wheeler. Third Nova sister.”

“Third *found*,” she said. She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon wine. “Somewhere in this store is the appropriate avatar. A step up from (Summerhill) and (Golden Bee-ing), true. Something with a little more meat and flesh. Maybe the ancient alien.”

“Study up more on the real Clare Nova,” Baker Bloch suggested. “Find out additional stuff about her land and its relationship with The Diagonal. We’ve already discovered that obelisk tucked in the southwest corner of Hooktip right on the line…

… and then an accompanying leaf screen in *Leaf*roller to the immediate south.

Synchy stuff still going on.”

“And the multiple rose pictures The Musician found in Sister galleries,” reinforced Wheeler. “In his dreams.” She turned toward her Musician, now fully awake and tinkling the ivories of a nearby piano. The tune for the day: David Bowie’s “Alladin Sane.” Third take was the charm.

“Where’s Baker Blinker?” Wheeler suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Bloch responded.

“Oh yeah. Chilbo.”

—–

“Where’s Wheeler?” Karoz suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Blinker responded.

“Oh… yeah.”

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Going all nova.

She had a right to know. She *created* all this. Who is this Baker Bloch upstart? Vampires, pheh. There are no vampires in VHC City. [Work] like this could give her town a bad name. Best not to confront him directly yet. She decides to instead track down The Musician. Not hard — he had fallen asleep on the couch of his Ear Bar, exhausted from playing pinball all evening. He was at the green wall. Sikul Himatk. Summerhill roused him from his dreams. “What’s all this about,” she immediately started. “Vampires? Black holes? How do you know Baker? Who’s this Wheeler you run around with? Answers, please.”

The Musician understood who this was after his head cleared, but could give no really satisfactory replies. They were just existing in VHC City as best they could, he explained — just getting by. He and Wheeler now lived in Allen Martin’s vacated apartment. Summerhill also knew about Allen Martin. “Well, what happened to him?” she asked, thinking back to the supposed murder or death (something) at another place she knew well. “Heart attack is all I know,” The Musician attempted to explain. “Wheeler was with him at the end. She said it was fate that he passed through the gate there. Something about seeing a monster blasting through a wall. Didn’t say much more about it. (She’s) clearly upset.”

“Is Wheeler still at the apartment?” Summerhill continued grilling. The Musician nodded. “Let’s go see her. Maybe she has the answers.”

—–

So tonight was when Summerhill Nova learned about Pitch Darkly. It was actually this: Pitch Darkly *pretending* to be Baker Bloch pretending to be Pitch Darkly, as Wheeler explained while they shared a pot of coffee. She had just gained the knowledge herself. The vampire was very real. He had existed in what later would become VHC City for a very long time. Hundreds of years. Maybe over a thousand. This from the mouth of Pitch Darkly himself, now living on the other side of the tracks. Chuckles Greentop partially backed up the story, what she remembered about it. Pitch Black was his property. “And he was also friends with Sikul Himatk,” Wheeler then said.

“I think I know that name,” The Musician piped up on the couch opposite them, becoming fully awake again.

“Well of course you do,” replied Wheeler.

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Sibling Sims

Wheeler was tiring of the chit chat. “You said you had something important to tell me.”

“More ‘Winesap?'”

Wheeler looked down at Baker’s Pitch Darkly’s extended hand. “If you mean wine, I’m good. So spill.”

“It was such a good name I couldn’t wait. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything over at… where did you say you were?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh all right.” He put his hands behind his head and made the announcement. “It’s Silver. I’m sorry (!): Sister.”

“What is?” Wheeler asked.

“The sim. The name of the sim we, I, couldn’t determine before. It’s really clever. Want to hear my logic?”

“Oh sure. I’m here. Drinking suspiciously viscous wine with you.”

“Well, first off, the sim in question is kind of the sister to Bemberg. Together they hold about 80, maybe 90 percent of VHC City. The town’s kind of split between them. Brother and sister, maybe.”

“Ok, that’s understandable I suppose.”

He removed his hands from his neck and leaned forward. “Now here’s where it gets really clever. Take the last six letters of the actual name, rearrange them — not adding or subtracting any letters — and you, voila, get Sister. Go ahead and try it.”

Wheeler worked the problem out in her head; took her a moment. “Okay, that’s kind of cool, admittedly — starting to make more sense.”

“And there’s more. Has Chuckles told you about the Seven Sisters yet?” He nodded his head in the direction of the perpetually reeling fisherwoman outside.

“I don’t think so,” Wheeler said without turning around to look as well. “What are they?”

They’re pools in the sim I’m rather insisting we now call Sister. You have to go through the blue door. The Musician may have already found them. Anyway, you pass through that door and soon you are upon an inundating, grassy plain dotted with these small pools. Trouble is, there are only six pools out of seven present now. The seventh is gone. The seventh *sister* is missing. Where is it? is what I’m asking. What is it? Can you guess?”

Wheeler scrunched her mouth up, indicating she couldn’t.

“Black horse. Oh, drat, sorry again, black *hole*. I’ll quote to you from a famous music song directly related to all this. Let me make sure I have it right — wrote it down in preparation.” Pitch Darkly pulls out a piece of paper from his ragged black coat and reads:

In the constellation of Cygnus
There lurks a mysterious, invisible force
The Black Hole of Cygnus X-1
Six stars of the northern cross
In mourning for their sister’s loss
In a final flash of glory
Nevermore to grace the night

Pitch Darkly then stabs the paper on the table several times with his forefinger. “The Oracle indicated this.”

—–

Meanwhile, The Musician had moved through the pools called Seven Sisters and up a sewer ladder giving access to a green wall marking the southern line of the property formerly known as Pitch Black. “What was hidden by Harrison Head before is now exposed,” he said in a confident voice, looking at this similarly green picture at its east end and thinking back to the new collage called “The Point of It All” he had seen earlier in Bemberg’s Clown Central.

“The monster swallowing its own tail; perpetual. Cardboard Derek Jones was right all along (about Greenup).”

—–

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Around Town

Baker Bloch marveled at the constantly changing furniture in a VHC City store called Prim Possible.

Wheeler mulled over multiple realities surrounding the death of Allen Martin while sipping expresso at News and Views across from the famous hotel.

Snowmanster kept spinning around and around in his CB Dylan Dresser at Bemberg Towers Apt. #6, unable to enter this dimension.

Across the tracks in a tiny two story house, a fly got stuck in Pitch Darkly’s wine red nightcap.

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OPD

“No Woody, you cannot be a Musician in this story as well. Now put that away and get ready. It’s time.”

“Hello my love,” Old Man Allen Martin said. “For the last time.”

Wheeler could not help. She just had to watch. And, yeah, it was painful. Very painful.

Then it was done. Correct reality locked in.

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Still The Key

“No crossing this lake, my love. Good fishing, though. Probably worth the risk.”

“Perch?” Wheeler logically guessed.

“Yeah,” admitted Chuckles Greentop. “But fighters here. Tough because of the gators. I think that movable, more realistic looking one is a croc, actually, despite the description. I decided a while back to name it Dundee, after the movie.” She calls over to it. “How’re you hang’in today Dundee? Alli G. treating you right still?” She then whispers over to Wheeler. “They’re lovers, you know. Different species by my reckoning, but still do’in the nasty. And I want to be first in line for one of those impossible crocogator babies. I’ll put it in one of my outer pools.”

Wheeler glanced over her shoulder. “How’s your face holding up?”

“Fine. Close enough to a clown’s face to work. Better, maybe, because it’s more confusing. ‘What is you?’ they may be uttering, haha. Thank you for that. How ’bout yours?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I told you, that’s the trick, my fiend friend. You *come* already as a clown. That way you won’t *turn* into a clown. You’ll learn the tricks here. We can fish together sometimes in this remote pool, then. But no further in this direction. That pool and attached monsters are there for a reason. I’ve seen them on the other side. This is where we communicate. Maybe today will be one of those days.”

Wheeler starts to shiver. Chuckles notices.

“Don’t be afraid, love. They’re as scared of those crocogator thingies as we are. This is the Pool of Coahoma, the separation of the barely living from the completely dead. Once you cross that pool or even attempt to, there’s no turning back. You’re one of them.”

Trouble was, Wheeler thinks she’s already been beyond. And then she gets instant verification.

“Welcome back Wheeler,” says a smiling Woody Woodmanson, appearing from around the bend.

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Piggies

It was somewhat before sunrise when Allen Martin began writing to his deceased wife Carol again.

Dearest Muffin,

I hope you had a peaceful night. Me… not so good. I have some news for you. I don’t want to hide anything. You know my devotion to you my sweetest will never be over. Marriage is not, until death do you part. It is forever in another, special way. Yet, things do happen in physical life. Time moves forward. I’ve met someone else. I don’t know if it will work out but I just wanted to be straighforward and honest with you. This is not a usurpal of our love. Not atall. It is a continuation in a strange way.

He paused; peered over at his now ordinary looking son Doogie snoozing away after another tough night of transmogrified grilling on the part of possessor Petty. Victim this time: Allen Martin’s landlord Summerhill Nova. Emerald tablets? What’s that mad inspector on about now?? He returned to his scribing.

I know my feelings are real in this case, but we are the rock, the foundation. This is just a new branch sprouting on an old, old tree.

He paused again as Doogie let out a loud snort.

I want to reassure you our son is fine. Do not hate me for what I, we, did. The gas station was about to be repossessed. I had to provide for Doogie. Irony, eh? Possession for possession. I hope and pray it will be over soon. But Petty is going off onto so many tangents. How about the actual *killing*, sir. Address that for a change.

He put his pen down on the desk. It was no good today. A proper letter to his wife would have to wait. He sat up on its top, looking east this time instead of west.

Wheeler. What demon are you as well?

She also snorts.

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