It was a busier night at the Gregson Motel in Dharmaraksa. The well established establishment was about to get 2/3rds full. Brothers Jer Left Horn and Benny Right Horn were the first to arrive, coming from Horns of Hatton by Royal (Magic) Bus. They were followed quickly by Marcus Fox Smartville and new gal pal Cathy A., with last name to be determined. The vehicle this time? None other than Little Jimmy, the complete bastard of a car also recently owned by Keith B., Kevin A., and perhaps some others I’m not recalling right this instant. $70,000 lindens was the price this time. The bastardliness just keeps on building upon itself like some kind of warped lego concoction.
“You allow chickens, I’m assuming,” said Jer Left Horn to the hotel receptionist, unseen to his left here. “She’s house trained.” Bethulia was current playing hide and seek with Willard (receptionist) from behind his computer monitor, but he didn’t find this cute at all. Blame Southerners, he instead thought swearingly. I guess they’ll start coming in droves to this place after it’s all said and done.
Marcus and Cathy picked up whispered words from the horned brothers like, “Red Devil”, “father”, and “honor”. But there was no need for secrecy. History had shifted in and then turned out upon itself, like some kind of warped twister game. All was there to expose thanks to scrying, reality flipping black holes. Marcus recalls something about a jug, or, better, like a glove turned inside out, true nature revealed. Both left and right at once — in a warped way again. Red Devil.
“Alright that was GREAT guys! FanTAStic! That’s a WRAP for today! Good WORK!”
Upon reaching the cave’s upper mouth — leaving The Musician behind in its bowels again while she scouts for additional, useful poses — Wheeler spies Willard and Harriet Miller dancing up a storm in a nearby gazebo.
Then something extraordinary happens. The couple instantly cease their gyrating, then Harriet appears to fall asleep on the spot. Like she’s “away”, as we say in Second Lyfe speak.
Another takes her place. Jimmy. The *bastard*, Wheeler thinks. He’s asleep too, for a moment, then springs awake.
“You can go now,” Wheeler can hear him say faintly from her position. He’s apparently speaking to Willard Miller, for just after this the husband of Harriet Miller vanishes — poofs out of existence.
“It’s time to come out of the closet, er cave,” he then calls in the direction of Wheeler. “It’s time for you guys to remember who you are. The upper 2/3rds of the infamous punk band Story Room, with me completing the trilogy.
Jimmy approaches the cave mouth, still quite red but now much taller. And also a woman.
The Musician couldn’t help himself at breakfast. He had to show off his new cybernetic arms and torso to The Millers. Artist Harriet Miller was completely taken by the shirtless subject, and insisted he pose as a model for her newest work. Wheeler Wilson reluctantly tagged along to Harriet’s creative getaway tucked in the small woods, along with her husband Willard, an insurance salesman at Barnum and Bailey’s.
Wheeler was thinking: Willard looks *so* familiar.
On a window ledge of the cabin, Dirty, Frosty, and Bluebell wonder what they’re gandering at with the part machine Musician.
The Millers having returned to their primary lodgings, we catch up with Wheeler and The Musician partaking of after-breakfast treats at a nearby frozen pond. He was explaining more about the procedure.
“Same thing happened to Philip. No problems in 10 years. He just keeps his shirt on, like you’ve suggested to me about 10 times now… keeps the eyeglasses on so the vision will always remain slotted — no problem there again, really — and then keeps his mouth shut as much as possible. Because without the teeth, the deal is not sealed. The great 3-n-1.”
He forcefully smiles for Wheeler Wilson again. More metal. More jagged.
I’m going to kill Jimmy the next time I see him, she thinks.