Baker Bloch decides to pay a visit to new guy Greg, who is actually, beneath it all, old gal Chroma. He’s heard of a new artwork, a seed it’s been called.
Wall of Jasper, he thinks after teleporting up and looking over at Norum. And Jacob I. trapped within still, the dreamer. That will change soon. Collagesity must prepare.
Wheeler Wilson shows up as well. “Who am I playing tonight?” he quickly starts.
“Okay,” he then says after changing appropriately. “And who are you?”
Baker shows him.
“Ahh, Old Gregg.”
“New Greg, actually. Greg Ogden, not Gregg Oden. And he’s got a fresh piece of art he wants us to see. Don’t expect much. He’s too obsessed with regularity and symmetry to be a successful artist.”
“We better get into character,” suggests Wilson-as-Baker. “What are you looking at?”
“Sh-t,” he says.
Baker sighs. “We better see what he’s up to.”
Gregg Oden glances over at the second redbird he’s seen tonight before entering Audrey’s.
“Ahh, a fellow greenie,” Gregg directs toward Terry in a high, wispy voice. “I just saw you today. Terry the Royal Prince. West Virginia. Don’t remember?”
Not answering, Terry just stares at the strange green man with seaweed hair and pink tutu.
“Would you like to see something?” Gregg then asks. “Then you will be mine and I will be yours, Royal Prince. A Redbird for the Blue Jay.” Gregg pulls up his tutu and shoots a blinding light toward the bartender from beneath.
Baker Bloch should have seen it coming, pheh.
Greg and Gregg
“Interrupted your little party you were planning tonight, did I Baker Bloch? Thought you were going to start the Greg Ogden story without me, did you? You and your fancy town here. I have a town too. Would you like to see?”
Not staring at it, Greg Ogden turned toward Baker Bloch on the couch, who is also looking away. “Which one of us is *real*??” he demands.
“Don’t do that.”
Who are these weirdos downstairs? Mr. Babyface thinks while reloading his pipe with Red Dragon and staring at the latest Sunklands post. He *should* be thinking about how to extract his nephew from the Land of Hana Lei, but his thoughts keep drifting back to the walls of his apartment. Qui Quon here…
… Jharmelion behind. He’s read the rental lease a couple of times now. Paraphrasing, it states that you are to leave the Korean Channel wall maps intact and also not cover the *land* parts with furniture or decorations or risk facing a fine. Water’s okay (minus the sim titles), and why he can get away with repositioning his media player atop the totally liquid Qui Quon. No solid ground atall in that sim. He’s pushing the limit, though, with Jharmelion and the couch he sits upon — right against the shoreline.
Mr. Babyface also wants to trade out this picture of the Lordshore bridge if possible.
The Lordshore wall is 2 floors below him, in that Greg or Gregg’s apartment — whichever. I hope landlord Baker Bloch makes a decision on which Greg or Gregg will survive in Collagesity soon, he thinks. Or perhaps Baker Blinker will make the choice? He’s still unsure of the Bakers’ relationship with each other. Married? Siblings? Unrelated?
He goes upstairs to double-check the maps there for compliance while he’s thinking about it.
Now Mr. Babyface really likes Simple Wunderlich’s snapshot from Ichelus upstairs, depicting its famous volcano. He makes a note to visit soon, perhaps even before he returns to Hana Lei. The picture corresponds with the sim map here as well.
And on the other wall, the totally water Redazillion.
He’s good here; no rules broken that he can tell of.
“I’m Gregg Oden. I live downstairs.”
A startled Mr. Babyface turns around to face his neighbor.
“I like Baileys in a shoe,” he continues. “Do you like Baileys?” Through his panic, Mr. Babyface was thinking this dude looks a lot like Rick James.
Meanwhile, Baker Bloch discovered Terry in a bad place at Audrey’s Bar after he left Gregg Oden’s desire for love unrequited. The Bakers would have to find a new bartender, but probably all for the best, since Rocky Raccoo seemingly won’t be coming to Collagesity after all — staying in Olde Lapara Towne. Baker Bloch uses the bar’s phone to call up Greg Ogden at his father’s place in Farmington.
“Good news, sir. Gregg with the extra ‘g’ won’t be needing the apartment after all.” The man at the other end of the line yelped so loud in joy that Baker had to back the receiver off his ear.
Wanderlust Art Truck
Rocky Racco takes one last look around the park with the Wanderlust Art Truck. Here in Olde Lapara Towne until the end of October. Come see as well!
“See?” encouraged Baker Blinker. “It’s very nice here. I’d recommend turning up your RenderTreeLODFactor under Show Debug Settings in the Advanced Menu to, say, 10 instead of the default 1. That way the trees will fill out better in the woods.”
“Are you allowed to hunt?” the raccoon queried. “Or shoot atall?”
“No. I’m afraid not Mr. Racco.”
He put his paws on the table. “How about pot? Is it legal here?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Racco.”
“Rocky,” Baker Blinker complied. “Do you want to sell it or just smoke it?”
“Both,” he replied rapidly. “That was my plan in Lapara. Before The End.”
“I’m sorry about your bar, Rocky. I’m sorry about Terry more.”
“One and the same,” he said softly, looking down. He paused, then, wiping his eyes, raised his head back up and stared intently at Baker Blinker. “I wish to see the body.”
Baker shook her head. “It’s not a good idea.” She thought back to how Baker Bloch removed Terry from the ceiling with a spatula yesterday. It didn’t happen in one piece.
“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s talk neighbors… citizens.”
“Well, there’s Baker Bloch of course, then Wheeler Wilson…”
“Who I know from Lapara,” Rocky interrupted. “But explain the clowning. Never understood that. Does this have something to do with Levi Clownski (owner of Olde Lapara Towne along with mate Shoshi)?”
“No, (the clowning) predates the family being involved with that town. It stems from VHC City. Something about The Underground there. Something about the story of Clare Nova.”
“I’m all ears,” Rocky said, leaning forward.
Baker Blinker instead suggested they walk up Old Cannon Road to the apartment and talk along the way. Rocky gleaned the truth.
“You don’t know why she’s clowned. Do you?” Baker admitted she was hazy about all that. Rocky shifted in his chair. “Then I want to see this Gregg Oden, the killer.” His tone had become harsher. “Is *Gregg* a clown?”
“No,” states Baker Blinker plainly, taking it all in.
“And you’re sure?”
“Positive.” Rocky shifted back. “And I don’t think it’s wise to go over to Gaston looking the way you do,” Baker Blinker continued. “All raccoon-y. They forbid aliens there.”
“Aliens smaliens,” he huffed. “Let’s go to Gaston. I have all the time in the world to look over your town. I want to see this *old* Gregg. Gregg with the extra ‘g’, pheh.”
“I thought you said he was green.”
“He *was*,” Baker exclaimed.
Sugar House 02
“Are you all right in there Gregg?”
“I’m Gregg Oden,” the green being replies. “I drink Baileys from a shoe.”
He’s all right, Baker Bloch thinks. I’ll have to have a word with Baker Blinker on what she *thought* she saw here. Red instead of green, eh? Greg Ogden is scheduled to arrive back in town tomorrow. Better clear all this confusion up before he gets here.
Mr. Babyface arrives at his apartment entrance after a so so meal of perch at Perch. He had but a small word to his (headless?) garson about the blandness, so small that it passed unnoticed.
Speaking of which…
There he is, Tiny Tina thinks. The miserable sod. Time to get him out of here before it’s too late.
Tina approaches. “Mr. Oden,” she pronounces clearly upwards. “Mr. Gregg Oden.”
Gregg looks down, spots her. “I’m Gregg Oden. I drink…”
“Yes, yes,” Tina interrupts, hands still on hips. “Is that all you have to wear out of here?”
“I have some watercolors. Would you like to see?”
“Can you *wear* watercolors out of here?” Tiny Tina chirps acidly, making Gregg pause. She blows out a minuscule puff of air. “This will have to do, then. Get up. No time to lose.”
“I’m Gregg Oden?” he says while rising off the jail bed.
“That remains to be determined. But we have to get you out of here. If they found out what you *really* were there would be tests after tests. And we don’t want that.”
She sprints across the floor and back to the open door of the cell. Gregg takes steps to follow. “You’ll have to move faster than that, Mr. Oden,” she shouts upwards and forwards while waiting. “Burt’s on a coffee break. He always takes a coffee break at 3:45am sharp. He always returns at 4:00am sharp. So *move*.”
“Too late,” Tina whispers as loud as she could, peering down from over the top of the stairs. “We’ll have to kill him.”
“You know you’ll have to return, Jeffrie Phillips.”
“I know. Blackstars.”
“Garson on the impossible stairs. Leading you nowhere like you were outside.”
“Police take turns.”
“Art and crime together,” states a third.
A next logical candidate for deletion on Baker Blinker’s property to make much needed prim room was Carrcassonnee over in the Temple of TILE. But Baker Bloch better confer with his female counterpart before going any further.
He looks over at Collagesity East’s Kidd Tower as a preface.
“6 prims is all you have currently, Baker Blinker. Mr. Babyface rezzed a tiny version of Big E on his upstairs table over there and the wall map he was comparing with at the time vanished before his very eyes. The renters — *your* renters — need more prims to rezz stuff. We have to have a cushion of say… let’s say 20 or so.”
“And Rocky hasn’t even come to town,” ruminates Baker Blinker.
“Nor Greg Ogden, although he should be here tomorrow. We should get that cushion up and running before he arrives.”
“What about Gregg Oden?”
“He’s not going to return, although he’s out of jail. *No one* stays in jail over in Gaston more than a day, it seems. Prison breaks are a given.”
“Hmm. So it will be the more normal looking Greg(g) showing up tomorrow.”
“Appears so. We need to talk about the town in some depth.”
“Yes,” says Baker Blinker with a smile. “I would consider it the best small town in Second Life.”
“Me too,” adds Baker Bloch. “But we’re a bit biased.” He looks toward the opening to his right. “Ahh, the garson with our food.”
I’ll just give a summary of what was decided by the two town owners at this meeting. First, the 420 sign on the side of the Bodega Market had to go — logical choice; 6 prims saved right there.
But scrounge as they did, The Bakers couldn’t find anything else of significance in Collagesity East to delete. Both pairs of eyes then turned back to Carrcassonnne in Blinker’s part of Collagesity North.
“We have no other choice,” Baker Bloch offers, standing in front of the damaged deity. “For now.”
“Sorry old friend,” they said jointly before deleting the likewise 6 prim object.
And then its All Seeing Eye.
A 20 prim cushion exactly now.
“The sugar house on the corner of William Street and Duane Street in lower Manhattan was used as a prison by occupying British forces during the American Revolutionary War,” states old-time cop Ricky Bendicky, originally from East Bennington. “Out of 2,600 prisoners of war captured during the Battle of Fort Washington in November 1776, 1,900 would die in the following months at makeshift prisons. At least 17,500 are estimated to have perished under substandard conditions of such sugar houses and British prison ships over the course of the war, more than double that of casualties from battle.”
“When did it become the police station?” asks rookie cop George Carver Washington, Gaffer George as his fellow officers had started calling him after he accidentally shot himself in the arse last Thursday.
“Built in 1763 by William Rhinelander,” continues Ricky, “the sugar house was a five-story brick warehouse originally storing molasses and sugar next to his own residence. The old warehouse was replaced by the Rhinelander Building, which retained part of the original wall from 1892 to 1968, and received reports of ghostly prisoner sightings. The site is now occupied by the headquarters of the Gaston-Berry Police Department, near which one of the original barred windows was retained.”
“Fascinating,” coos young George. “And how about Utah?”
“Sugar House Prison, previously the Utah Territorial Penitentiary, was a prison in the Sugar House neighborhood of Salt Lake City founded by territorial governor Brigham Young in 1852. The 180-acre prison housed more than 400 inmates. It was closed in 1951 due to encroaching housing development, and all of its inmates were moved to the new Utah State Prison in Draper. The site is now occupied by the headquarters of the Gaston-Berry Police Department.”
George pauses, then: “And that’s where Hidden Village comes from?”
“Yes,” answers Ricky.
“And Greg Ogden and Gregg Oden?”
Third time’s the charm, as they say. He was up and running considerably quicker this go, right on the heels of Tiny Tina. He would not let her beat him to the dark wall again and send him back to the grass free Joint Joint, awake and cold sober. Jacob I. was going to the other side tonight.
He made it!
But not without losing a valuable friend and ally in the process.