16 in the can!
I decided to finish Collagesity photo-novel 16 (“Collagesity 2019 Even Later”) with the collage featured in post “42 01” “Climax”. It’s the first “legit” collage I’ve created within my primary creative flow now (photo-fiction writing) in about a year and a 1/2, or since the one at the bottom of this post from May 2018. I feel it represents a good enough ending for the work.
Anyway, it’s done (!):
https://bakerbloch.com/virtual/collagesity-2019-even-later/
6 sections of about 17 posts apiece, per the usual structure (since photo-novel 3).
Let’s see what happens next….
clipped
Omegatown
I think I may have found the end of the world.
Shall we go inside?
sucker no more
“And you’re sure about that?”
*Yes* Marcus Fox *Smart*ville. And put down that silly rose. We’re related (!)”
Marcus Fox Smartville complied. “Sure, sure.” He starts to recite the password but is halted at “z-“.
“Keep it down,” Tracy Austin hissed at him, and then motioned toward the snowman across the cavern coffee shop from them. “Ultima Thule is *everywhere*”
“Eva?” Marcus F. Smartville questioned, then bit his tongue. He knew what Tracy Austin was on about now. End of a world.
Rosehavened
Donald Farr so looked forward to visiting Rosehaven again come winter.
The King was dead but the castle remained. Ingo ruled all now. The Prince who was also King. King-Prince. He liked it that way. He didn’t want to identify with the father too much.
The dryad’s pond on the way to the castle.
It could be that he’s never going back this time.
What’s this? Donald Farr doesn’t remember the object, although he explored extensively in the area last winter.
A wee person’s home(!). Wee people in Rosehaven. “Well I never,” Donald Farr had to utter at the door he couldn’t enter. He’d have to be at most two feet tall, he estimated.
Later, in the gazebo across from the ruined village below the castle, he ponders what he saw there. He’s got two cold feet but he isn’t scared.
castle
“She’s always hanging around, Parasol. It gets annoying.”
“She has just as much right to hang around here as you — us.” Parasol points to Ingo across from her and then herself and then back and back again to reinforce. “You better put your sphere back on. You’re getting weak already.”
“Alright.” He does as Parasol told him. The witch hovering outside the window suddenly flitters off, soon landing on a summit just below. As if the sphere drove her away. And perhaps it did.
She’s at the fire tree now,” spoke Parasol, standing up to get a better view.
“She’s always at the fire tree,” returned Ingo, back in form. “She’s up to something. Norris says…”
“Norris?” queries Parasol (not back in form).
—–
After Parasol left, Ingo decides to teleport down to the tree for further investigation. But no sign of the cat-witch. It *could* have something to do with Purple Wolverine, thinks Ingo, looking further down toward the roughly circular island below and its lone residence. It’s time for a visit anyway. See what he’s been up to. Make sure he’s in line with the code still. What a mischief maker!
island
He doesn’t even know I’m looking in, listening. He stands there by the fire, trying to stay warm. Oblivious.
deeper
Aunt (Golden) Josephine goes to the cemetery to pay her respects and receives a surprise.
“Aah. Tully you old rascal. Dug up again.” Josephine shakes her metallic head, making it slightly rattle. Something gold was loose within. “They should have never allowed that passage in the memoirs mentioning wanting to be buried with the ring, tsk tsk tsk.”
“Good thing I dug you up *first*.” She slips it on, stares forward across the bay. “Now who would take the whole *body* this time. Full cavity search?”
She can see it in her mind’s eye now.
A bear? she thinks. Purple? Aah, must be Purple Wolverine changing shapes again, she realizes with higher insight once more. Hiding out at the old quarry ’til things simmer down, huh? Well… *two* can play that game.
She removes the ring before more ill will is done to her soul. She knows enough for today.
Time to report this grave robbery to the authorities. Ironic that Purple Wolverine use to be the local authority. Before the mist got him.
move up
Late Friday evening reports of The Mists rolling through the Realm trickled in, and in the morning of Saturday, the explorers of Rosehaven confirmed that the region known as Rosehaven Serenity had up and moved to where Rosehaven Anodyne was. The whereabouts of Rosehaven Anodyne is anyone’s guess, perhaps it needed a holiday and set off to waters unknown. Please update your personal charts and maps to reflect this change. An officially updated map is being drawn up as we speak.
Donald was disappointed that his whisky drink he so enjoyed last winter had, in the meantime, disappeared from the extensive list of alcohols offered here at The Cup and Harp.
“I”ll have a, er, bourbon,” he said. “Some kind of bourbon; any kind.” He couldn’t quite mask his disappointment to the bar maid, one Felicia McApplebaum from Rosehaven Serenity. They’re still getting over the mysterious disappearance of a whole sim called Rosehaven Anodyne over there, she relayed to the still sober Donald Farr when he returned for a second. The alcoholic content of the Kentucky bourbon seemed to not be matching that of the Pennsylvania whiskey he loved. “Make it a double this time,” he requested, determined to get some kind of decent buzz off the stuff. And it was here that Donald learned the first name of the bar maid and learned where her home was in the kingdom/queendom and the queer story of the disappearance of a whole, neighboring sim back in May as he downed the drink in two long draws. Rosehaven Anodyne was, then, present when Donald visited last year for his annual winter vacation. “The mist, eh?” he spoke about the claimed culprit, deciding to stay at the bar a while instead of returning to his lonely booth. He began wondering if Felicia had a husband or boyfriend or significant other. Maybe *he* could fill this role if not. It was also then he realized the alcohol was sneaking up on him from behind, a surprise rush to the head. Kentucky is not Pennsylvania. Alcoholic drinks affect one in different ways. Much like flowers of the world, some bloom later than others. Such is the case with Bee McCabe’s Special Stock distilled in 1919, a good year for such, and coming just before Prohibition in the Blue Grass State, a year earlier than the country’s Prohibition, explained Felicia McApplebaum to the swimmy eyed Donald only a minute later, his pupils now big as a 1920 Kentucky Anti-Prohibition Alcohol Token. “Marry me, Felicia,” he blurted out before losing his balance against the counter and collapsing onto the Irish Green floor.
McCabe’s Kentucky bourbon would be his drink of choice from now on. But never a double again and always sipping slooowly.
Serenity
Parasol had much to study.
Fire tree, old quarry, Purple Bear. There was still time to switch from red to blue but the hourglass was about to turn over.
The dance was over for Purple (and) Bear. The robot stopped playing.
And… *begin*.
quarry
Rosehavien! Rosehavenite?
“It had to be done, Hucka Doobie. To keep the league of Axis away.”
“Or keep them closer to your vest,” responded the bee-person, perhaps my bestest friend inworld now that Baker Blinker is away so much. “It’s a beautiful spot. Right next to the old quarry. Of course this was all planned out.”
“Of course.”
“Now you can monitor what the Purple and the Bear do in their secret lair. Not that you’re *spying* or anything.”
“Of course not (!)”
“Are you?”
“No, because it will be me in that secret lair and me alone.”
Hucka Doobie looked across at me (in character) and then toward the hideout.
“Good deal,” she ended.
point
I was putting up birdhouses today on my new property, too lazy to even change out of my Purple (and) Bear costume. Maybe that *was* my identity here, though. *I* am the Purple (and) Bear. Perhaps I own both this place (Sanctuary Point, after the sim plus the location description) and the old quarry. Or maybe the old quarry is where I come from. In the past. Where the mist got me. Maybe mist with a “y”; maybe capitalized but maybe not. Maybe the mist doesn’t like you capitalizing it in writing. Maybe it exacts its toll even a bit more if you do so. I must be careful. But yet — what could be wronger than the curse I’m presently under! A purple bear! Banished from my circle of friends. Confined to an old quarry and, now, a neighboring peninsular point far far away from a societal center. It’s out here away from the capital that Rosehaven’s *myst*eries are fully revealed; uncloaked. I must be vigilant for more changes.
“Hello!”
The piping voice, sounding of helium, was far far away yet somehow quite near. I looked around — no one here.
“Hell-o, hell-oooo!”
I then spotted him in the giant live oak tree, the centerpiece of the property actually. Beside the birdhouse I had just set up on one of its massive, sprawling limbs.
“Hel-loo!”
It took him a short while to start forming actual sentences and just stop chirping greetings (maybe the creature was part bird?) but I eventually got out that he thought the house he sat beside was too small for his needs. Or the rest of his clan. The wee ones.
The next time he showed up he brought along architectural drawings. Turns out this was his land as well as mine, or so he claimed.
point 02
I sat there, on my point, watching the odd glow in the distance. Blocks of glow, actually. She approached from behind.
“So you see it too,” she said to end the vision, as if her very voice dispelled it. I looked around. Ruby Fantasie (!).
“Ho-how?”
“Cool tree,” she spoke amidst my studdering, looking over at the live oak. “*Baker Bloch*.”
Of course I invited her inside for tea and cake. She said she just wanted coffee. *Hot* coffee. Ruby Fantasie! And she always declared she would never stay here during the winter. “Circumstances change,” she spoke in a “normal” voice to me, completely absent of the usual, thick Jamaican accent. This is how she instantly knew who I was: Baker Bloch. The user was the only one she lost the accent with, we learned back in photo-novel 12.
“Where do you live here?” I queried politely. Don’t say here, don’t say here! I thought.
“Ebonshire,” she answered, making me wipe sweat off my brow inwardly.
“Oh, that’s nice.”
She moved her coffee away from her mouth, gauging me. “You thought I was going to say here — didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I quipped back reflexively and defensively. Why did I say “maybe”? I should have said “no.” But somehow I couldn’t lie to her. We were tight that way. User and usee.
She looked around. “It’s okay. I know you have enough problems now with the wee ones.”
So she knows about *them* as well, I speculated, envisioning an axial alliance between Jamacian witch and gremlin-ish wees, like Norris. The handshake: big black on small white.
“What wee ones?” I decided to lie better but was instantly seen through. I suddenly felt stupid… and alone. Ruby Fantasie had vanished before my eyes. I knew she wouldn’t return until I wised up.
(to be continued)
night hike
I stared over at what I assumed was the rising sun: stunning; pink.
I looked back from whence I had just trekked and spotted the fire tree, high on a summit.
This place was special. I didn’t know if I would be coming back….
Walking through the ruined village gave me chills. What does this mean?
This reminded me of something. An Omega place. Omegatown. I wish the sun would hurry up and rise properly to guide me home!
The wee person’s house, probably (belonging to) Norris himself. And now they’re also with me!
I can see my home now…
… but how to get down from here?
And where did the f-ing sun go?? Must have been the moon.
house, church, tree
“So what do you think, Herbert?”
“It’s all I ever dreamed of, Baker Bloch. The house is perfect. Thank you so much (!).”
“You’re very welcome. I, um, assume April Mae will be following you soon.”
Herbert Gold hangs his head down, then up again, giving away his doubts. “I would assume.” If she ever gets over the Breeze lapse! he adds to himself. Maybe she will. It’s only virtual reality, after all. Nothing’s real. Is it?
“And this, my friend,” Baker waves his arms around, “is St. Merry’s Church. I’ve toned it down from Collagesity a bit. But you still have Merry.”
“Yes, I see.”
“And then you still have the clown over there. One and the same.”
“Sacrifices?” queried Herbert, knowing the history of the church in Collagesity.
“You bet! Bring your body apron if you sit on the first several rows.”
“Fantastic. I love it. I love it all. ”
“Let’s hope the Princess doesn’t have any complaints.”
“Why would she?” exclaims Herbert, not doubting his words. “Like you said before, the *tree* covers all; makes up for all mistakes.”
“Live Oak, right.”
“Fantastic.”
Live Oak.
truth
“Tea sir?”
It was Alberta the Selenite butler behind him. He was always there, at the back of the hearth. Waiting to serve. Selenite, huh? Mssr. Gold thought. Wonder if there’s a connection…
… for he had just finished up re-reading photo-novel 12 on the house media feed, where the Rosehaven-Caledonia fictional universe was conceived. The one that featured Merry Gouldbusk as Princess-Queen, *not* the actual Princess ruler of Rosehaven. That would be Selena. In the universe of the here and now, where Caledonia is not Caledonia but Caledon, the somewhat larger micro-continent just south of Rosehaven. At the end of photo-novel 12 the two lands were united again, just like in olden days. I’d have to check back but I’d guess when Rosehaven was called Winterfell, the name changed several years ago to distance Selena’s realm from the Winterfell region in “Game of Thrones,” growing beyond cult status at the time to achieve universal recognition. Enough, said the Princess. She tired of telling outsiders that this was *not* a “Game of Thrones” role playing region. And so Rosehaven was born from Winterfell in Our Second Lyfe.
On the official Realm of Rosehaven blog, under the Chronicles header, you’ll find a good number of fictional stories about Rosehaven already, most of a much more serious and detailed look at the land and people populating it than my own. But a cool link is a concept called The Mist (or Myst or Mists, et al), an agreed upon unifying element that actually hides (or can hide) Rosehaven from the rest of Our Second Lyfe for protection (if needed). But like all powerful agents, The Mist has a darker side. Princess Selena herself is a product of The Mist, having shown up at her aunt’s door out of the blue in 2012, a physical manifestation of its trickster aspect, it seems.*
And so now, as a land owner in Rosehaven, I’ve had dealings with the real Princess. Dare I tell her of my fake ruler: Princess Merry Gouldbusk? And then there’s Ingo, her fake big brother who also rules after the death of their mother and father, the King and Queen (also fake).
Then there’s the curious, little detail of a storyline by Merri(Kat) in the official Rosehaven chronicles. Interesting wormholes here, with more to be found I’m guessing. How far have the wayward fingers of The Mist penetrated? All the way to… Earth?
*footnote:
By this I mean *The Mist* is a trickster at times, *not* Princess Selena, who seems to be a decent and wholesome elven type being all around from what I’ve read and heard! Direct quote from the blog post on her origins, then. Serra Anansi, her mother, is the speaker:
A baby in a basket?! The Mist?! And then I suddenly remembered making an off-handed joke at Mr. Drinkwater’s rez day party about having a baby. I do like to see him sweat and try to be diplomatic about such outlandish things and you know how wonderful he is at finding the most ingenious ways to divert the conversation to more proper topics.
I ran to the window, still able to see the very last fingers of The Mist evaporating on the horizon and I called out to it “I WAS KIDDING!!!!”
another visitor
“Aahh, found it. This must be the portal.” A squeaking occurred. Rules of Rose looked around for a mouse. Then she remembered Norris. Just outside. He was speaking in his high register way. She adjusted for the tone, understood what was being said. He was asking about the portal.
“Just found!” she shouted through the window pane, painfully confusing in the double transparency with the Live Oak tree limb. “Why don’t you —” She was going to ask why didn’t he come in and see for himself. Then she remembered the rule. The rule *she* imposed, after all. No entering private residences by the wee’s. But *she* was here. She had that right — another rule. “Here.” She angled the laptop toward the window. “Can you see it now?” She understood that Norris requested she hold it in her hands up to the window. “Now how am I going to *type* on it if I’m *holding* it?” she inquired, staring out at him with a grimace. She edged the laptop a little closer — it was in danger now of falling off the side of the table if care wasn’t taken. Which it will be. Rules of Rose was always careful when entering residences, a seldom used loophole. But this was a special case. She had to find a certain object or thing inside the portal, which was the game in front of her, she realized. Gunn Mobile Trailer Park: Your Darkness. The gunn itself?
You may remember Rules of Rose as Blue Berry Girl from the last photo-novel, in disguise for the sake of a plot. She’s usually in disguise. This time ’round she gave her purple color to the bear.
Half an hour until the 1st service held at neighboring St. Merry’s Church ends and Herbert Gold returns to his new home. Probably not enough time to find the needed object. She’ll have to come back. Might as well end now….
—–
An object appeared in the middle of St. Merry’s church out of nowhere. Many parishioners later reported that they heard a *plop*, as if it fell from the sky.
Herbert Gold recognized what it was but said nothing.
penultimate (again)
“I’m afraid I may have to leave, Hucka D. This Rosehaven is not my Rosehaven. My Princess is not their Princess.”
“How ’bout this. You call *your* Rosehaven Rose*heaven* instead. Or Rose Haven — two words instead of one.”
“Maybe.” Baker Bloch, in character as a uniformed Ellen now, perhaps ready to revisit the… he can’t remember the name of the pub Magus Ellen and Sidechick Corea visited last year trying to dig up information about Murdochh’s castle. He tells Hucka Doobie this.
“I’ll go check,” she says, then teleports out.
—-
Hucka Doobie teleports in. “The Flock and Feather,” she informs.
“Probably doesn’t matter anyway… but thanks.” Baker Bloch stares out in the distance. If only The Mist would roll in right now and make all this better.
Flock and Feather
“*You* again,” Jane the barmaid spoke across the counter, not seeming very pleased to see Magus Ellen once more in her place of business. “Where’s, um, your sidekick this time?”
“Sidechick? He couldn’t make it.”
“Are you going to ask about that castle again?” added Jane rapidly, not wishing to talk any more than needed to this — *intruder*.
“Nah, all that’s done.” He waves his hand in gesture.
“Because all that investigation last year got you *banned* from the property.”
“I know.”
“And *your* Princess is not *our* Princess. I’ve found out some things in the meantime. Who is this Merry Gouldbusk? Why is her skin colored gold and not normal? Who are King Tully and that Queen of his? Not *our* rulers (once more). Never have been and never will.”
Nothing more seemed to be said. Magus Ellen rose from the stool. The castle was gone, or at least changed — morphed. This was not Murdochh’s Castle in resonance with the Loch Ness castle any more. *That’s* when it changed, he realized. A moment in time. He thought from this video that *Murdock’s* castle in the realm of Rosehaven was open to the public. Apparently it was all a misunderstanding.
That’s an important key. Misunderstandings can be smoothed over. He donned his hat.
“I will speak to the Princess before leaving,” Magus Ellen then called back while walking away.
“Make sure it’s the *right* one!” she insisted with bile. The door slammed behind him.
Sunklands 