“So the A.Team’s rocket was never launched. Chip Shot, Pipersville in the future, was saved.”
“Oh the bomb reached Chip Shot. Wiped it pretty clean out. But it’s like that church choir practice synchronicity from Beatrice, Nebraska, US of A. Pretty much everyone was out of town at the time. Sink X is there for a reason. It’s a residue crater for certain — not a legitimate, Sinkology verified sinkhole. The Brown-Bower theorems prove that conclusively. So that part can’t be changed. But we got almost everyone out. Save one.”
“The Gno King,” I guessed after a beat.
“No,” replied Detective Biff Carter, still on the hunt. “He or she survived in the Room. It was on the north side of Chip Shot but the south side of Pipersville. When the former rebuilt as the latter after the War of Southern Aggression.”
“So the Gno King hid out in the room and survived the blast.”
“No… not the Gno King. Get that trail out of your noggin. It was someone else. We know he (or she) was there because of the maths, though. They couldn’t work out the way they did if not.”
“Your Mama. Your Mama was in the Room.”
“It’s on the north side of Chip Shot,” and here patient, precise Detective Carter moved his right hand away from me on the bar counter, and pivoted it sideways, as in a karate chop, “and the south side of Pipersville — when it came about.” He opened his near hand with the same gesture but facing the opposite direction. “Where’s the other gun, Marcus? What’s neither North (he moved his far hand back toward me) nor South (he moved his near hand away from me until they met in the middle to make a fused statement)?”
I thought I was Clever, like a Fox. I thought I was Smart (hence the names). But I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around it. I’d need more help.
“Can I phone a friend?” I joked.
“Always looking for love, aren’t you Marcus Fox Smartville. I have an aunt down in SIFton. I’ve heard the rumors.”
“Well, ahh,” I attempted to explain. “You know. Things happen. I sometimes get a little carried away.”
“And you’ve still got that primmy rose with you. Primrose… primmy rose. That’s where it all started for you, right?”
“It was, let me tell you. YOUR SIM 01. Neither North nor South. Then the second (02). That’s where you found *me*.”
Ah ha. A clue! I thought. Thanks Sweet Alice! Now I just had to finish out this awkward meeting. She stared steadily at me. A member of the church choir she was, and also the prayer group meeting immediately afterwards. Was this…?
“No,” she answered, as if reading my mind, shocking me. But then I remembered we were already talking about the Room before the rose diversion. She was just answering a question I’d already asked about 2 minutes ago. Might as well be 20 years ago. Then she did it again.
“20 years. *Not* 12 as some think. Give me credit for aging well! It was a long time ago now. I’ll give you this before we — both of us — move on. The retaliatory strike was at Golden City, in case you didn’t know.”
“I knew that,” I replied.
“Golden City to Golden Sink. The Truth Brothers wiped out.”
Ahh. The Truths! Both of ’em. Such horrible luck. First the house with the fire, then the house they were replacing it with by an even greater fire. Nuclear. Was this what Biff Carter meant by the second gun?
“No,” she answered. She’d done it again. Time to move on.
Where am I? Oh, I teleported to the center of the wrong SIF. One of two instead of two of two. But what’s that ahead of me? A light. Could this be another possible clue uncovered by pure synchronicity once more? I moved forward…
… and eventually came here to the edge of a rather large if redundant pine forest illuminated by the dawn’s early light. “Horns,” I speak aloud, looking at the teleporter design in front of me. “The devil inside: this must be another stepping stone.” I decided to call in Wheeler Wilson since I’d already talked to Bracket.
“Why are we here, Baker Bloch?” she asked after teleporting in.
Baker Bloch? I think. I’m… then I realized she’s right. I remembered who I was. Then I told her why she was here.
“Well, she began again after shaking her head a bit. “I wouldn’t call us exactly *friends*” She then called me a thing I cannot write here for reading. She had me (in a pickle). She then took off one of her shoes and made a phone call on it, something I understandably wasn’t expecting, even though I am *Smart*. The person on the other end? Someone named Eighty-eight. She prefaced the call (and the pulling off of the shoe) by stating she was phoning up her *own* friend.
“Eighty-eight?” she asked the person on the phone, whom I soon realized had that name. “Where are you?” Buzzing on the line. “I have Baker Bloch here. He’s trying to reach The End again.” More buzzing. “14th, I think.” Buzzing. “I know. We weren’t expecting it this soon either. He’s just going around trying to phone up friends, kind of like what I’m doing to you. Perhaps it’s catching.” She smiles at me with this. A sweet smile, surprising me. Hmm. “Meet us in Cassandra City,” she closed. “At the Grey’s House.” Hmm, again.
Eighty-eight soon phoned back (shoe again pulled off; answered), and told Wheeler that she just realized she had an appointment with an astrologer this evening and that they’d have to postpone a trip to Cassandra City for another night. So with that I took my leave of Wheeler and teleported over into the 2nd (and final) SIF sim, the one where Sweet Alice’s aunt has dealings with. I knew who this was now. Your Mama.
Maybe I should put down the flower.
‘”I come here as a representative of the great and honorable Blue Feather Douglas, Marcus Fox Smartville. Who do you represent?”
“Also the forces of good and evil,” Marcus shot back smartly. “Your Mama in my case.”
“*Your* Mama. Good enough I suppose. Anyway, let’s hash out a deal. And I don’t mean drugs.”
“Of course.” Smart again.
“I should apologizes for my protege Eighty-eight not showing up. The astrologer gave her some bad news. Turns out — get this — the stars say she’s an *Aquarius*”.
“The dreaded sign which seems to be water but is actually air. The most misunderstood of them all. I think the stress opened her up to that flu everyone ’round here seems to be coming down with.”
“You feel okay? Did the breakfast help any? Sometimes when I eat…”
“I didn’t eat,” she protested. “I *nibbled*. The only real way to a really long life is nibbling. Full stomach foods will get you killed by the age of 88. Unless you’re mowed down by a gun earlier on. Like those people in Gunn City, Missouri, US of A. Now I hate a vigilante as much as the next duchess or duke; prefer corrections through verbal acerbity rather than, well, steel on bone.”
“I agree. Wholeheartedly. Pen over sword — that kind of thing.”
“The tongue is mightier than the quill,” Tracy Austin (Wheeler Wilson) fleshed out. “Nothing like a good tongue lashing (for corrections). You should know all about that.”
Marcus Fox Smartville sticks out his tongue here, revealing the diamond inlaid steel ring piercing it. “Sthiny,” he says while his tongue is still projecting, also pointing to the object. Not so smart now. Something is actually quite wrong with the male in the current post. He had a breakdown in his early twenties and some say his mind hasn’t quite recovered, and that he’s actually more sucker than smart. Like
Sunklands Sucklands sucker, reading patterns (synchronicity) where they don’t exist (randomness). Your Mama thinks this. And, behind her, Grey Scale Kimball, who they needed to talk about next.
“Why didn’t you say you represented Grey Scale Kimball instead?” asked Tracy Austin on cue, indicating the house around them. Grey’s House.
I can answer that. Because Kensington’s Turtle Hill, aka The Green Turtle, had been skipped over. Negotiations concerning the War of Aggressions have moved to Cassandra City in the Deep South, where correct history will always place them. Corrections again… tongue lashing. Your Mama gave Marcus Fox Smartville an earful on that hill. He wonders when the smarting will stop. Not here for certain. Not in this Deep South residence.
(to be continued?)
Huh. The rooster simply is not rezzing in for me. Just the hens (to my right). Better get over to the Horns of Hatton tonight. Or wherever.
Goodbye Cassandra City. Perhaps not for forever. We’ll see. There’s always “Moby Prick”…
But Horns of Hatton, the actually capital city of the South during the Civil War and more in its center, was also laggy. I decided to reboot my computer and start fresh. I returned to my current home base: the big map of the continent — stood on the Primrose sim with primmy rose still in hand and looked west across YOUR SIMS 01 02 03 04 05 06 07. Mentioned by Sweet Alice last night.
The 4th: Sifton, where I met Your Mama on that hill also straddling Kensington (3rd). Got an earful, a tongue lashing. Remembered, through Cassandra City’s secret resident Tracy Austin, that I had my own, pierced tongue. Piercing… pierced. You are what you is.
First some terminology checks. The (Neutral Zone’s) Hills of Bill lie between what, on this big map, I call the Satori Flats to the south and then the similarly termed and constituted Satori Shallows to the north. I realize that this is probably a North-South naming conflict again, like for the continent itself. Southerners preferred Maebaleia, referring more to their famous whale, and then the Northerners favored Satori. Since the North defeated the South in the war (I think), Satori won out. But some stubborn Southerners still refer to it as Maebaleia, and proudly wave their chicken centered battle flags in their yards. Heck, some even drape it over their whole house. But I digress (again)…
I tried to get this straight in my head. I stood on Turtle Hill, the actual one. East was YOUR SIMS (00) 01 02 03.
West: the rest. Turtle Hill, although the most famous (because of the supposed Lemon-Lime treaty signed there, etc.), was actually the shortest of 3 main Hills of Bill. The first actual hill one would encounter while walking west from Primrose, which we’ve accomplished symbolically. Oh there was that somewhat interesting mound just beyond Athlone (in Kensington) where I stood when snapping these 2 earlier shots, the latter while looking west toward where I’m presently positioned. And Athlone is where I entered Real Life Bluefield from this Our Second Lyfe. Think, Marcus. Think! Detective Biff Carter drew his north-south hands together to make a prayer. Church choir saved. Synchronicity! Also with Gunn City, more sadly. And then, and then…
“Hi.” It was Yoko, walking up from behind, surprising me. We exchanged pleasantries — talked about John a bit — then I decided to show her a trick, “Man, that chicken I ate for breakfast just isn’t agreeing with me, BLEH!” *splat*.
I stood alone on the hill after that. Yoko had run away.
*I* am a Southerner, I realized. Have been and always will be. Yet I’ve rejected the South and its principles now. The North won the war, if not necessarily in *Maebaleia* then in Real Life. Bluefield Real Life. North, south, humm. Virginia: West Virginia. African-Americans Sweet Alice and Ben Bolt from nearby Tazewell as reported first and foremost by the “Bluefield Daily Telegraph”. It all adds up to…
A lime green space invader appeared above my head, giving me wisdom. I decided not to leave this hill for the remainder of the novel. I would dream up the rest. I have Preston Weston’s powers, after all. Since he’s kind of me in the end. His mama is my mama, so on. I have a zapper gun, he has a zapper gun. But those teeth and glasses! I realized it was due to the radiation from the bomb, decimating Chip Shot but allowing, through the shared Room, the creation of north bordering Pipersville later on. On the lip of the supposed sink which was actually a bomb crater. Sink X — the experts all knew this but hid the truth from those in power who propagate.
How many sinks were bomb craters? (Maebaleia’s largest) Finsteraahorn-Dammastock even? Some speculate about a “flat” bomb (or, on the other hand, “shallow” bomb) which formed it and perhaps others. But this is relatively unsubstantiated in comparison to the deeper Sink X. Then we have the South’s Golden Sink, former site of Golden City — retaliatory strike. *Not* rebuilt, importantly enough. My brains keep spinning. The Truth House! Truths. That’s where the novel could end, as I had been planning almost since the beginning. Or since the middle — something again. We will return to Golden Sink, then. In a dream…
let it be
“Pres-TOOON! Preston Weston!!”
“I’m right down here ma. I must — I must have fell out of the funhouse somehow, heh. Cool, though.”
“I can’t see you Preston. Lots – of – wind. And you’re *right here*?”
“Yeah, ma. I’m standing kind of right below you. Heh, like I said. No, hum, wind where I’m at.”
“I’m going to walk a little further and try to find solid ground again. Can you hear me?!”
“Yeah, like I said. Right below you.”
“Alright! I’m walking!”
“Alright Preston Weston! I’m going to try to teleport you up to my location! When you see the invite just accept and hopefully — can you hear me!?” The wind was behind her now but still quite noticeable.
“Walk to-ward my voice!”
“I see you again up there, ma. Can you hear *me*, heh!?”
“Yes! So — look for the invite!”
“Okay, ma!” Preston Weston sees the invite but accidentally closes the dialog box while hovering over it. “Um, ma?!”
“Yes, Preston Weston!”
“Can you send me another invite!? I kind of fumbled that one, heh!”
Your Mama sighs, then tries again. That useless, fuzzy brained kid, she thinks. Never paying attention to what he’s doing. How many coats and jackets has he lost now? She’s lost count. And the umbrellas!
“Thank God. *Don’t* wander off again. Stay by my side until we reach the end of this thing. Whenever that is.” 100 lindens, she thinks. Well, it was something to kill a Saturday afternoon with Boy Wonder.
He turns after announcing himself. “Neat-o. A periscope. Is this a submarine?” He tries to grab onto the handles but finds he can’t. “Aw Jeez.” But then he sees the ship through the viewer anyway. “Look ma, a sailing vessel. Full of gold bullion and maidens with big apples most likely, heh.”
“Preston, just stop it with the apples. I don’t want to hear about the apples again. What did we talk about?”
“That I wasn’t suppose to talk about women’s apples?”
“Like Mrs. Appletree’s apples,” he pronounces.
“*Especially* Mrs. Appletree’s, pheh.” She shakes her head for about the hundredth time in the funhouse. “Why don’t you focus your attention on her daughter Felicia, instead? She’s a little older than you, but she’s in most of your classes.” I can’t take away from Preston Weston that he’s smart, Your Mama thinks. If only his grades would keep up with his imagination. And Felicia Appletree is top of her class — might be a good influence.
“Alright Preston. It’s time to figure out a way to get out of this room. You’ve done it before.”
“We’ve done it *everytime* before. We had to go through all the other rooms to get to *this* room. Uh, ah, I’m kind of tired, ma, heh. Can’t we just go home?”
“No,” persists Your Mama, set in her ways. “We paid 100 lindens apiece for this game and we’re going to see it through to The End.”
“Jeez ma,” Preston Weston exclaims again. He starts looking around. “Well, heh, it looks like this is another easy one. Not like the one with the ants, pheh.”
“I didn’t like that one either,” admits Your Mama.
“Yeah, heh. Looks like you just go up this ladder, ma.”
“Well? Go ahead.”
“I might fall into the Between World and be lost forever if I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. I think this is an easy one too.”
“Not like the ants.” He eyes the ladder again. For some reason, he doesn’t want to go up it. He senses…
“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Your Mama brushes aside stalled Preston Weston and ascends…
“Preston! Pres-TOON!” But Your Mama’s son couldn’t hear her now. She was truly sealed off. Because this was the real submarine room. The ham submarine sandwich room. The Room.
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2019 MIDDLE”!
*Ba dump bump.*