different
Blue rose embellished Arthur Kill stands in red ones in Joffy and peers at a picture of three, child carrying blue-ish elephants, with the 3rd also rainbow tinted. That’s the one, he thinks from his thorny position. Better get this back to Marty.
Corsica is an… well, you know the story by now.
Eleph
From his Holy Island in Henrietta, red rose holding Marcus Fox Smartville receives more information from the laggy, texture overloaded Oracle before him.
Corsica is an elephant — yes. He already knew that, staring beyond the Oracle into the far corner of the building. He imagined the fantastical, imposing elephant there trumpeting additional, savage notes with his huge trunk which emerged as ants that came into view after spilling on the floor before it and marching toward the Oracle, hell bent on protection. Symbiotic relationship.
real!
“Eleph?”
Henrietta
“We’ll have to call this Widow’s Peak after this,” offered still all grown up Kate McCoy (the Real McCoy) to the others sitting around this 4 chair table. Still grieving the death of spouse Jack Snow all the way back at the end of section 1 of this here photo-novel, 18th in the series.
Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike across from her, surname reverted to her maiden one after the death of hubbie Ben Wolf in that newest Bena coup in 2 — *supposed* death — turned around in her seat to look at it. Audrey, the most recent of the widows (husband = just shot Jeffrie Phillips back in Urqhart), followed her gaze. Parasol (wife of The Mann, killed at the end of section 3), didn’t want to look but just pulled a drumstick out of her pocket and began to munch. “Grey matter,” she garbled to the now staring others. “So good.”
big… mammoth even
“I believe, let’s see, *this* one is mine, Parasol. ‘Olive *Green* Pink.'”
“Good to know.” Parasol had finished with her chicken and was starting with the eggs. Three of ’em. Knik — Big Black Skome.
She still couldn’t see the Ants for the Eleph in the room.
on five fire
Fate and resonance had moved them very quickly further into the elephant’s ear. Paired off they were still, Parasol here with Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike, formerly Phyllis Phox. Then in the background: Kate McCoy, all grown *down* for some reason now, with Audrey [last name deleted — *not* Phillips — I don’t think]. Now all they needed was a DJ to play some appropriate tunes, perhaps for dancing even. Because we have new couples beyond the old. And drumstick makes 5, whatever that f-ing means. I’m having trouble typing tonight I’m so f-ing excited, it seems. For tonight is the time of a Big Reveal, schweet. So first to the picture of the two couples…
Oh, I think I see. Since we’re so close to Denshore here, obviously related to the Danshire sim mentioned toward the beginning of this here photo-novel, then I believe it’s time to introduce another villain into our work called Batty Casey, even though I’m not sure still that this is the Big Reveal of tonight. As Denshore is a one vowel advancement over Danshire in a doubled way (hmmm… just saw Vowel somewhere, probably in the Oracle) so Batty Casey represents a logical step up from Casey One Hole seen there, baseball bat replacing golf club. Play ball! In fact, let’s play two. Ernie Banks.
The sun is beginning to come up. Better move to dialog…
“I *will* revenge my husband Phillip’s death at the hands of that killer Arthur Kill,” spoke Audrey harshly at the front table now to little Katy Kidd, who didn’t really understand what was going on — yet. But she knew the name of Audrey’s husband and it wasn’t Phillip. She makes a note of this while still tapping her little foot to the beat layed down by skillful Casey. Through the empty holes of the Connect Four game situated between them, she saw that Audrey was doing the same with her hand. So infectious. Was this the Big Reveal tonight? That the beat was so infectious to both hand and foot? Moving on…
Parasol knew that Big Black Smoke, the same as Big Black Skome but in a reverse way (again), simply had to be killed at the end of that Dead End Steert (Street) because he was a Mouse, i.e., Rat. 3 eggs, all laid in a row. Infectious. “I want that Gwar,” she demanded to Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike across from her. “I don’t need it, I want it. Give it to me. It is *green*, I mean, *gray*, I mean, RED.”
“Yes it is all those,” spoke Phyllis calmly back. “The green, the gray, the red.” She looked in the direction of Batty Casey and the baseball bat thumping a different tune now, one having to do with a tug of war and a fall into a deep hole to Hell itself and the Devil inside. Is the bat a drumstick? But perhaps that should be Audrey speaking here instead.
“Is the bat a drumstick?” she asked Katy Kidd across the way. Batty Casey kept on thumping, like she was hitting homer after homer after homer.
(to be continued?)
clubbing 03
Firefive could barely not see the little central Danshire island that started it all. He decides to eliminate volume to check.
“Aah. *There* you are you little bastard. No Small Kowloon Shack perched on your noggin neither here nor there. Good!” Firefive, commonly referred to as either Fire or Five amongst friends — 1/2 and 1/2 — then turned the other way atop the Debelox water tower in the middle of Mouth of Ralph to gaze south instead. Could he see *it* as well. The Mansfield Mansion in Port Mansfield?
“Aah. *There* you are you little bastard,” he repeated when zooming in and volume returned. *My* bastard. Getting dark — better head back home for now.
“Lucifer!? I’m hoome!”
Jack Snow the French bulldog barked at him after he opened the door. Jack Snow never remembered who he was, although he’d lived here for years. Batty Casey waited in the living room, ready this night to make the Big Reveal to her sometimes lover, sometimes enemy, 1/2 and 1/2 again. She was hoping this would tip the scales one way or another. “Friend or foe?” she wanted to call back but bit her firey tongue with joint firmly in cheek. She moved it with her tongue more toward the middle again and took another deep draw. She then decided this wouldn’t be the night. They would watch reruns of “I Love Lucifer” on the tellie instead. Fred Merth — so funny.
Fire or Five would become a widower soon enough at the end of 5. The first male widow of the bunch, growing weekly almost. 6 may bring a return to normalcy. But: doubtful.
“Come on in, dearest. Our show’s about to start.”
—–
She perches behind, oh so tempted to clobber him right here and now with her deadly bat just to get it over with. Then the heart accompanied by big band music appears, tipping her in the right wrong direction again.
clubbing 04
She often walked to soothe her shattered nerves. Early on, she found this apartment building in Blessham just west of Port Mansfield. But why the name Port Mansfield for a sim not called that (but close)? It was a mystery for another day. Back to the building: it rang a bell, struck a note. She remembered something about — thumping. She was a Thumper! she recalled. Beating out sweet beats with her beater. Five was there too. Or Fire. And she was *on* fire! Hmmm. She sometimes wondered, not as often as she walked but occasionally still, whether, well, better not ruminate on that for now. That was the Big Reveal after all! 1/2 the time she knew she was destined to be a widow. Then the other half…
Better check out this apartment building in more detail. Put all those crazy, batty thoughts behind her for now.
—–
She could live here after it was all over, she contemplated while sprawled out on a white couch within after finding a black one unsatisfactory.
But then she found the red all over part of it at the top and began to remember *everything*. I am Five, she realized once more. I am Five!
She soon would walk back home to the Mansfield Mansion in Port Mansfield and conveniently forget it all over again.
Five Fire came through the door, Jack Snow barking per usual. “Lucifer?! I’m hoome!”
Mess(iaen)
“You’re just going to have to admit it, Speck. This *doesn’t* depend on logic. Synchronicity instead.”
“Fascinating.”
“Now get the meter stick out and let’s measure the distance between these two tables. If it’s the same as over in [Denshore] then I’ll sh-t my pants…”
“… but not be surprised,” finishes Speck. “That is logical.” Speck imagines seeing the face of God, like he did in that first movie. Beauty. So much beauty. He’s lucky to ever get his mind back after that.
“Hold it right there gentleman!”
“Oh rats,” Speck exclaimed.
“Hold on, hold on, Speck,” the Cpt. says, putting his hand out. “I’ll handle this.” He moves forward toward the new figure. “Luke Pickard, this is *our* planet, our Corsican continent. Get your own elephant continent to explore and conquer!”
Pickard glances right toward the red eyed elephant, proclaiming in his cool British accent: “Eleph? Eleph’s a mere prop. What you’re looking for is a *real* elephant, one with Ants crawling from his trunk.”
“Explain,” the Cpt. quickly returned. Pickard moves forward to join them as in a triangle. “Let me take over and I’ll show you.” He edges closer to Speck than the Cpt. Everyone understands the game now.
The Cpt. draws his phaser and rushes over to Speck. “Never!”
Trek
After resolving the triangle they all flew over in the U.S.S. Cuthand to observe and inspect the Mansfield Mansion of Port Mansfield. “Elephants here too,” Pickard pointed out after landing.
“Rainbow… pot of gold. That be what you’re looking for maties.” He laughed, then, at his feigned accent. Shakespearean actors, seethed the Cpt., painting the kettle black. Speck remained neutral and calm and collected on the subject. “And where, dear Cpt. (he looks right toward Pickard instead of the Cpt. here), are the ants?”
Pickard put his hand to his ear, dramatically again. “Listen,” he hissed. “Listen to the drums.”
Speck and the Cpt. then heard them, fading in louder and louder. Deafening if close. The music from Thumper’s Bar, high high above them. High as a kite.
Now at the top, they both stare at the spectacle, wondering how he did this. Occultism!
“Listen!!” he roared over the blasts, hand still to ear.
struck out
“I’m alive!” Ben Wolf looked around, deducing he must have hatched from that egg on the dresser in front of him.
“Jewels,” he spoke aloud again, observing the glinty objects also spilling out from the egg. Like stardust.
Better not alert Phyllis Klondike or Phyllis Phox or whatever her name was currently, he thought. Report instead directly to Host Charming, the host with the most. Back in the Old Country. Ahh, yes. Now I can return.
—–
“I’m all mixed up,” he says to Host Charming inside the Mixed Up Castle in Seacliff on the Old Continent. “I must get my bearings.”
“*You* must get your *Bena,*” the often wise prince responded to him, giving his employee a map in his head. But that is a story for another photo-novel. We return to Port Mansfield for a proper plot device in this one…
—–
“There you are,” spoke smoking hot Batty Casey from the bed. “Now shut the door and get in here and make sweet love to me.” But when Firefive compliantly crawled under the sheets there was no one left but Batty. “Hmm,” she wondered, bat swinging around in thin air before her. “Something must have happened.”
fishing
Plain Jane Phyllis Klondike Phox suddenly found herself not with the widows. In Plain Jane (sim) she was now, in the middle of some kind of pandemic, she sensed, disinfectors all around. The present, in other words. The nearest one spoke to her, holding out his hands. “Now, now, I’ll handle this.” Phyllis moves forward toward him…
… only to find herself somewhere else once more: in a boat with a blanket on a cool summer day, freshly baited rod in front of her.
On a coffee break in a nearby gardening shed, not-so-plain June Bug sensed the manifestation happen. “Another Plain Jane,” she groused, looking up at it. “Nancy Kulp should have never opened that can of worms in front of Jed.”
Vale
I sat at the end which was also the middle, and contemplated: We all come from the egg but we all must return to the egg.
We must walk on water to get to the center.
I certainly wasn’t ready quite yet. Could this be… the *actual* end. Life itself?
No, I realized. Just another beginning. After freedom from shackles.
—–
I enter, what could be, Paradise.
SEAN
On the way back east and the original 9×9, I decided to climb Mt. Valis per June Bug’s suggestion — take in a better view of the land.
Behind me while I sat at the top was the Vale itself from whence I just came. Paradise? It has to be in some way, some fashion, but I’m not ready for it yet — not ready to settle down *anywhere* at the moment. This is the centre, true, but there’s more Pennsylvania-Corsica Prime resonances all around.
I stared ahead, trying to see the location of a shop June Bug spoke about selling eggs. Not just any old eggs but 3 of a kind. “*Not* dragon kind,” she emphasized. But magical beings inside nonetheless.
Place called Eggtown. And the magical being inside? Guy called Phil.
—–
Yes, I was staring at it all along, straight ahead. Eggtown.
deep end
She tried to decide how to position herself when he entered the store. Should she be staring at the eggs? Away, perhaps at the closed or opened door on the other side? What would be more dramatic? What would be more *correct*?
She’d been rehearsing for weeks. “Formosa,” she declared down to him confidently at another time — perhaps he is sitting on the ground before her in a compliant position — “is a LOST island as well. *I*, Kate McCoy, formerly little Katy Kidd of Benangatron, have decided to *avow* my responsibilities to that supposedly responsible island. I *do not* want to be chained down by Big Government — unable to roam about freely.” She does a couple of rapid model poses to emphasize freedom of motion. In her mind, he stares up, a slave to her every tantalizing move.
Eventually, they would get to the eggs, and the sale thereof. “5000 lindens for *one*,” she spoked firmly. “And I get to choose. They’re all the same magical being but still — my choice.”
“Um,” he uttered rather helplessly, knowing that would about clean out his bank account. How would he eat for the next week? The eggs certainly weren’t food. And who knows what the magical being inside really was. Would it be yet *another* mouth to feed? Still — he felt he had no choice. He nodded, clicking on her and depositing 5000 into her own Our Second Lyfe account. She smiled, but not in a good way. She owned the boy now.
He left with the egg to now unbridled cackling behind him.
‘nother coffee break
My friend Veyot posted a timely video on her tumblr site re dragons and the coronavirus.
She also makes collages. Cool!
https://veyot.tumblr.com/tagged/collage
Thanks for sticking with me all these years old friend! I’ll try to fit The Last Drop over in nearby Rosewood into this here photo-novel soon. In fact…
It appears to be growing! And I think SEAN is LOST.
collective
I kept staring and staring at the Oracle in Henrietta until I became something else.
Now perhaps I can start to understand the thing.
Sunklands 