On a tip from someone in Squared Root City, she decided to confront them, this bigoted “Annaberg” audience, in a
private public post. “Who are you!?” they cried from their respective positions after she had assumed not quite front and center stage but a viewing nonetheless. “A witch?! What bedevilment is this??!!” They studied her from their angles in the half darkness. Since red was involved, some of them wondered if this was the ancient hagg Morgan returned to them, who also goes by Morgaine and other similar words. They shuddered at the thought. They’d all read the legends, good and bad.
She realized they wouldn’t recognize her — in the present — without her beret on. She changed/she turned. The light on her face increased, emphasizing it over the rest. “You!!??” they cried even louder, seeing before them now the white woman associated with raspberries who loves black. “What *is* this??!!” they demanded.
“I am presenting myself to you as I am. One who has been tested for alien powers and abilities. One who is indeed part alien, as witnessed by my pink-ish skin, at least in comparison to you lot. One who has a vertical and a horizontal line up top. One who has a cylinder at the bottom, several in fact. One who has the colorful markings of a modern, because I am also that. I have fish, I have butterflies, I have hearts, I have writing, I have rings and stars, I have designs of odd origin. I am… me.”
This *is* Morgan, some had determined, since the red remained in the lone shoe on her feet, the left and not the right. And they were not wrong.
One also being tested dared to approach her through the mistletoed entrance with luckily a Julia and not a Julian, or else all would be too upset to continue watching and return home to view current black and white reruns of “I Love Lucifer” and such. They danced in complete sync as if on a granite hilltop between two sims. Then the N was regained and all went to hell. The bell was back.
“Let’s meet at your place instead,” past Hucka Doobie determined.
Maria von trapped.
“I remember the circle squared, Hucka. Can I call you Hucka without the D? Or Doobie?”
“Call me whatever you like. Fred if you wish.” Hucka D. looked around at the same old place. The Old Same Place.
“That would, I suppose, be looking at the bell from below.” He peered at the old photo, then switched it back to Nautilus, the present square and circle combined. Gordie Down’s head blinked off, as if he’d fallen asleep. Wee Norris on his shoulders came around the bend like on a carousel and took over. “So here we are.”
“Fountain,” Hucka D. corrected after giving it some thought. “1/2 and 1/2, though, although we aren’t suppose to talk about that.”
“Limit saying that, yes,” Baker Bloch understood. So many 12 Oz Mouse references in their talkings, like it was the center of the Universe and not Clyde. But everyone knew it was Clyde. Trouble is, no one could get there to see what it was like, not even Gordie Down, although he continually reads about it dawn to dusk and dawn to dusk. Billie Jean Kidd dreams about it as well: a wanted paradise of sorts for her. Add in NORRIS and you get a 40 year stretch of history, not 20, a 2 fer 1 kind of deal-i-o or sumtin. That was the secret of Wheeler on top of Wilson. And Wilson on Wheeler – 1/2 and 1/2 again.
“Baker,” Hucka D. interrupted my reverie, as she was suppose to do here. “I… have to go.”
“Wee wee,” but he didn’t mean yes yes. Okay, 1/2 and 1/2. STOP
GO “I’m back. Someone needs to clean up in there.”
“Last owners,” I clarified. “It was as if the filth was baked in back there in the shadows, the darkness. Same in the bedroom.” But Baker Bloch knew he wasn’t suppose to talk about that room. Keep with the bath.
“There’s tiles out in the shower — I pulled back the curtain — couldn’t help it; saw the outline of something through the curtain. You need to fix that Baker B. And the fence. Neighbors are talking. People beyond the veil are talking, like [delete name]. How are you going to find Ancient Clyde in all its black and white glory with its horsed and horseless carriages if you can’t even manage the present (situation), hmm?”
He, I mean, she had a point (*scroll*). She gets up then down and points to the one with the stinger beside masked Gene Fade. “This is me.”
In a whale of a position, a tree grows out of Newt’s head.
102 year war
Sorry SA, but Clyde, like an elephant, doesn’t forget that easily.
She was staring not at the fire but a little bit up and to the right like she was good at. That should have been me, she dwelled.
Nearby, Baker Bloch had gotten pretty good on the piano, graduating from “Chop Sticks” to chromagraphic lines of modality. Next up: half lines; doubly long. He can hardly wait. Full blown computer music could be next.
The swallowtail flag points to it: Rainbow Sphere.
“Baker?” she called over as he hit Middle C once again, as he’d done over and over tonight. It stayed lit up from use as his fingers retreated.
“We should end here. On this Heart Line. Mind if I join you?” she then requested via im. I sent her a teleport invite, but she didn’t land in the right spot. She was over her head in lava.
And so we finish just like Paul Panther did. Our hero, or heroine in this case, consumed by a fiery volcano. But sacrifice for a greater good again, I suppose, “bad” guys chopped up like suey with his surfboard.
Then after the fall, NY Cop scrambles over the rocks at the top and assumes attack position.
“Alright, everybody freeze!!!!!”
Everything’s going to be okay.
wrapping up a long year…
“They just watched her disappear down into the hole,” he reported in a low, yelping voice, “like they figured she’d be okay on her own.”
“The lady in the red dress?” questioned the other, too lazy to rise up off the ground beside Fox to witness the spectacle himself. But we happen to know it’s Greg Ogden, painter of the Paper sim Monolith and some other stuff. Maybe this stuff — later on.
“No,” corrected Fox. “She’s already gone. Palace in De Skies. Or so the script says, the blue one I believe. Unless it’s red too. White? Let’s split the difference and say it’s white,” he completes, ears twitching with the possibilities. “This one was just a kid.”
Greg Ogden sighs, already tired of the new year. He knew a kid, a mere babe, would be involved but now the issue had been raised he didn’t care. “And the others,” he continued wearily, “this Marion Star Harding and Philip Strevor I’ve been told? The Well Well Well brothers.”
START “You have been told correctly. Still sitting there these two. Maybe waiting for some kind of MIRACLE, like in ’69.” But Fox then remembers he wasn’t suppose to talk about that. Not since ’96.
Night fell and everything flipped over, black becoming white and white black.The fire was burning down down down. Soon they knew she would not return. “Give me til midnight,” she requested before the descent and subsequent ascent. White Palace? We’ll see. “If I’m not back by 2022 you can give up on me. I will have failed in my mission to find Clyde.”
Philip checked the watch that wasn’t on his wrist. “11:15 — time is running out. What the f– is taking her so long, Marion? It’s like she found a newspaper up there and is reading it back to front.” Philip was oh so close with this jest. Downloading information was indeed the crux of the situation.
(to be continued)
Norris was sitting in the hot seat up in the Red Room. He wasn’t going to leave until he’d memorized every object, every corner. His mind was downloading all. He’d been waiting for so long. He’d give a 1000 WIS maps for this, he briefly thought between measurements. 200 to 214 now. Shouldn’t be much longer. Billie Jean Kidd begged him to get up, and that this was not Clyde and that they need to get the hell outta here before… he comes back. The club man.
“The club man?” said Norris, not afraid of anyone at this point. He had so much information. Besides, he’d been killed once before by same. Just comes back in the next photo-novel. Until the end, which is now. 228: nearly there.
“Please, *please*,” she pleaded in front of him, again and again, tugging at his arm, trying to get him to move… out of that seat! “He’s coming, he’s coming!” she cried, hearing footsteps in the corridor, slow and weighty. Sometimes he slid the club, a 4 wood if she remembers correctly, on the ground beside him to add to the menacing sound. Clop-*clop* hisss clop-*clop* hisss clop-*clop*. Around the corner he appears, just as Norris is downloading it, the final one, the final piece of the puzzle.
An Ass? Casey One Hole wasn’t expecting this.
256. Download complete.
“We’ve been waiting for you!” spoke Billie Jean Kidd. “Welcome to Clyde!!”
Did it work?? We’ve unfortunately run out of posts and time in this here photo-novel and will have to wait until the next for that answer, sorry!!!
END OF “SUNKLANDS 2021-2022 WINTER”!