Sunklands 2022 Early 06


ROCKS

“We have to get rid of your kind to make room for the ships.”

“Oh okay.”

“We’ll give you a proper burial spot.”

“Query?” Rock would have raised a hand to ask an important question in his mind if he had any. But [Paper] already knew the answer.

“Quarry,” was his presumed corrective response. Stupid Rocks, he thought inwardly. We should cover them quickly to halt the dense talk.

Scissors then cut in, the hopeful champion of Rock and defender to the grave. But he would only beat her to a pulp when freed from his cage in the interrogation room, continuing the circle ad nauseam.


00320602

He waits between hot and cold, choosing hot himself and currently enjoying a mustard and ketchup laden dog of such temperature before customers show up for the midday “rush” — not much of a rush actually but he’s not much of a worker these days, being technically retired and a bona fide Whitehead in Da Woods.

The Mustard Ketchup Kid plays soccer in a nearby field with his sister Ventura, who hails from California. She channels her energy in order to attempt to get the ball past Bert (actual name), but all this is just more code.

Squared Root City is expanding across Highway 13-14 into the sim to the north. Still exciting times for the burg. We hold out hope that it can replace Collagesity-Fordham as proper capital of Lower Austra. Because the latter is probably going away and is, anyway, too small for the role, being only a little over 1/8th of a sim in size. Squared Root Cy is, in contrast, about a sim and a 1/2 in area now.

That’s why the Axis-Windmill character is back. He waits in the Zero Club at the beginning of it all — just before the beginning, some say — for another important character that has chosen to resurface in these here blog-novels to match the new energy. Vim, some call her; others: Vigor (that’s actually her sister, maybe a twin). She counts her Mississippi’s in anticipation of the manifestation. One Mississippi, Two… wait, she forgot something. Newt! At the Zero!

“Hi baby doll.”

He turns. “Eyela?? Wasn’t expecting *you*.”

“No one is,” she speaks truthfully and, after adjusting the strap of her new clockwork eyepatch to better match her face, takes a seat beside him at the bar. Both now turn away from the camera and speak privately. We try to listen in but only catch a couple of words like Geronimo, Slick, Olive, and Oklahoma. We gather an oil spill in Indian territory of the panhandle state may be involved but could be mistaken. Let’s back up and move in closer. We’re the bartender. Let’s call him Jim. Tom, actually, only 3 feet away. Close enough to properly record. We ask if they need a drink to be more legitimate seeming. They refuse. We move away but not too much — should be OK. And… PRESS.

“I’m glad we could mustard enough energy to catch up,” she began, which was code for “very important information to follow.”

“Spill,” he requested, and she did. We were right. Kind of.

(to be continued)


Zero Club (away from bar (shapeshifter))

“I recall the first time I saw you, your (one good) eye. Staring out between Moon and Saturn standing on a piano with Sun while a man with a moth on his back climbed a blood red picture behind you, using your huge ponytail to get a boost.”

“It’s not *that* huge,” she retorted. They had moved from the bar to get away from the bugs and the plants but we still had ways to listen in.

He continued. “They said she would never be invited again to one of these get-togethers since she brought so many friends and acquaintances with her. But 3-d Venus is alive and well, still with her many fans following her around like packs of wild dogs and cats.”

“In the flesh (!).” She indicated herself, her body. What else was different about her, he wondered.

He went on. “You lived in a house much like our user, front covered in wisteria as if in a protecting fence or wall. You designed the moat to surround a castle but then had second thoughts of leaving bucolic life; castle too large to properly fit on (your) island. Stymie, husband at the time — stymied still how he could have ever goofed up on a looker like you! –”

Cute tittering; cute covering of mouth.

“…was most often away exploring Viterbo, finding relics in the ruins. Then one particular relic ruined it for you; he had to move on, *you* had to move. And so on to another Rim Island, taking the house with you and adding another husband to replace the subtracted first: Jacob, 1/2 man 1/2 alien in this case, with 2 normal eyes below a united third. You?”

“Me,” she decided to say. “Pure bred. One single eye and no normal eyes atall, they said. But that was wrong. I just covered one up, the bad one. Clockwork now.” She indicated the spinning, geared wheel on her face, very fashionable, very retro future. She pointed to both eyes at once now. “Two, you see, just like you.”

“What’s under that tuft of hair?” he said, still doubting her and tempted to reach over and lift it to see for himself. Maybe then he would know if she was happier with Stymie or Jacob.

She changed as she revealed the truth.


00320604

“I remember seeing you from above, just before Jeffrie’s untimely…”

“… death,” she finished for him. Wendy had gotten over it better than even Axis-Windmill. And she was the bride(!).

Axis-Windmill continued. “You called me Newt back there — when you were still Eyela.”

“That’s your name isn’t it?”

Axis-Windmill thought back again. Beyond the vision of Jeffrie Phillips and Wendy Wheeler on Corton, the Queen and King of Our Second Lyfe truly. Controller of those creatures she was after that. They had a whole encyclopedia on them now, the ones in the right. Wendy Wheeler: in the wrong by then.

“Welll?” she prompted, seeing the space in his steely grey eyes. Time for a reality check.

“Newt,” he tested. The word sounded right: why not. Zero Club, Vim and Vigor, *Energy*… Newt. Short for Newton, as in Helmet.

We have reached the point of no return. Oily way.

“GERONIMOOOOOO!” he thought he recalled. *SPLAT* he definitely remembered.

Who leaped off the cliffs at Corton to their untimely death on the rocks below? Is it still Jeffrie Phillips? Yet he is back thanks to renewing the vows with Wendy Wheeler. How did that work?

And where is he now if not dead (again)?


Policeman Blue Jay

A plane crashed into Squared Root City today at 0800 AM. No one was hurt, but those who were aware took it as a sign that the character Eyela shouldn’t be renting an apartment or house in town and that she would be “crashing” the party (role play) if so. Direct link: both are Demos, as we know when making that famous tuft of purple hair transparent. No 3rd eye under there, no 3-d Venus either. Sloow and easy, they decided.

Meanwhile:

“I am ready to serve again, 3-d Venus. Just get me out of this heavenly yet heavily primmed place.”

“Done,” the great being ruled. “Done,” echoed the even greater being behind her — Wanda, I think — adding, “we’ll come too.” They must be sick of it as well.

Blue Rose Thorn aka Jeffrie Phillips jumps out of the plane.

That was easy, he-as-she thinks when landing safely instead of smashing to the ground, becoming a type of plane him-herself. Now to steal one of these cars.


leaving role play

“Hold on hold on, I’m going to call my bro — it’s always fun, he he.”

“Oh boy,” Spencer says between sips, knowing the story. Wanda Betty whispers to Spencer: “What *wrong* with him?”

—–

“No, where are *you*?”

What’s wrong with him is that he’s in two places at once when he’s… but you should know the story too by now.

Meanwhile:

She’s heading to Airtol Hill. She’s heading to Airtol Hill?!


00320607

“I worry about Blue Rose Thorn, Mistress. I know he has become our friend Blue Bird but how does he change back?”

“Simple, my lovely Venus,” purred The Mistress, her great length folded into the rocking chair on the porch of their retirement home. “He has to find a plane that isn’t crashed and jump out of it, danger abated. That way he won’t need the wings any more. That way our friend Blue Bird can be returned to us, and Blue Rose Thorn to himself. That way…”

“… he can find his way back to being Jeffrey Phillips,” guessed Venus on the 1/2 Bed.

“Perhaps,” she answered, and unclasped her wing-like hands while settling back. The pink parrot behind her squawked softly; the first to hear. “That is not of our jurisdiction. We must first get to the Town on the Mount in the Air and see what happens.”

They sat quiet for a while, pondering all of this. Then: small rustlings in the jungle to their left. “Over there,” Mistress proclaimed, the first to see. “The future is now(!).”

“How?” Slack jawed Venus saw too. A familiar shape had emerged from the tropical leaves and bushes and walked toward a chair marking the edge of their land.

“We will let her answer that. Blue Bird!” she called over. “Come out of the shadows. Explain your presence!”


dream 009 (one after 909)

“Aww *raspberries*!” he cussed after running me over in his little purple car, him with his curly purple hair and dark, tall attitude and altitude. *Finally*. I’d been asking for it since John F. Kennedy City when Jeffrey Phillips almost did it with red. He prodded me with his foot to make sure, but I was sure dead all right, raspberry beret crushed and mixed into a bigger mess that was formerly my somewhat dense but pretty enough head. Maw was right. You can’t be in two places at once when… can’t remember the rest.

He could never have me.

He withdraws foot from leg, knowing it was The End.


Frank Park/Bull Mountain photos

Area 54 (where are you?).

A welcoming sight in the woods (reversed; w/ balancing male and female rock piles).

Detail.

Bottle tree. Just been added to the day before this photo was taken.

Sitting Bullrock (not to be confused w/ much larger Bullrocks way up the mountain slope; maybe rename one or the other; this is where I *sit*).

In a different meadow: both a white-ish golf ball and large-ish white rock (“Diamond”) placed here.

This overall location framed by the 2 welcoming sight rock stackings is *mysterious*.


00320610

She tried to find where the 2 lovebirds, Snowwhite Well and one (or both or neither) of her cousins, were married, Aunt Emerald becoming Maw in any case except 1. No luck; *had* to move or derezz some of the trees here. It all centered around a streetlight, and 2 of those were still in the area. But neither framed by trees as before, symbolizing or standing in for the bride and groom themselves. The groom: one of the 2 Dixons — Dixon One and Dixon Too — brothers to each other and 2 potential husbands to Snowwhite, their cousin. Tradition dictated it had to be one or the other.

But then she also recalled that one or both (or neither) of the Dixons were *killed* seeking the treasure that Snowwhite Well claimed was actually herself, the snow white peak representing her diamond-like brilliance and beauty and loveliness. Aunt Emerald (Maw) probably knew. She was attracted to Snowwhite like a man and she wasn’t that type. She thought her sons daft for running off into the hills, the mountains, to look for gold and diamonds and rubies when they had Snowwhite right here, the most valuable thing either one could have found in their miserable, schizophrenic lives. But, no, they had to look exterior to the city for the meaning of life, go on a silly and perhaps deadly quest. And it turned out it was. The Cross knows the story. The Cross, centered by Lineside, remembers up and down, right and left. The Cross remembers similarly killed Duncan Avocado where it intersects with The Straight on the west edge of the continent. *That* was in the Oracle; the reason for Colonel Flagstaff to be there. And I *just* had a dream about him, it seems.

Point is (here), they left the city and The Cross and got in trouble because of it. “So predictable,” Aunt Emerald summarized when finding out about their ultimate fates, whatever they actually were.

Yes, she remembers now. 128/128: right in the center of the sim. *This* is where they got married — this is the right streetlamp. The preacher between them must have stood right on this very spot while accepting their I Do’s. If it even happened.

These other birds could have told me all along.

(to be continued)


boulder scene/Little Tramp

“So I went to the middle of The Cross, the middle of Lineside (which is the same), just to see what was there. The well was gone, you know, the one Lou and Morris declared was the center of the world or something.”

“*Well*,” she exclaimed back. “I never.” Because she knew the center of the world was in Arkansaw, some say Miss Ouri. But it was probably Arkansaw. Or not. Debate for another time and place.

“Yeah, I had a hard time getting there with the ban lines and all but I finally found it. A rock, you see — ‘nother one. And a grassy little hill attached to it with water sprinkling all over the place.”

“Your mouth is getting lazy again,” the other with the first complained, probably Venus since she was more sharp mouthed, perhaps part bird herself with the beak and all. But that was just (in) a dream.

“Knoll,” the first defined more clearly. “Toys.”

“Yeah, those too,” admitted Blue Bird, looking to her right and left as they approached, threatening to close her in on this very spot in the center. Or as close as she could get. “I touched the green star near me. I began to dance. I seemed to worship the rock, become one with it even. That seemed to drive them away. I was alone again, but I kept wanting to dance and worship. I realized I was someone else in the moment.”

“Inky Man?” asked Mistress, the first more clearly defined as well. “I recall: Inky Man.” STOP

In her mind, she saw the black figure approach and then recede. Just like a toy.


the bird beats the bug

We follow him down to the door of — where he lived? We open the door. Not a chained prisoner as we suspected a bit. Not sentient Christmas excrement Mr. Hankey from South Park, another logical candidate. But Casey One Hole. Casey One Hole, yikes!

“A Blue Bird?!” he exclaimed, truly surprised himself. “I was expecting a Cardinal or perhaps a Rooster at worst, ha ha. This should be easy.”

“He swiftly moves toward me,” Blue Bird who opened the door to the outhouse — or tramp shack or whatever it actually was — kept on explaining to the others, “towering over me, cornering me, as the toys had tried before but didn’t succeed with. Then I looked down at his ‘weapon’ and started snickering.

“‘W-what?’ he managed between snarls, and followed the direction of my eyes.

“A mop instead of a golf club. He *had* no weapon. He swatted at my head with it anyway in the subsequent intensification of anger but it just kind of tickled my cheeks. Soft as downy wings — charmed obviously. Something had happened. Casey One Hole had been neutralized through the outhouse — I knew now this was an outhouse, a bathroom set to be cleaned, perhaps in perpetuity.

“‘Better get back to it,’ I joked while pointing in its direction as he jumped up and down in frustration, then swung the mop round and round, aiming at nothing now; crazy as a beetle. I left free as a bird. Appropriate.”

“Poe fellow,” said Mistress, seeming to miss the point but actually not. She unclasped her wing-like hands and settled back in the rocking chair again. Venus on the 1/2 bed decided to sing a song.

(to be continued)


319

Venus had finished her song. Wasn’t her worst but wasn’t her best. Lorster… Lester, I recall. Must get back to the purple door, another door to open if we now have the key. And we might.

“Well I’ll be,” he said, withdrawing it from sudsy purple. Not poop after all! Thanks Dovie!


02 records

There’s two of these things now, Debbie Doom thought about the colossal *women* statues towering above her in Lorsters Worst, queen city of Nautilus’ Yd Island. For now. Could be a hopeful *sign* — things have changed, and so on. Maybe the door… but she would know soon enough. She holds the key in her hand, dream object no longer. Because dreams have come true. She was *trapped* but for a good reason. It was the only way out.

Frozen pantomime, she determined about the crowd in the center of town and walked through it all, paying no attention now to the fake conversations right left back forth. One objective tonight.

She doesn’t have to unlock anything. All she has to do is hold it and–

PRESS.

Showtime.


00320615

She’s been here already, he realized, looking at the last visitor picture. Offering an apple — offering *me* an apple obviously. Will you rent again from us, will you be *tempted*? L$831 dollars in the bank, just enough to cover rent for the next week. But dare I?

Novel 32 is coming to a close. Premium membership running out tomorrow, and land use fees resetting the day after that.

It’s too easy. No, I will not pay the rent, nor renew the membership. I will get rid of my land through abandonment if needed. Property in the beige highlands of Nautilus — not very valuable at all and will have to sell at a cut rate price to even ditch the burden in the next several weeks, most likely. Time for a purge.

One more thing to check, the clincher?

Still available. The library, the castle, the Nautilus map can move there. Everything else can go away for all I care, even the Temple of TILE, at least templerarily, hehe. No time for jokes here. Action… tomorrow, tonight, right now.

I im Wheeler, richer in money at this point. “Send me a couple of lindens over, say 1500.” Enough to cover 2 weeks in this location on famed Rooster’s Peninsula.

I wait. The curtains close again for now.


00320616

“W-what?” He could scarcely believe his ears. Wheeler wanted Collagesity to stay! She wasn’t going to lend him the money until she heard the “I do”. And she wants to still get married on top of everything else! In Collagesity! Which will go on, she said, one hand in the other. “We will be married to Collagesity as well,” she ended her shocking spiel. Marriage, membership, premium land and rental land retainment, all together.

She takes another bite of her plumeria sandwich and then says she’s just joking, and do whatever you want with the land and then she gave me the money without hesitation, touching me and sending L$1500 into my bank account.

“Now about that tic tac toe game…”

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2022 EARLY”!


PREVIOUS HOME