EXCERPT FROM WINESAP:
“We must prepare for a general pullout Sgt. Peeper. Form the ranks and files of the greater and lesser!”
“Table,” I replied cooly, like a Sultan.
“Unvariably. Inevitably,” came the response. It was quick but not like a knife. He was quite charming, actually. He wore his hair sideways on his head and tossed it like a pony when miffed. Wait, that’s not…”
“Thought you might need some help with this,” Hucka D. said while walking in the backdoor again. “Sorry your SL friends are not panning out, really. There’s always Chilbo.”
“I was hoping you would bring some paint this time.”
“Like you would ever paint,” he responded dryly, looking around with his oh so goofy eyes. But he couldn’t annoy me. Not Hucka Doobie.
“Where’s the line of ash around this house? Haven’t been able to find it yet. But we do have the bridge.”
“…of Doom.” Hucka D. chuckles a bit. He takes a seat in the corner on an old pile of newspapers. “Listen, baker b., The B., we need to get back to ‘Beyond The Rubidoo’. You *do* remember that place?” His grin turned sideways in his round, yellow bee head below his goofy eyes. No, his head wasn’t completely round but also had a polygonal quality to it, although it was hard to make out exactly how many sides were involved. 12? 13? 16? Maybe a queer number like 13.
“What’s there, Hucka D.? Besides maybe a snake or two?”
“No snakes, baker b. Riches. Gold. Diamonds. Dig underneath that rich, fertile soil and you’ll find…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Snake eggs?” I guess again. But Hucka D. remains unfazed.
Hucka D. gets up and moves to the opaque window, looking out to the north. The skyline of Ashville wasn’t visible from the house, although if it was that would be the direction to look.
“Where’s the E?” he then asks, pulling away from the window and sitting back down. He gets more comfortable by pulling off his Linden made Boy Next Door shoes and pulling his bee legs under his Boyd Next Door Linden trunk. Body of a human he has, and head and appendages of a bee. Queer look, but that’s what he decided to inhabit after his Earthly death as Charles Nelson… well, let’s just let Hucka D. tell his tale if he wishes. So I answered his question.
“It’s in both Healy and Noru now,” I said, referring to 2 names of sims in the Second Life game where I rented property.
“I forgot about Noru. I miss Cabron. I should have been allowed to stay there. Kind of pisses me off.” I’ve never seen Hucka D. truly mad, I don’t think, unless it was during one of his little spats witih Grassy the toy Mmmmmm avatar.
“Yeah, that’s a shame the property was reverted to the Lindens. I wonder if one of them is responsible for checking this blog every now and then, to see what The Bakers have found and make sure it’s coisure.”
“You mean ‘kosher’?” Hucka D. shoots back with a slight laugh. “Yes, it is a shame. It’s a shame for the people responsible. C.A.R.P. (he spells this out) The same people that are looking for that tube.”
“Zeppelin, I’m assuming.”
“Yes,” came the reply. “We’re waiting for Plant, after all. This is where I told him to show up.”
Well, I suppose it figures that Plant would show up here, since he keeps cropping up in all my chatty oriented blog posts lately, along with, of course, Hucka Doobie. But we haven’t been this physical and relatively well rounded before. Actual kind of plastic-type figures now, we are, as he put it earlier. I wonder what Plant would look like if and when he showed up.
“Must be about 10 til 12 or so. Huncky Dory World employees are getting in their cars.”
I was tempted to go over to the window to look at the filling cars with Hucka D. in the parking lot across the street from us, but resisted standing so close to the creature, now more real than ever. It’s one thing to talk to him abstractly, but another to stand right next to him in the relative real world. RL. Ah, what the heck. So I went and stood right beside him, seeing the last trickle of lunch goers leaving in their cars. And there was a smell attached as well! Pollen… haven’t smelled that since, well, I don’t know when. It wasn’t unpleasant. Smells, they say, touch something very deep inside of us on an emotional level. We remember smells longer than any other sense, they say… can’t remember who the ‘they’ is here, but I’m assume it’s something I learned in school, perhaps in a Health course. Just guessing on this, mind you.
“It’s interesting to be 3d,” said Hucka D. right next to me, still staring out the window. I had forgotten…” He trailed off again. Was… could it be he was crying? He turned his head away from me; headed toward the newspapers again. I decided to stay where I was. I needed a seat. Plastic, he had described it. I knew where that was coming from.
“Did I ever tell you the story of the Blue Feather Sea baker b.?” he asked from his now sitting position. “The real story?”
(to be continued?)