After rummaging about in the “corner of invitations, discount coupons, a goodie bags’ of her office on the 19th floor of The Times building, Sindy Blazer Ace Reporter and Editor of the Society Pages of the most prestigious news paper in all of Second Life found what she desperately looking for. The thin cardboard felt like a stack of lindens, which in a sense it was.
“miss sindy, i got your stuff,” said a small voice behind her. She turned. It was copy boy Jimmy Whatshisname pushing a handcart loaded with heavy thick purple volumes numbered 1 through 22 and a set of equally massive supplements labeled A through R. It was Warwick’s Short History of Second Life, second edition. “i tried to get the third edition but it was in mr. murdstones office and his receptionist that horrible miss casberry would not let me in because she was weeping and thrashing about on the floor,” said Jimmy.
“Well that’s ok. She’s probably grief struck,” said Sindy as she tried to make room for the volumes on the floor. “Did you get the articles? The ones about the archaeological discovery and old Monforte IV?”
“sure, here they are,” said Johnny handing Sindy two yellowed tear sheets.
“can i get you anything else or should i just stand her and let my imagination run wild?” Johnny asked.
Sindy laughed. He was a cute kid, but if she let him stay much longer her imagination might run wild and that would not do. Not this afternoon with gala exhibition opening and the Great Debate Series before her. “No, that will be all for now,” she said as Johnny retreated to the door and resumed his usual position of silent waiting and lurking.
The first tear sheet was from the Political Section of last Sunday’s paper. She read carefully
ROYAL TO LEAD ANTI-MONARCHIST PARTY
Threadbare “Sissy” Talbot special political correspondent to The Times
Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, famed Historian and Associate Professor at the most catholic University of Sonogno, suave playboy extraordinaire, and highly ineligible bachelor, was appointed Chairperson of the Anti-Monarchist Party at their raucous convention held in the Capital this weekend. The delegates had remained deadlocked in a hapless tie, with a vote of one to one, until the aged Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian rose, from his porti-throne to speak. Placing his monocle firmly in both eyes and adjusting his woolen socks, he was recognized by The Chair. A hushed silence fell upon the assembly as Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian pulled first a rabbit from his hat and then his prepared remarks. Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian, pulling himself to his full height of 3’ 2” and standing ramrod straight began his address: “Hmmmagh, agggggh, my deer frens and n’companons, snurp haaaakk haaaak, sniffle.” Reaching for his snuff box Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian sneezed and resumed his address, “Wee musf cum t’gather n creatie a front unitd…” He paused for three minuets to let his remarks sink in. Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian concluded saying: “tis all.” The hall burst into a cacophony of snoring as Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian removed the iron rod from his coat, resumed his pose on the porti-throne, and the ballot was again cast. This time the vote was one for Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and one abstention. The opposition delegate had fallen hopelessly to sleep. The Anti-Monarchist party is currently drafting its Manifesto and hopes to have it completed after the election.
Sindy hated Sissy Talbot and the whole Talbot clan. “Her writing sucks,” she hissed. Sindy held a very low opinion of Sissy when she won the Haiku competition in eight grade Japanese class at the School for Wayward Girls. Sindy knew Sissy had cheated, but Sister Excrucio had hit Sindy so hard with a ruler when Sindy had objected that she could still feel the pain today. Permanent nerve damage Dr. Bodkin Adams has said. Sindy figured it must be fixed because Sissy had used the six stroke kanji TA rather than the thirteen stroke TA. Sissy had tried to write “I apologize” but had really written “I tattle on others” in her haiku, and Sister Excurcio who knew no Japanese at all and could barely speak Latin had chastised Sindy for violating Sin 632, sub sections (a) through (d) inclusive. That was the envy sin and the allegory subsection.
The Talbot’s were blue bloods and they were land rich and lindens poor, as so many blue bloods were. Sissy was always bragging about how her ancestors had arrived in Second Life on the old and revered 4004. Long before the Lindens arrived, and even stretching back to the time before the Monforte’s united the Tribes of Thompson, Ritchie and the Clan McLlroy, and forced the adoption of the “Treaty of YouNix” under the so called “True” kings.
Sindy filed the tear sheet in the “corner of reference, fact checking, and falsification” and then picked up the almost disintegrated copy of last months Sunday supplement ‘Feeble Magazine.’ One the cover was Britney Spears sobbing and weeping at the news of the murder of Ashton Kutcher. In the bottom corner was a picture of a battered old crown and the banner “Amazing Discovery – Family Jewels Found In Shipwreck – Page 4.”
Sindy turned to page 4. The full page pictorial was written by the hack writer Wendy “Whiteout” Wallace, a writer for whom Sindy had great respect, because Wendy had gone to the State Reform School for the Mechanically Inclined and Almost Functional and not to the School for Wayward Girls where Sindy had been so unhappy. Also Wendy knew punctuation and was always willing to help Sindy even if the laughing and moaning made Sindy uncomfortable. The article described the surprise discovery of the Crown of Second Life, long presumed lost, as well as the discovery of the Family Jewels of the Monforte’s. Both the crown and the jewels had disappeared hundreds of years ago during the Yellow Revolution and the Concordat of Abdication. Strangely enough they had been discovered in an old shipwreck off Idiot’s Island by some lungfish divers searching for sponges. The ship had been the Duckpin II and had sunk almost 30 years before. The lungfish divers had thought they would be wealthy, but when rumors spread to the Capital, the Ministry of Antiquities and Dusty Relics had seized the crown and jewels claiming they were State Antiquities Grade II. The lungfish divers got nothing for their efforts. There was an amazing picture of an odd little man holding up a tarnished still wet crown with sparkling cut stones and bits of seaweed clinging to it. The amazing part was the little man’s haircut, or the lack thereof. He had an amazing three strand comb-over, or perhaps fly over was a better description. His few strands of hair must have been 4 or 5 meters in length, and like a little tornado of locks it was wound round and round and round his bald and speckled head.
There were some notes written in emerald green ink and a shaky hand in the margins. Sindy paused. It read “IM MOTHER S LMH LMH FUBAR INAL BUT WERE SCREWED NIFOC”. Only one person was allowed green ink at the times and that was Ruprecht Murdstone.
Sindy continued to read. Wendy had written that there was great controversy over ownership of the find. Governor Linden claimed it was state property, the lungfish divers said it was theirs, the Insurance Carrier for the Duckpin II claimed the crown and jewels, and oddly so did the Rubber Spiders Trust and Cabal. Sindy laughed thinking who in their right mind would insure the cargo of a ship. That would make its sinking inevitable. Then at the end of the article another odd twist. The Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos, Sindy shuddered, had claimed ownership by right of consanguination. The article concluded with statement by Monforte IV, the last remaining Royal of Second Life. Monforte IV was quoted as saying in the old tonge, “Returns its nows, forsooth, dooms awaits thoses whof defiles tha sacreds relics. Returns its ta the seass, forf theys bes curseds who holds and profanes tha Godly Crowns n Monforte Familys Jewelsf .” Now that was heavy thought Sindy. But it all made sense. Once again she began to dread what she knew she must do. She had no choice, the bloody sands of time flowed in the hourglass of malevolent revenge and angry reprisal. Sindy now understood for whom the bell tolled.
Punky had reserved a sporty Ardabil at Blurts using her Red Ink Card points at the Rapido Station near Fort Balatro where the Zippy Blimp works were located. When she arrived at the Blurts counter she saw her name in lights – Punky Pugilist Stall 34B. After a short walk she found the Ardabil and it was dusty and still warm, but she had no choice and anyway it had a Navatron System. It was the new hand held “Street Walker” model and Punky was pleased. It was getting dark and for a Blimp Captain to get lost would be a real embarrassment.
Punky thought back to that horrible day just before graduation at the Academy of Balloons when she blew it and she almost lost her team mates. She had never told anyone before the accident that almost ended her career and to this day only one person knew the truth, Ed Hallard her Emperian Navigation instructor.
Seating herself on the carpet, the message tab on the screen brightened and the Ardabil said “Oh master I await your command. Say ‘Start’ to begin, “Stop’ to end, and “/?” for a list of options. “Yah, yah,” said Punky to herself, “I know the drill. Start.” The Ardabil shuddered a bit and she lightly pushed the page up button console and the Ardabil rose about a meter off the land. Then Punky, uncharacteristically jabbed the forward arrow button and the Ardabil shot forward at high speed. It’s a rental she chuckled. She accelerated from fast to really fast and then too fast. Fast enough to get a fistful of tickets, a warrant for her arrest, and short stint in the Pink House if there had been any Red Light Speed Cameras around. But she was certain that they were not there because she had studied the map carefully. She did not want to get lost.
Punky screeched to a stop at the Main Gate of Fort Balatro and gave the guard her purple security pass. The guard, who was shivering badly from the night air, looked carefully at the card, then at Punky’s Face and then back at the card. “Sarge!,” shouted the guard, “its her, that Blimp Captain they want.” Punky had a brief flash of fear as she thought she had misread the map and run afoul of a speed camera. The sergeant came rushing out of the guard shack followed by two other guards toting heavy heat.
“Captain Pugilist, may I see your credentials?” the sergeant said. As he examined the purple pass carefully Punky noticed that his right hand was deformed in such a way as to hold a coffee cup at any angle without spilling. On the job injury she thought. “Yes, yes,” said the sergeant, please follow us, they are expecting you. The sergeant jumped onto a heavy duty Turkman in olive drab followed by the two privates. He hit the red lights and siren as the gate crashed open and he sped into the growing darkness with Punky racing after him in the Ardabil. It was starting to snow.
The speeding carpet caravan stopped twice at other security checkpoints. Each time Punky’s credentials were checked carefully. At the last stop, an officer bearing the snarling weasel insignia of the dreaded Ministry of Secrets and Capital Crimes, not only examined the card but then to Punky’s surprise asked for the answer to her security question.
“What’s your first pets name?,” asked the officer in a very cold voice, a cruel snarl on his face and his hand on his pearl handled dirk. Punky paused; she didn’t want to get this wrong. “Fluffy,” she said, “Fluffy the kitty litter encrusted cat avatar” The officer continued to stare at Punky while he tapped her security pass on the edge of the Ardavil. Something was bothering him Punky thought. Then before Punky could ask what was happening he motioned the caravan through.
Again they accelerated in the night. Punky looked in the rear view display and noticed a bright Morse Light atop the guard station was flashing dots and dashes frantically in the night. Punky read the signal for as long as she could. “--- ..-- .-. ..-. .- - . .. … .. -. …. . .-. - .. -. -.” flashed the Morse light and then Punky could not see. “Tiny what, tiny what,” she shouted. Frustration and anger were building in her tiny hands as they accelerated into the gloom.
In the distance Punky could see the dark form of an enormous hanger, the biggest blimp hanger in all of Second life. Then Punky realized the officer had kept her security pass. This was really bad, she thought. Like, you know, just about as bad as it got. She was wrong.
“miss sindy, i got your stuff,” said a small voice behind her. She turned. It was copy boy Jimmy Whatshisname pushing a handcart loaded with heavy thick purple volumes numbered 1 through 22 and a set of equally massive supplements labeled A through R. It was Warwick’s Short History of Second Life, second edition. “i tried to get the third edition but it was in mr. murdstones office and his receptionist that horrible miss casberry would not let me in because she was weeping and thrashing about on the floor,” said Jimmy.
“Well that’s ok. She’s probably grief struck,” said Sindy as she tried to make room for the volumes on the floor. “Did you get the articles? The ones about the archaeological discovery and old Monforte IV?”
“sure, here they are,” said Johnny handing Sindy two yellowed tear sheets.
“can i get you anything else or should i just stand her and let my imagination run wild?” Johnny asked.
Sindy laughed. He was a cute kid, but if she let him stay much longer her imagination might run wild and that would not do. Not this afternoon with gala exhibition opening and the Great Debate Series before her. “No, that will be all for now,” she said as Johnny retreated to the door and resumed his usual position of silent waiting and lurking.
The first tear sheet was from the Political Section of last Sunday’s paper. She read carefully
ROYAL TO LEAD ANTI-MONARCHIST PARTY
Threadbare “Sissy” Talbot special political correspondent to The Times
Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, famed Historian and Associate Professor at the most catholic University of Sonogno, suave playboy extraordinaire, and highly ineligible bachelor, was appointed Chairperson of the Anti-Monarchist Party at their raucous convention held in the Capital this weekend. The delegates had remained deadlocked in a hapless tie, with a vote of one to one, until the aged Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian rose, from his porti-throne to speak. Placing his monocle firmly in both eyes and adjusting his woolen socks, he was recognized by The Chair. A hushed silence fell upon the assembly as Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian pulled first a rabbit from his hat and then his prepared remarks. Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian, pulling himself to his full height of 3’ 2” and standing ramrod straight began his address: “Hmmmagh, agggggh, my deer frens and n’companons, snurp haaaakk haaaak, sniffle.” Reaching for his snuff box Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian sneezed and resumed his address, “Wee musf cum t’gather n creatie a front unitd…” He paused for three minuets to let his remarks sink in. Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian concluded saying: “tis all.” The hall burst into a cacophony of snoring as Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian removed the iron rod from his coat, resumed his pose on the porti-throne, and the ballot was again cast. This time the vote was one for Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV Royal, Dauphin of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and one abstention. The opposition delegate had fallen hopelessly to sleep. The Anti-Monarchist party is currently drafting its Manifesto and hopes to have it completed after the election.
Sindy hated Sissy Talbot and the whole Talbot clan. “Her writing sucks,” she hissed. Sindy held a very low opinion of Sissy when she won the Haiku competition in eight grade Japanese class at the School for Wayward Girls. Sindy knew Sissy had cheated, but Sister Excrucio had hit Sindy so hard with a ruler when Sindy had objected that she could still feel the pain today. Permanent nerve damage Dr. Bodkin Adams has said. Sindy figured it must be fixed because Sissy had used the six stroke kanji TA rather than the thirteen stroke TA. Sissy had tried to write “I apologize” but had really written “I tattle on others” in her haiku, and Sister Excurcio who knew no Japanese at all and could barely speak Latin had chastised Sindy for violating Sin 632, sub sections (a) through (d) inclusive. That was the envy sin and the allegory subsection.
The Talbot’s were blue bloods and they were land rich and lindens poor, as so many blue bloods were. Sissy was always bragging about how her ancestors had arrived in Second Life on the old and revered 4004. Long before the Lindens arrived, and even stretching back to the time before the Monforte’s united the Tribes of Thompson, Ritchie and the Clan McLlroy, and forced the adoption of the “Treaty of YouNix” under the so called “True” kings.
Sindy filed the tear sheet in the “corner of reference, fact checking, and falsification” and then picked up the almost disintegrated copy of last months Sunday supplement ‘Feeble Magazine.’ One the cover was Britney Spears sobbing and weeping at the news of the murder of Ashton Kutcher. In the bottom corner was a picture of a battered old crown and the banner “Amazing Discovery – Family Jewels Found In Shipwreck – Page 4.”
Sindy turned to page 4. The full page pictorial was written by the hack writer Wendy “Whiteout” Wallace, a writer for whom Sindy had great respect, because Wendy had gone to the State Reform School for the Mechanically Inclined and Almost Functional and not to the School for Wayward Girls where Sindy had been so unhappy. Also Wendy knew punctuation and was always willing to help Sindy even if the laughing and moaning made Sindy uncomfortable. The article described the surprise discovery of the Crown of Second Life, long presumed lost, as well as the discovery of the Family Jewels of the Monforte’s. Both the crown and the jewels had disappeared hundreds of years ago during the Yellow Revolution and the Concordat of Abdication. Strangely enough they had been discovered in an old shipwreck off Idiot’s Island by some lungfish divers searching for sponges. The ship had been the Duckpin II and had sunk almost 30 years before. The lungfish divers had thought they would be wealthy, but when rumors spread to the Capital, the Ministry of Antiquities and Dusty Relics had seized the crown and jewels claiming they were State Antiquities Grade II. The lungfish divers got nothing for their efforts. There was an amazing picture of an odd little man holding up a tarnished still wet crown with sparkling cut stones and bits of seaweed clinging to it. The amazing part was the little man’s haircut, or the lack thereof. He had an amazing three strand comb-over, or perhaps fly over was a better description. His few strands of hair must have been 4 or 5 meters in length, and like a little tornado of locks it was wound round and round and round his bald and speckled head.
There were some notes written in emerald green ink and a shaky hand in the margins. Sindy paused. It read “IM MOTHER S LMH LMH FUBAR INAL BUT WERE SCREWED NIFOC”. Only one person was allowed green ink at the times and that was Ruprecht Murdstone.
Sindy continued to read. Wendy had written that there was great controversy over ownership of the find. Governor Linden claimed it was state property, the lungfish divers said it was theirs, the Insurance Carrier for the Duckpin II claimed the crown and jewels, and oddly so did the Rubber Spiders Trust and Cabal. Sindy laughed thinking who in their right mind would insure the cargo of a ship. That would make its sinking inevitable. Then at the end of the article another odd twist. The Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos, Sindy shuddered, had claimed ownership by right of consanguination. The article concluded with statement by Monforte IV, the last remaining Royal of Second Life. Monforte IV was quoted as saying in the old tonge, “Returns its nows, forsooth, dooms awaits thoses whof defiles tha sacreds relics. Returns its ta the seass, forf theys bes curseds who holds and profanes tha Godly Crowns n Monforte Familys Jewelsf .” Now that was heavy thought Sindy. But it all made sense. Once again she began to dread what she knew she must do. She had no choice, the bloody sands of time flowed in the hourglass of malevolent revenge and angry reprisal. Sindy now understood for whom the bell tolled.
Punky had reserved a sporty Ardabil at Blurts using her Red Ink Card points at the Rapido Station near Fort Balatro where the Zippy Blimp works were located. When she arrived at the Blurts counter she saw her name in lights – Punky Pugilist Stall 34B. After a short walk she found the Ardabil and it was dusty and still warm, but she had no choice and anyway it had a Navatron System. It was the new hand held “Street Walker” model and Punky was pleased. It was getting dark and for a Blimp Captain to get lost would be a real embarrassment.
Punky thought back to that horrible day just before graduation at the Academy of Balloons when she blew it and she almost lost her team mates. She had never told anyone before the accident that almost ended her career and to this day only one person knew the truth, Ed Hallard her Emperian Navigation instructor.
Seating herself on the carpet, the message tab on the screen brightened and the Ardabil said “Oh master I await your command. Say ‘Start’ to begin, “Stop’ to end, and “/?” for a list of options. “Yah, yah,” said Punky to herself, “I know the drill. Start.” The Ardabil shuddered a bit and she lightly pushed the page up button console and the Ardabil rose about a meter off the land. Then Punky, uncharacteristically jabbed the forward arrow button and the Ardabil shot forward at high speed. It’s a rental she chuckled. She accelerated from fast to really fast and then too fast. Fast enough to get a fistful of tickets, a warrant for her arrest, and short stint in the Pink House if there had been any Red Light Speed Cameras around. But she was certain that they were not there because she had studied the map carefully. She did not want to get lost.
Punky screeched to a stop at the Main Gate of Fort Balatro and gave the guard her purple security pass. The guard, who was shivering badly from the night air, looked carefully at the card, then at Punky’s Face and then back at the card. “Sarge!,” shouted the guard, “its her, that Blimp Captain they want.” Punky had a brief flash of fear as she thought she had misread the map and run afoul of a speed camera. The sergeant came rushing out of the guard shack followed by two other guards toting heavy heat.
“Captain Pugilist, may I see your credentials?” the sergeant said. As he examined the purple pass carefully Punky noticed that his right hand was deformed in such a way as to hold a coffee cup at any angle without spilling. On the job injury she thought. “Yes, yes,” said the sergeant, please follow us, they are expecting you. The sergeant jumped onto a heavy duty Turkman in olive drab followed by the two privates. He hit the red lights and siren as the gate crashed open and he sped into the growing darkness with Punky racing after him in the Ardabil. It was starting to snow.
The speeding carpet caravan stopped twice at other security checkpoints. Each time Punky’s credentials were checked carefully. At the last stop, an officer bearing the snarling weasel insignia of the dreaded Ministry of Secrets and Capital Crimes, not only examined the card but then to Punky’s surprise asked for the answer to her security question.
“What’s your first pets name?,” asked the officer in a very cold voice, a cruel snarl on his face and his hand on his pearl handled dirk. Punky paused; she didn’t want to get this wrong. “Fluffy,” she said, “Fluffy the kitty litter encrusted cat avatar” The officer continued to stare at Punky while he tapped her security pass on the edge of the Ardavil. Something was bothering him Punky thought. Then before Punky could ask what was happening he motioned the caravan through.
Again they accelerated in the night. Punky looked in the rear view display and noticed a bright Morse Light atop the guard station was flashing dots and dashes frantically in the night. Punky read the signal for as long as she could. “--- ..-- .-. ..-. .- - . .. … .. -. …. . .-. - .. -. -.” flashed the Morse light and then Punky could not see. “Tiny what, tiny what,” she shouted. Frustration and anger were building in her tiny hands as they accelerated into the gloom.
In the distance Punky could see the dark form of an enormous hanger, the biggest blimp hanger in all of Second life. Then Punky realized the officer had kept her security pass. This was really bad, she thought. Like, you know, just about as bad as it got. She was wrong.
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