Chris wanted to get in, do what had to be done, and get out. Behind the social backstabbing, and the clawing, and hair pulling, in order to climb in the social ranking of the Book of Blues, lay a darker, far more corrupt and caustic virtual reality – Politics. Scanning the room Chris realized the exhibition hall was filled with all the key political hacks, lobbyists, flesh pressers, glad hander’s, office seekers, and perverts of the Capital. All here to engage in a Wesson oil party of mutual massage and self abuse. And the abuse of others as well. Only a few major players were missing. He did not see either Funstas or his running dog, Murdstone, of the Lupine News Corp.
Chris was about to join The Chair and the Second Sea Lord when he spied Bob Smith Ambassador of Real Life and Dr. Bernanke, dressed in an avatar suit as a high class escort. He had business with Bob Smith, but more importantly he needed to talk to the US Federal Reserve Chairman about the monetary crisis. Bernanke and Smith looked bored and Chris realized that this was his best opening. Bernanke nodded and Chris walked the few paces to them.
“Good to see you Chris,” said the US Federal Reserve Chairman adjusting his revealing bra strap. “Your know Bob of course.”
“Yes Bob,” replied Chris, “How are you tonight?”
“Fine, just fine,” Bob responded, lying like the professional ambassador he was. Bob was not dressed as an avatar and he appeared as a stick figure with an emoticon smiley face. “Those jewels are fantastic. Imagine under the sea all these years. Why, in RL you could wipe out the national debt of France and Germany and throw Luxemburg in to boot.” Bob laughed and Chris a more skilled politician than either of them laughed heartily knowing full well that Luxemburg had no national debt.
Bernanke, ever attendant to the slightest smell of all things monetary, looked toward the display and made some rapid calculations in his head. Bernanke realized Smith was right. Those stones were worth a virtual king’s ransom. Bernanke chuckled again when he realized that at one point that’s exactly what they had been – a ransom for that lame king whose name he could not remember.
Bernake then took the initiative. “I’ve been following the recent events closely Chris, and I think you should know that we are prepared to intervene if it should come to that.
Sure thought Chris, at the cost of a radical de-valuation of the Linden and a promise to exclusively use US Dollars as the reserve currency rather than a basket of Euro’s, Dollars, the Mozambiquean Metica, Script of WalledMart, Frequent Flyer miles, American Confederate War Bonds, and assorted commercial dentures.
“Why, I appreciate your offer,” lied Chris. “In these difficult times its important for all the Central Banks to stand united…” he paused, “especially the Bank of Zwinki and Neopet.” Chris saw the tiniest flinch on Bernanke’s face at the mention of those notorious money launderers in Zwinki.
It was tit for tat time thought Chris. “I want you to know Ben, that if your liquidity problems continue as your real estate values seek a true market level, that the Governor and I are ready to help out.”
Ouch, thought Bernake. Before the gala event he had been briefed and he knew full well that Second Life land values were a solid as the servers they were built upon.
Now for the twist, thought Chris. “So if it will help, I’ll leave the window open for you. Just knock on the front door first.” Chris chuckled internally at his little joke and insult, knowing full well that Second Life had almost no liquidity left in the leaky tanks of the underground vaults of the Reserve Bank and Counting House of Second Life.
“Thank you Chris, but I hope it does not come to that,” Bernanke replied. Bernanke was relived to hear the offer, because the dollar was falling fast and he might need help. He just didn’t know how bad the financial crisis in SL had become.
Bob Smith interjected. “Don’t worry about the mighty greenback, Chris. Solid as a the glaciers in the Antarctic.” His emoticon face showed that he probably believed what he had said.
Chris broke away from the discussion of things monetary and looked about the room for the Second Sea Lord. Chris wanted to know how many more lindens were required for the desperate and futile gesture that the Governor was betting the future security and safety of Second Life upon.
He noticed that the little gaggle of the Second Sea Lord, Admiral Bobby Fisher, The Chair, and Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and now Head of Anti-Monarchist Party, had not moved an inch since his arrival. The entire current of the laughing, the desperately happy, and the completely clueless, was flowing around them, like the ripples of the slack tide in the Bay of Fumis. These men were the true power in Second Life. It was not necessary for the Mountain to go to Mohammad. These powerful men held five queens. And ‘you know who’ had only a pair.
“Ahss,” Said Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and Head of Anti-Monarchist Party,” as Chris approached. He did not rise from his porti-throne, but he did nod an acknowledgement of recognition. A true sign of respect and Chris knew it.
The Chair turned to face Chris, a paper cup of Dom Pigeon 09 on his arm and said, “Ah Chris, glad you could make it. You know Bobby don’t you? Recently recalled to service in the Blue Navy.”
Chris did not know Bobby personally since he had died over a hundred years earlier, but he did know of his brilliant armaments planning and building exploits that had resulted in the over 40 million reboots, and the bankruptcy of hundreds of Sims during the Great War. Admiral Bobby Fisher was also a famed backgammon player and was supposed to be pretty good at ‘Sonogno Take em.’ Chris recalled a rumor that the Admiral had won a bundle playing fish at the Calves Head Club on kidney pie night last week.
“Shame about old Murdstone,” interjected the Second Sea Lord. “Simply tragic, really tragic.”
“Yes, a very real loss to journalism,” replied Chris. “When do they say he will be released to return to The Times tower?”
“Dr Benway says he’s doing just fine, but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Perhaps some mental therapy as well,” said the Second Sea Lord. “With all these inter Sim crisis, and the possibly of open hostilities, we need a firm hand on the fourth estate.”
“Yes a firm hand indeed,” said Admiral Fisher. “Indeed.”
“Yess,” agreed Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and Head of Anti-Monarchist Party.
The Chair took Chris arm in arm on a short stroll to the potted palms. He had something urgent to tell him and he didn’t want everyone to know, however by chatting quietly with the President of the RBCHSL every one was going to find out. When he finished informing Chris of the plan to ensure press stability in this crisis, Chris replied in a low voice. “Yes, good choice. I agree. It will be tricky, and she’s going to need some help, but I think this is the best and only option we have available at this time.”
Some lovely jazz was being played in the balcony and Chris looked up. It was the famed Jazz Ensemble and Drum & Bugle Corps of the School for Wayward Girls. An old flame of his Lilith was conducting. He waved and Lilith turned her back on him. C’est la vie he though.
Chris had spoken to most of the movers and shakers on his list. He had some time left so he strolled over to the enormous glass cases and heavily armed displays of the Monforte Jewels. With the eye of an appraiser, which of course was the major reason for his attending the exhibition, he careful looked at each item. There was the stunning Plaque of the Worm Oboros, said to be cursed should any hand touch it but the hand of the legendary “Chosen One.” And then only in the presence of the “true king”. Whatever that meant.
Then on to the Crown of the Monforte Dynasty itself. It was spectacular, worth billions. It must have weighed thrity or forty pounds. But the amazing thing about the crown was the stone at the top of its pointy onion shaped platinum and diamond dome. The famed Cote de Noir. The 193 carrot black diamond seemed to radiate a brilliant light and then suck it back into something that could only be described as the fabled ‘black hole.’ Its properties were impossible to describe. Both being blindingly bright like the sun on Saint Golphus Day, and simultaneously completely and totally black like the face under the hood of the grim reaper.
Who by the way, thought Chris, was not here tonight. Very strange. He always attended these events given the age of the scions of the blue bloods, and the aggressive social climbing of the younger set.
Chris turned and then saw what he knew must be there, but which he really had hoped would not appear.
Across the crowded room, carefully examining the ‘Queens Baguette,’ was Mother Superior Adel Flossberg of the Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos the Benighted - Mothers of Earth Druids (reformed), and her retinue of armed security Sisters, assistant Sisters, and flunky Sisters. Something about Adel always made Chris uncomfortable. He was not a member of the Reformed Druids, that ancient and scary religion, but he did know enough to stay as far away from The Order as possible. People disappeared who crossed them. Sometimes they showed up still alive but they had become a vacant temple with the lights extinguished and the plumbing disconnected.
Adel nodded to Chris and motioned that he approach. “Merde,” Chris muttered to himself. I’m not getting away so easy this night.
“Ah Adel, Your look ravishing this evening, “ Chris said hoping to make as short a conversation as possible. He needed to pee.
Adel smiled, but the narrow gaze of her blue steel eyes, behind her grey granny glasses did not convey a smile, but rather the message – Run, run for your life, run as fast as you can and don’t stop running until you reach the very edge of the universe. And then run a bit more.
“Why Chris, you know flattery is a sin,” she said in a slow measured tone.
Not a good way to start a conversation realized Chris. Her guards seemed nervous and edgy, like they were on the lookout for some very dark and evil threat. Which of course they were.
Three of her guards were packing hefty heat. Sisters Calamity, Moira, and Verdict were equipped with the latest Tippmann A5 Markers. If they started shooting those things in here hundreds would die within moments in a hail of poisonous and caustic holy water packed 43’s – the ammunition of the devil they called it. He also noticed a string of matching SquadBuster Grenades. They were all color coordinated to match the the Sisters black uniforms and black Kevlar wimples. The two sisters in the distance behind Adel, and keeping watch over the entire room, packed side arms by Dye. Ugly stuff thought Chris. Chris knew that where he saw a guard of about six Sisters of convent’s division of the Holy Orders and Devine Retribution, there were bound to be twice as many he could not see. Or dared not to see if he knew what was good for him. And Chris knew very well when it came to The Order the less seen the better.
Chris could not maintain eye contact. He averted her stare, and looked at the display. The Queens’ Baguette was common French bread but the crust, the crust was something else. A coating of glorious rubies, diamonds, and enormous black pearls.
“Amazing, just look at that detail,” Chris said.
Adel did not reply but he could feel her steely gaze and thinly veiled disgust.
Chris reached into his pocket and hit the panic button on his new me-Phone. It began to ring with the ring tone that everyone knew meant Governor Linden was calling, and if you didn’t answer you were going to get your ‘you know what’ handed to you on a platter.
“Adel, excuse me, the Governor is calling,” he said.
“Bless you my child, and may the spirit of She who’s name cannot be spoken, lessen your days in hell,” intoned Adel.
Chris hated being called a Child. Her blessing made him feel small, very small. Chris knew that their intent was exactly that - to make him small, insignificant, and a bed wetter again.
Chris was about to join The Chair and the Second Sea Lord when he spied Bob Smith Ambassador of Real Life and Dr. Bernanke, dressed in an avatar suit as a high class escort. He had business with Bob Smith, but more importantly he needed to talk to the US Federal Reserve Chairman about the monetary crisis. Bernanke and Smith looked bored and Chris realized that this was his best opening. Bernanke nodded and Chris walked the few paces to them.
“Good to see you Chris,” said the US Federal Reserve Chairman adjusting his revealing bra strap. “Your know Bob of course.”
“Yes Bob,” replied Chris, “How are you tonight?”
“Fine, just fine,” Bob responded, lying like the professional ambassador he was. Bob was not dressed as an avatar and he appeared as a stick figure with an emoticon smiley face. “Those jewels are fantastic. Imagine under the sea all these years. Why, in RL you could wipe out the national debt of France and Germany and throw Luxemburg in to boot.” Bob laughed and Chris a more skilled politician than either of them laughed heartily knowing full well that Luxemburg had no national debt.
Bernanke, ever attendant to the slightest smell of all things monetary, looked toward the display and made some rapid calculations in his head. Bernanke realized Smith was right. Those stones were worth a virtual king’s ransom. Bernanke chuckled again when he realized that at one point that’s exactly what they had been – a ransom for that lame king whose name he could not remember.
Bernake then took the initiative. “I’ve been following the recent events closely Chris, and I think you should know that we are prepared to intervene if it should come to that.
Sure thought Chris, at the cost of a radical de-valuation of the Linden and a promise to exclusively use US Dollars as the reserve currency rather than a basket of Euro’s, Dollars, the Mozambiquean Metica, Script of WalledMart, Frequent Flyer miles, American Confederate War Bonds, and assorted commercial dentures.
“Why, I appreciate your offer,” lied Chris. “In these difficult times its important for all the Central Banks to stand united…” he paused, “especially the Bank of Zwinki and Neopet.” Chris saw the tiniest flinch on Bernanke’s face at the mention of those notorious money launderers in Zwinki.
It was tit for tat time thought Chris. “I want you to know Ben, that if your liquidity problems continue as your real estate values seek a true market level, that the Governor and I are ready to help out.”
Ouch, thought Bernake. Before the gala event he had been briefed and he knew full well that Second Life land values were a solid as the servers they were built upon.
Now for the twist, thought Chris. “So if it will help, I’ll leave the window open for you. Just knock on the front door first.” Chris chuckled internally at his little joke and insult, knowing full well that Second Life had almost no liquidity left in the leaky tanks of the underground vaults of the Reserve Bank and Counting House of Second Life.
“Thank you Chris, but I hope it does not come to that,” Bernanke replied. Bernanke was relived to hear the offer, because the dollar was falling fast and he might need help. He just didn’t know how bad the financial crisis in SL had become.
Bob Smith interjected. “Don’t worry about the mighty greenback, Chris. Solid as a the glaciers in the Antarctic.” His emoticon face showed that he probably believed what he had said.
Chris broke away from the discussion of things monetary and looked about the room for the Second Sea Lord. Chris wanted to know how many more lindens were required for the desperate and futile gesture that the Governor was betting the future security and safety of Second Life upon.
He noticed that the little gaggle of the Second Sea Lord, Admiral Bobby Fisher, The Chair, and Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and now Head of Anti-Monarchist Party, had not moved an inch since his arrival. The entire current of the laughing, the desperately happy, and the completely clueless, was flowing around them, like the ripples of the slack tide in the Bay of Fumis. These men were the true power in Second Life. It was not necessary for the Mountain to go to Mohammad. These powerful men held five queens. And ‘you know who’ had only a pair.
“Ahss,” Said Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and Head of Anti-Monarchist Party,” as Chris approached. He did not rise from his porti-throne, but he did nod an acknowledgement of recognition. A true sign of respect and Chris knew it.
The Chair turned to face Chris, a paper cup of Dom Pigeon 09 on his arm and said, “Ah Chris, glad you could make it. You know Bobby don’t you? Recently recalled to service in the Blue Navy.”
Chris did not know Bobby personally since he had died over a hundred years earlier, but he did know of his brilliant armaments planning and building exploits that had resulted in the over 40 million reboots, and the bankruptcy of hundreds of Sims during the Great War. Admiral Bobby Fisher was also a famed backgammon player and was supposed to be pretty good at ‘Sonogno Take em.’ Chris recalled a rumor that the Admiral had won a bundle playing fish at the Calves Head Club on kidney pie night last week.
“Shame about old Murdstone,” interjected the Second Sea Lord. “Simply tragic, really tragic.”
“Yes, a very real loss to journalism,” replied Chris. “When do they say he will be released to return to The Times tower?”
“Dr Benway says he’s doing just fine, but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Perhaps some mental therapy as well,” said the Second Sea Lord. “With all these inter Sim crisis, and the possibly of open hostilities, we need a firm hand on the fourth estate.”
“Yes a firm hand indeed,” said Admiral Fisher. “Indeed.”
“Yess,” agreed Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, and famed historian and Head of Anti-Monarchist Party.
The Chair took Chris arm in arm on a short stroll to the potted palms. He had something urgent to tell him and he didn’t want everyone to know, however by chatting quietly with the President of the RBCHSL every one was going to find out. When he finished informing Chris of the plan to ensure press stability in this crisis, Chris replied in a low voice. “Yes, good choice. I agree. It will be tricky, and she’s going to need some help, but I think this is the best and only option we have available at this time.”
Some lovely jazz was being played in the balcony and Chris looked up. It was the famed Jazz Ensemble and Drum & Bugle Corps of the School for Wayward Girls. An old flame of his Lilith was conducting. He waved and Lilith turned her back on him. C’est la vie he though.
Chris had spoken to most of the movers and shakers on his list. He had some time left so he strolled over to the enormous glass cases and heavily armed displays of the Monforte Jewels. With the eye of an appraiser, which of course was the major reason for his attending the exhibition, he careful looked at each item. There was the stunning Plaque of the Worm Oboros, said to be cursed should any hand touch it but the hand of the legendary “Chosen One.” And then only in the presence of the “true king”. Whatever that meant.
Then on to the Crown of the Monforte Dynasty itself. It was spectacular, worth billions. It must have weighed thrity or forty pounds. But the amazing thing about the crown was the stone at the top of its pointy onion shaped platinum and diamond dome. The famed Cote de Noir. The 193 carrot black diamond seemed to radiate a brilliant light and then suck it back into something that could only be described as the fabled ‘black hole.’ Its properties were impossible to describe. Both being blindingly bright like the sun on Saint Golphus Day, and simultaneously completely and totally black like the face under the hood of the grim reaper.
Who by the way, thought Chris, was not here tonight. Very strange. He always attended these events given the age of the scions of the blue bloods, and the aggressive social climbing of the younger set.
Chris turned and then saw what he knew must be there, but which he really had hoped would not appear.
Across the crowded room, carefully examining the ‘Queens Baguette,’ was Mother Superior Adel Flossberg of the Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos the Benighted - Mothers of Earth Druids (reformed), and her retinue of armed security Sisters, assistant Sisters, and flunky Sisters. Something about Adel always made Chris uncomfortable. He was not a member of the Reformed Druids, that ancient and scary religion, but he did know enough to stay as far away from The Order as possible. People disappeared who crossed them. Sometimes they showed up still alive but they had become a vacant temple with the lights extinguished and the plumbing disconnected.
Adel nodded to Chris and motioned that he approach. “Merde,” Chris muttered to himself. I’m not getting away so easy this night.
“Ah Adel, Your look ravishing this evening, “ Chris said hoping to make as short a conversation as possible. He needed to pee.
Adel smiled, but the narrow gaze of her blue steel eyes, behind her grey granny glasses did not convey a smile, but rather the message – Run, run for your life, run as fast as you can and don’t stop running until you reach the very edge of the universe. And then run a bit more.
“Why Chris, you know flattery is a sin,” she said in a slow measured tone.
Not a good way to start a conversation realized Chris. Her guards seemed nervous and edgy, like they were on the lookout for some very dark and evil threat. Which of course they were.
Three of her guards were packing hefty heat. Sisters Calamity, Moira, and Verdict were equipped with the latest Tippmann A5 Markers. If they started shooting those things in here hundreds would die within moments in a hail of poisonous and caustic holy water packed 43’s – the ammunition of the devil they called it. He also noticed a string of matching SquadBuster Grenades. They were all color coordinated to match the the Sisters black uniforms and black Kevlar wimples. The two sisters in the distance behind Adel, and keeping watch over the entire room, packed side arms by Dye. Ugly stuff thought Chris. Chris knew that where he saw a guard of about six Sisters of convent’s division of the Holy Orders and Devine Retribution, there were bound to be twice as many he could not see. Or dared not to see if he knew what was good for him. And Chris knew very well when it came to The Order the less seen the better.
Chris could not maintain eye contact. He averted her stare, and looked at the display. The Queens’ Baguette was common French bread but the crust, the crust was something else. A coating of glorious rubies, diamonds, and enormous black pearls.
“Amazing, just look at that detail,” Chris said.
Adel did not reply but he could feel her steely gaze and thinly veiled disgust.
Chris reached into his pocket and hit the panic button on his new me-Phone. It began to ring with the ring tone that everyone knew meant Governor Linden was calling, and if you didn’t answer you were going to get your ‘you know what’ handed to you on a platter.
“Adel, excuse me, the Governor is calling,” he said.
“Bless you my child, and may the spirit of She who’s name cannot be spoken, lessen your days in hell,” intoned Adel.
Chris hated being called a Child. Her blessing made him feel small, very small. Chris knew that their intent was exactly that - to make him small, insignificant, and a bed wetter again.
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