Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

Sky-High Party   3 comments

As our shuttle approached the spacedock, Jem glanced to her right and said to me, “Why the devil did the traffic computer assign us to land up here?  It doesn’t look that busy to me; I only see that green shuttle down there, and there was almost nothing around the main station pad.”

I shrugged briefly, focused on feathering the thruster controls.  Takeoffs are nothing, Real Life or Second Life; it’s always the landings that kill you ….  “You take no chances in space. Traffic Control must have spotted something out there, so it shifted us to this dock.  Fear not, Jemmy; the ways of the traffic computer are simply mysterious, and beyond mortal ken.  Sometimes they’re beyond the ken of the traffic computer, too.”

Jem replies to my humor on the second page.

Hallowe’en 2017 — The New Refloi   Leave a comment

Notice: mature theme and photos, NSFW.

The woman nodded at the image in the holophone’s field and said, “Good evening, umasi; I am En’kele, the refloi being sent to you tonight by the hotel service. I should arrive at your apartment in perhaps 10 minutes.”

Photos following the break

Usul Walks Amongst Us Again!   1 comment

Day 283 / 4751 C. E., Vidran, planet Videra —

A rather neat little café and wine bar had been constructed near Ariel Sherman’s home, and the golden cyborg tried to drop into the place at least once a month.  Normally, top-name entertainers tried to keep their private time to themselves.  Ariel Sherman, CRO, COV, and one of the best-known performing stars in the quadrant, almost always managed to pass her time quietly in this café, whether by herself, with members of her ‘borg family, or friends from town.  Partly, it was because this was Videra, and the laws of the pleasure planet that was Ariel’s home and place of work could be summed up in a sentence:  “Feel free to do whatever you want, so long as it does no harm to yourself or others.”  Native Viderans were apparently taught this in the womb; they were always exquisitely polite, there when you needed help, and otherwise let you live your life in peace and quiet — not antisocial, just understanding that you wanted to pursue your pleasure and had the right to do so without interference.

Which was what Ariel was doing now, sitting in the café alongside Dara Furtano-Fa, her close friend and fellow ‘borg.  The pair were hanging out beside the coffee bar, with frothy drinks in hand or beside them.  Between bouts of conversation, whenever someone passed by carrying a similar beverage, Ariel would smile and exchange a few words of greeting that were distinctly ritualistic in form.  Dara had learned the words instantly, of course, from listening to Ariel and the others, but they meant little to her.  After another lifeform, this one a Zovitchian with lemon-yellow skin and a nearly flat nose in its elongated head, had bowed to them both and clinked his cup against theirs, Dara turned to her mentor and friend and murmured, “And you really don’t know that much about what this is all about?”

Find out what it’s all about on the next page

“Everyone Comes to Rick’s”   1 comment

Notice:  large, and graphics intensive

Complete album of full-size photos on my Flickr stream

Continued from previous article ….

Extracted from Web site of The National Inquisitioner (tabloid), November 26, 2017, “Hollywood Glam” column by Ramona BelGrande:

Hollywood shone someplace other than in Hollywood last night, as luminaries from across all the fields of the film industry gathered in Van Nuys, California – yes, Van Nuys – to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the New York première of Casablanca, the little film that many consider the greatest movie ever made.  To commemorate the occasion, Warner Bros. caused a recreation of elements from the famous movie sets, especially Rick’s Café Américain, to be built near one of the runways at the old Van Nuys Airport.  A few parts of the movie’s airport scenes were filmed at this airport, and the studio persuaded the City of Los Angeles to close that runway for the night.  Everyone who could bought or otherwise acquired a “lettre de transit” (a ticket) to the event; there have even been rumors of deals made on the black market to obtain the precious tickets, not unlike in the film.

The party consisted of two parts – an open-to-all street carnival, with entrance fees going to charity, conducted in the streets of the “old souk”; and the star-studded extravaganza party in the evening.  The carnival was well attended by everyone in the morning; but many celebrities pulled away in the afternoon to prepare for the black-tie affair – almost as big an affair as the Red Carpet on Oscar Night.  After all, “everyone comes to Rick’s.”

And what a night it was!  Notables from around the world, as well as descendants of six of the stars, attended the function.  Grandchildren of the original playwrights and screenwriters, as well as a member of the family of director Michael Curtiz, were also present.  And, as you can see from the photographs, styles and fashion ran rampant.  Some came to the soirée in modern fashions from New York, Paris and Milan; many more chose to channel classic Forties Hollywood glamour.  And others created a wild yet wonderful fusion between the past and the present ….

Learn more about the party on the next page ….

Flying In to Casablanca   1 comment

The chartered airplane – a vintage dual-prop Lockheed from the 1940s, painted to resemble a similar plane from “history” – was much too old to carry modern-style amenities, such as food or bar service; if you wanted things like that, you needed to fly on a 767 or similar modern jet, with lots of space to waste.  But it was not that long a flight, in any case; and this plane was somewhat roomer between rows of seats than newer designs.  Lisavet Darchiev used the extra room to stretch her legs in front of her.

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Tales from INSILICO — For the Working Girl

Taking a smoke break outside of the strip club near the station’s main promenade, the bleached-skin woman tries to gather her energy and determination for the next round back inside ….

I work in the chorus doing three shows a night
Wearing fishnets and feathers under blinding white lights
I’ve served shots to hard hats who had booze on their lips
Been fondled and leered at for an occasional tip
And it don’t get no better, but it can’t get no worse
For the working girl’s world is the size of her purse

From Detroit to Des Moines it’s the same ugly scene
I’m a cog; you’re a wheel
He’s a king; she’s a queen
From the smokestacks to the meat racks
When you’re eyelined and curled
There’s a lot to be said for the working girl

Sweating for sweet water just to run through your hands
Six kids in Cleveland for one wedding band
Tied up to a mill loom for the minimum wage
A nest egg’s a daydream that never gets laid
And it don’t get no brighter, but it’s clearer to see
There ain’t no working girls like the ones on T.V.

From Detroit to Des Moines it’s the same ugly scene
I’m a cog; you’re a wheel
He’s a king; she’s a queen
From the smokestacks to the meat racks
When you’re eyelined and curled
There’s a lot to be said for the working girl

 

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I’m wearing:

  • Head: Akeruka Monika 2.5
  • Body: Maitreya Lara 4.1
  • Skin: Fallen Gods Pure Ivory
  • Eyes: IKON Sovereign (Quicksilver)
  • Hair: Letituier Samba
  • Nails: Absolut Vendetta Elisa
  • Attachments: Vista ProHands hands 2 Maitreya Lara feet 4.1
  • Outfit (including shoes): Violent Seduction Erebus (dress, heels, panties and pauldrons) (gacha) (red)
  • Jewelry: Zuri Rayna Shazney earrings and necklace
  • Makeup:
    • Eyeshadow: Zibska Didane (slot 3)
    • Lipstick: Zibska Sable (slot 4))

Photographed at INSILICO region

The Ivory Dame Caper

Full-size photos at my Flickr stream

It had been a long day, a day in a string of days filled with lots of nothing. Business lately was flatter than a Martian flat cat; and brother, that’s flat. Even the weather was depressed; it had been spitting rain all day, the kind of rain that ate holes in ceramacrete here on Chania 3, nice and acid.  Anyway, I was sitting in my office, fighting the latest battle in the age-old war between income and expenses. As usual, the expenses were winning; I hadn’t seen a clipped credit in weeks.  I was already a month behind on the rent; the landlord was beginning to give me the fish eye and tap on the commlink on his belt every time he saw me, which was turning into every morning as I walked in the lobby.  I knew what that meant; he kept the name of his favorite bouncer on speed dial there, some critter big and blue and with six arms.  When that guy bounced you, you stayed bounced.

I was getting ready to give it up for the day, when there was a knock on the door.  A knock on the door meant one of two things:  the landlord’s bouncer, or a paying client.  Right at the moment, I couldn’t be fussy.  If it was the bouncer, he’d just rip the door off if I didn’t open it, and the landlord was in the right, anyway.  If it was a client, I might just make enough out of this to stave off Blue Boy’s advent.  I keyed the door….

…and knew that this case was probably gonna be worth big credits, and that I was in a whole lot of trouble from the get-go.

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