I tossed the report on the sheriff’s desk, “There’s your post mortem.”

The sheriff looked down at my scrawl and then back up at me, “And?”

“What? You can’t read now?” I snapped.

“Don’t get cute with me, doc.” His tone was calm but I heard the snarl behind the words.

“Okay, sorry Fuzz but it’s been a rough day and frankly I’d like to tie it in a sack and kick it into the ocean!” A nun shuffling past with coffee for us looked at me and raised an eyebrow, a perfectly curved eyebow above a eye of emerald green. I smiled a smile and hoped to hell no one could read my mind right. As she left, she bent over to pop a chunk of cheese in the cells for Willard and my gaze fell on her curves like honey over a spoon, “Still, it’s had its moments, I’ll admit,” I added, suddenly a little distracted.

“Thank you Sister Mattic,” Fuzz said with a rye smile, “I’m sure Willard can do without his treat for now.” She nodded and bustled off. “Doc, doc, doc, what is it with you and nuns?”

“A habit, Fuzz, a bad habit.”

He smiled a frown, which is a nice trick, “The report? What does it say? How did this guy die?”

“Bottom line he was stabbed, several times, looks like a sword.” I replied.

“A sword? What type of sword? Rapier? Broad?”

“From the wounds I’d say a cutlass. Large flat blade. He was stabbed three times in the abdomen and two in the chest and had defensive wounds to his arms, hands and thighs. I say he fought back but was probably unarmed at the time.”

“Nasty,” Fuzz muttered with a shake of his head.

“Well it was no prom dance, that’s for sure,” I replied.

“What about the green goo around him?” Fuzz asked.

“Hard to say, but my best guess is some form of mucus membrane produced by the squiddy thing to protect itself. Dr A thinks that her wee pet was deliberately mutated to a point where a human could be fed to it, although how she didn’t know.”

“So whoever mutated the goo-beast did so with the intention of getting rid of a body. Only the goo didn’t like what was on the menu, wrapped it up and waited for Mother Nature to work her magic,” Fuzz filled in.

“Sounds about right to me. So you know how he died, but not who he is, why he ended up like a pin cushion and who had a beef with him.”

“Actually I do know who he is,” Fuzz said in a matter of fact way.

I sat up, “You do? Who? How?” I asked like a turkey just being told about Christmas.

“Pinkertons. Came in, saw the body, IDed him as John Doe.” Fuzz stated with an odd expression.

“John Doe? You have to be joking? Who the hell is called John Doe?” something about this case smelt worse than the Skylar child and I didn’t like it.

“Apparently he was. It’s a good ID, solid.” Fuzz said.

“But what the hell are the Pinkertons doing here? And how do they know him?” I asked.

“Turns out he was here investigating smuggling in those precious slums of yours. I’m guessing he found his way to something, or someone, he shouldn’t and was perforated for his troubles.”

The slums? My slums? “You’re thinking the Bing Kong aren’t you? So what next?” the Bing Kong were not just a thorn in my side, but as whole rose bush in my tush.

“Next? Next you go home doc. It’s police business now. Thanks for your help an’ all, but we can take it from here.”

Damn him, I knew he was right, but damn him.

“Look, I’ll let you know what happens, but you’ve done your part. You have patients that need you, and I’ve taken you away from them for a whole day. Get some sleep and get back to them doc.” Fuzz smiled warmly but he looked weary.

“Don’t worry about me, Sheriff,” I stood and picked up my bag, “you look tired enough for the both of us.” I said my goodbyes and cycled off. Sure I was tired, tired like Santi Claus on Boxing Day, but I was damned if I was going home. I cycled off along a shortcut through the hills behind Shanghai and headed for the hotel that rose high above the harbour, although what I was looking for lay deep below it…

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) The murder is discussed for the second time at the weekly town hall meeting here.
3) Read more about the urchin Skylar in his tale about being lost in Steelhead’s wilderness here.

Warning: This post contains a lot of swearing. Do not read if you don’t like that sort of stuff. Normal service from a once more calm Burro will be resumed soon.

Flicking through the BBC’s inline Magazine (something I never do – it’s about as interesting as Heat except minus the gossip and pictures of starlets with there norks flopping out) I saw a headline about Second Life, specifically “What happened to Second Life?” and I made the mistake of reading it (1).

Well, what a big old bag of toss that was. I’ll boil it down for you.

1) SL hit the headlines in 2006 and you suddenly couldn’t shit or have sex if you didn’t have an account.
2) Some businesses came in, riding the wave of hype and hoping to make money and not get left behind in something they knew nothing about.
3) They left after finding SL wasn’t the place for them to, oooo lemme think, sell cars.
4) SL is not facebook and is therefore doomed.
5) Oh, some stuff about new people joining still rising, bah, who cares – read 4) again!

There you go. That’s your lot. Some bored fuckface pretend journalist tippytypes that lot of piss on her airbook and shoves it up the ever hungry bunghole of the 24-hour news whore until the slutty she-beast vomits up pure shit and teeth for us to wallow in. News she-whore craps out some shinny pennies so pretend journalist can pay her rent for another week. The end.

Still, as I have just turned three and my love for my second life is still fresh and warm in my mind (like a French loaf, freshly baked, shoved betwixt my lugholes), I wanted to disagree with the piece in a nice grown up and constructive way and this is the comment I left – fek knows if they’ll use it, but I’d urge you to go along and leave your thoughts too – keep ‘em clean and constructive and don’t sink to the pretend jouro’s level of nonsense.

****************************
I’ve just had my third “birthday” in Second Life and fully intend to have many more there. I attribute my happiness there to four simple rules I follow, three DON’Ts and one DO:

1) I don’t run a business – I have enough of that in real life. Second Life is a hobby and I’m willing to pay for my hobby.

2) I don’t get into relationships – far too dangerous as I’m a happily married family man. My friends in Second Life are just that, friends, and not ‘friends with benefits’.

3) I don’t get involved in arguments and fighting – again, enough of that in real life. A hobby should be fun, not a slog.

4) I do have a reason to go there – like real life, Second Life is not Facebook, which is simply about keeping in touch with people in your network. Second Life is a world where you can do and create anything so going there expecting it to be a Facebook network won’t work. You have find something to do – explore, build, write, create. You’ll get back only as much as you put in. It’s very much like real life like that. I was lost at first, but quickly found new friends and new things to do. These days, amongst other things, I help run a travelling vaudeville theatre group and write & perform comedy acts – something I’d never have thought of doing in real life. In fact my second life is as busy and involved as my first.

Second Life will never be for every one – hell, I have no interest in Facebook and can’t stand football, yet no one predicts their demise because I don’t like them. Second Life has a healthy and growing population that doesn’t need hype and counter-hype to continue to grow and enjoy it.
****************************

Oh, and by the way, don’t you just love Social Media Marketers, whatever it is they are? (2) Here’s an extract from one such poor, lost, scared soul who is hurt and confused by the whole thing, despite having a totally made up job title that means he’s a brave soldier battling the darkness of “selling stuff to people”, only without actually selling the stuff. Or making it. Or handling it. Basically he tells people that things exist they don’t understand but other people do and therefore they must fear them unless he is paid to use them to allow them to sell their stuff to the other people. Like I say, brave lad and lasses all. Go the future.

“[Mr X], a 23-year-old freelance social media marketer, believed the hype in 2007. He signed on, created an avatar with a shock of red hair that vaguely resembled him, and jumped into what he found to be a lacklustre experience. “It was a real pain. You have to learn how to control things and read manuals on how to get to islands and get off. Half the time you’re just wandering around talking to weirdos.” After three months [Mr X] became bored and left.”

Fuck me! You have to learn a new skill? A whole new skill? You don’t just turn on the PC and know how to do it like you do with every other bit of software ever invented? And you say there’s a manual to read? No fucker gave me a manual to read! I want my manual! Especially if it tells you how to get off – something I was pretty sure the media thought we Second Lifers could do quite well anyway. Now, for a 23 year old self-proclaimed social media marketer (3) to admit he spent three months in SL and couldn’t use it where I, a mere mortal with no social media skills or powers, picked it up in a few hours would lead me to think twice about ever employing him to do whatever the fuck it is he does. You don’t hire a dog to guard your house if all it does it is wank over pictures of iPhone apps and complain the house isn’t the type of house it normally guards and therefore is can’t possible be expected to guard it. No, that’s the kind of dog you take to an Eastern European bear fight and throw in the ring for a laugh.

Hell, after 3 months *I* was bored, but I simply put in the time and effort to find something to make me not bored. But then that would mean ‘doing’ somthing and ‘doing’ might not be Mr X’s strong point given his *cough* ‘job’.

Anyway, fuck it. Fuck the article and fuck something else as well. SL isn’t Facebook and if you can’t handle and understand that then frankly I’m glad you fucked off. Don’t come back.

Yours with hugs n love,
HeadBurro Antfarm.
*******************

(1) Dio, if the piece about the Web killing reading made you piss blood, this will cause you to shit your spine out.

(2) Me either. I’m sure some are lovely and useful but I’ll bet they are the ones we never hear about – instead the whining pissbags who can’t be arsed to do a real job float to the surface like week-dead corpses farting their vapid guts out for all to hear. The good ones should form a posse and shoot the others in their stupid flapping mouths. For fuck’s sake, get a real job if you can’t handle a made up one you twats.

(3) I like the mouseketeers better – at least they were useful and I’ll bet they could kick the limp little arses of Mr X and his Marketeering Posse of Doom.

(4) I know I don’t swear a lot in this blog, but I’d say the above is a fair representation of my normal speech. I do swear like a fucker.

Three years ago today I logged in to my first ever virtual world of any sort. I have been one and then I was two, but now I am three.

At one I wrote a lot about how my life had changed and I had a big old party. At two I did neither. At three I think I shall only do the former.

I came in as the Boy Next Door av and was lost. I enjoyed flying, but kept myself to myself and found the world cold and sort of unfriendly. I camped. I wanted a better skin. I gave up camping and put some money into my life. I ended up at Murray. I made some poor choices. I wasted so much time pissing about fighting silly griefers when I could have been doing something worthwhile. Still, I made friends and laughed a lot. I remember looking like an extra from The Matrix for a while *shakes head*. I was like a child growing up, distracted by what my more eloquent friends would call ephemera but in reality was just crap. I didn’t take photos for the first six months because I didn’t realise they could be free – hell, at first I didn’t know you even had a camera. The only shots I have of me at this time are after the Murray & griefer fighting stage. I was no longer a Neo-clone but back to being the boy next door, just with some spending money…

I continued to grow up. I bought land, began to explore, began to learn about the history of the world. I wanted more. I was hungry for something. I found I had few friends left, people leaving or partnering up or getting on with their lives. I started to travel, to write and I began to suspect I had found a purpose. I began a process of remoulding myself. I stripped away what I was and had been. I became abstracted. I changed. I became the gazelle. My form solidified.

I continued to grow up. I mourned – and still mourn – the loss of so many friends, but I met so many new ones. I had left home, left my family and was now in the world on my own. It had taken a year but I had done it. I found new outlets for my creative purpose. I joined the show, I explored, I wrote tales, I took photographs.

And now, three years into my second life, I continue to grow up. I am still in the show, but my explorations and photography have given way to an increased desire to roleplay and write. In the last few months I have created and written more than I had done in the entire preceding two and a half years. After years of looking without realising it, I have found a community for the first time. I am making new friends – this time though, my old friends aren’t leaving and vanishing, indeed one or two of my oldest friends may even be on their way back which makes me very happy indeed (come back Anni – I miss you!). I am on the cusp of a new phase of my second life – although it ceased being my second life a long time ago and is simply my life, as real as my house, family and work.

I’m a lucky Burro. I continue to grow up. I look forward to the next twelve months with excitement.

I is three.

Cuter than Christmas yet deadlier than Death itself, Dr Malegatto Alter was a tiny kitty with brains, brawn and seriously big ballistics. Not that I’d ever tell her she was cute, hell there’s only one man brave enough to do that and rumour has it she’d burnt his house down as a thank you. No, when you find yourself knee-deep in a piranha pool it’s not a good idea to cut yourself shaving as my old mum always said, “The sheriff knows I’m here,” I blurted hoping the edge of fear wouldn’t show through my voice.

The green eyes bore through me, her metal claw (a drunk once told me that she’d lost her arm pulling Satan’s heart out through his stomach and I was tempted to believe him) twitched a little as she regarded me with the level of loathing normally reserved for cockroaches, slugs and unexpected houseguests. “Well bully for you,” she said after a pause so long it could only be measured in lifetimes or games of Monopoly, “but that hardly answers the twin questions of who the devil is in my Squiddy Thing and why, now does it?”

“I guess not, I need to get him out before I can try. Any ideas?” I tried to sound a whole heap braver than I felt and I was under no illusions about my failure in the matter.

“Ideas? Ideas? Of course I have some ideas you blithering fool! Right at this moment the idea I’m giving quite a lot of time to involves you, some rope and the quay if you ask any more stupid questions!”

Her whiskers quivered in rage and I found myself thinking how adorable it was. I even contemplated reaching out to scratch behind here ears, but the thought of my hand being torn off and rammed down my throat brought me to my senses. “I mean about how to get the stiff out of your little pet here, assuming you don’t want me to slice it open…” it wasn’t a great comeback as comebacks go, but hand-tear-throat-ram you know.

“I most certainly do NOT want my sqiddy thing cutting up! I have prepared a solution that will cause a metabolic reaction within the creature that should expel the foreign body in a safe, natural manner.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right, I’ve created a squid laxative!” she let out a peel of evil laughter that would have given Satan the willies, were he not dead due to having a heart-shaped hole in his abdomen. “Ahem,” she stopped laughing with a slight cough, “sorry, force of habit and all that.”

“Some habit,” I said, “must make playing Trivial Pursuit a real pain in the keister.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered darkly.

I tactfully changed the subject “So, this squiddy exlax, how do we administer it? Some form of injection?” I walked towards the green column, wondering at the best place for a needle. There was no answer and when I turned I saw Dr Alter struggling into what looked like a deep sea diving suit. She twisted the helmet on and looked up at me. I could see her mouth moving but couldn’t make out a word. I make the universal pointing at my ears sign and mouthed “What?”

She flipped out the glass “I said, I already have.”

Behind me was a loud, low rumble followed by a slow ripping sound.

“Oh sh…” was all I managed to say before a torrent of liquefied squid innards and dead John Doe crashed into my back and I washed past Dr Alter in a stinking waves of green slime. I’d swear she was smiling inside her helmet as I passed her.

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) Dr Alter notices the body here and here.
3) Elle reports that the issue was raised at the town hall meeting here.
4) The murder is discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.

Did I mention I was living in Steelhead? No? Are you sure? I’m pretty certain I may have mentioned it once or twice…

The great thing about living in Steelhead is that it extends way past the grid itself – there is a very active Ning (http://steelheadsl.ning.com/) and a great new Wiki (http://bandobast.wikidot.com/) that allow discussion and sharing of all the great ideas, events and stories that such a dynamic community generates.

If you’ve been following the discussions on this blog (and others) about RP, then you really should take a look at the Steelhead Ning (not to mention the New Babbage Ning but here are a few of the key discussion you may find interesting to start you off

1. General discussion on RP in Steelhead from January 09.
2. More detailed discussion about RP in Steelhead from July 09.
3. Elegia Underwood’s rule of RP from July 09.
4. Aspects of Steelhead that can be used in RP from July 09.
5. Discussion about the confusion and learning curves of trying new RP styles from August 09.
6. Discussion about imagining Steelhead from August 09.
7. Discussion about NOT imagining Steelhead from August 09.
8. Discussion about good character design from November 09.
9. Discussion on having enemies for your character from November 09.

There are more discussion over on the Steeelhead Ning here, but there are a ton more over on the New Babbage Ning here – go take a looksee! Also check out the Steelhead Story Archive, Hotspur’s Page O’ Tales, the Steelhead Wiki, and the New Babbage Wiki.

*****{*}*****

Other posts on the suject of roleplaying can be found here.

Room fifteen stank. A small room, it was hot and close and the air was thick with the smell of putrefying flesh; the young nurse could feel her revulsion rise and show on her face. She looked at the ward sister and received a narrow-eyed glare of disapproval in reply.

“Mr Antfarm,” the Sister said to the man in the bed before her, “Mr Antfarm, it’s Ward Sister Grace. I’ve brought Nurse Rain again. We’ve come to check your dressings before Doctor makes his rounds, Mr Antfarm.”

Her tone seemed cold and uncaring to the young nurse. This was her first week at Caledon Regency and she had a strong feeling she had found her way into the deep end from the off. Not only was she assigned to the fearsome Sister Grace’s ward, but she had landed the worst burns case the hospital had ever seen.

She looked down at the figure led beneath the damp gauze bandages and wondered what kept him alive.

His lungs were burnt almost beyond use, there wasn’t a scrap of skin left on his body, he could barely move and as of yesterday no longer able to communicate, his attempts to the wheeze and rasp a few exhausting words having slowly stopped. He must be terrible pain and she wondered if the opium Sister Grace administered could be strong enough to hold it at bay.

Again the sickly sweet taste of death hit the back of her throat and she felt her stomach heave. She dashed from the room, narrowly missed Dr Roundtree as he was coming in, and headed for the nearest lavatory.

Roundtree raised an eyebrow at a clearly furious Sister Grace but said nothing, instead he turned to his patient, “Hello Mr Antfarm, Dr Roundtree here. I see that Sister Grace here has been taking good care of you as ever. Now let’s see these dressings shall we?” He gently lifted one of the round pads that covered his patient’s eyes and peered underneath for a few seconds before replacing it and looking up at Sister Grace, his face lined with concern.

“Sister? How much opium have you given him?”

The woman bristled and shot an alarmed look at the doctor, “Just what you have prescribed, Dr Roundtree. It’s all here in his notes, dosages and times.”

“Well clearly something isn’t right, Sister. Your patient seems to have slipped into a narcotic coma, which you have failed to spot!” the doctor snapped.

Sister Grace felt her mouth flapping, but before she could say anything the doctor waved her protests silent, “There is nothing for it but to keep a watch on him and hope he comes out of it soon. His breathing is already so damaged that I can’t say I hold out much hope. Maybe his quietly slipping away would be for the best.”

The door opened again and a pale Nurse Rain sheepishly re-entered the room. Both Doctor Roundtree and Sister looked furious. The doctor pushed past the he and left the room whilst Sister Grace glared at his departing back. Nurse Rain looked up at Sister and began to offer apologies.

“I will deal with you later, young lady!” Sister Grace hissed at her, “In the meantime I want you to change this man’s dressings and clean this room. And while you are at it, maybe you should take a long, hard look at the suffering of this poor soul and try to remember why you came into medicine!”

“Yes Sister,” she managed meekly as Sister Grace also pushed past her out of the room.

And she was alone with the poor wretch. She gathered up all her courage and bound it tightly inside her chest before bending down and beginning the slow, laborious task of removing his dressings.

**{}**

A few hours later, with the moon full and high in the cloudless inky-black sky, a nightwatchman slowly made his way down the corridor that led to room fifteen. It had been a quiet night and the lonely perambulations down dark, silent corridors was having a decidedly soporific effect on the man. Just as he reached the door to room fifteen a large and unstoppable yawn rose up from within him and erupted forth. The tired guard met the escaping harbinger of exhaustion with the back of his hand, his head tilting back and eyes closing tight as he walked. Three steps later and it was gone, the nightwatchman shook his head and walked on.

Those three steps had taken him past the door of room fifteen; a door that was ajar instead of tightly closed. Inside and quite unseen by the weary guard a hooded figure bent over the burnt patient and dripped a clear liquid into his lipless mouth…

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Far From Home” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other tales:
1) Amarantis Belfire writes of the patient’s journey to Caledon here.

The rope was tight, but then it had been tied by a metal gargoyle who, I guessed, didn’t have internal organs to worry about.

“You ok there, doc?” Shal asked.

“As long as I don’t try anything foolish like breathing,” I replied with my stomach quite literally in my mouth in the way that ‘literally’ meant I was making it up for dramatic effect.

“Ah,” he smiled, “you’ll be fine doc. Better to be safe than digested, eh?” He had a point. “First sign of trouble, I’ll yank you back, ok?”

I looked at the size of his chest and arms, “Just don’t yank too hard, I’m rather attached to my legs.”

He grinned a knife drawer grin and I began my cautious approach of the squiddy thing and its gruesome contents. If it detected my presence, it showed no sign whatsoever. I passed a large blood stain on the cobbles and by the time I was next to the tower of green goo and dead guy, I could see another two, one of which was on a ramp leading down to a small dock below.

I walked around the site softly, but it was soon clear that wee squiddy posed little danger anymore – it seemed to have gone into a state of shock. I called Shal over and breathed a sigh of relief as he removed the rope noose threatening to cut me in half.

“Hard tell which one came off worse,” he said gazing into the slime at the body suspended inside, “Do you think it ate him as he passed?”

I looked round at the blood in the yard, “I think there was some sort of struggle here, or the body was moved here at least. I won’t be sure until I can get him out and I have no idea how to do that, I was never top in my squiddy things classes, y’see.”

“Heh, well the sheriff said he was going to speak to Dr Alter about its removal, I guess she’s best placed to administer a giant enema to her pet. You got plans until then?”

Plans? Did I have plans? Do I ever have plans? “Yeah, rounds to do for a start. Patients seem incapable of not getting ill no matter how many times I tell them not to, but what you gonna do, huh?”

He slipped me a grin like a new moon, “A doctor’s gotta do what a doctor’s gotta do, I guess. And you seem to have things in hand so I’ll take my leave and head off in to the wild blue yonder.”

I nodded, “Well thanks for the help. I’ll se you around no doubt.”

He smiled me a smile that could floor a rhino walked off around the corner whistling a crazy tune. There was a sound like someone sawing a double bass in half and wandered off after him to see what it was. He was gone. Just like that. Gone. I scratched my whiskers and muttered “Well I’ll be damned…”

“Indeed, as will we all,” a voice hissed behind me. I spun round but the yard was emptier than a pawn broker’s Christmas stocking. “Ahem” came an annoyed cough near my ankles. I looked down into the into the green eyes and mouse-munching mouth of a tiny evil-looking kitty.

“Dr Alter, I pres…” there as a sharp snick as she flicked a quivering claw at my face. “If you are thinking of saying what I think you are thinking of saying, I would advise you to think again. Now if you don’t mind, I believe I’m needed here to once again prove my own innocence.”

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) Dr Alter notices the body here and here.
3) Elle reports that the issue was raised at the town hall meeting here.
4) The murder is discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.

It didn’t take me too long to get ready. One of the advantages of being a poor doctor in the slums is that I had very little to get ready with and with my satchel lashed to the back, I set off on my bike, more rusty than trusty, to see the John Doe in the jello.

The ride was smooth and quick, the streets of Steelhead still smelt of recent work and tax-payers dollars; if only City Hall would throw a few in the direction of the slums but hey, I was always a dreamer. I even managed to cock a rye smile as I passed the Justice League Halls – the last JLUer who wandered into the slums to, and I quote, “sort out the Bing Kong ruffians once and for all!” was last seen dressed as a girl guide tied to a mast on a very slow boat to Zindra. I shouldn’t laugh. No, I really shouldn’t.

I rounded the hall and drew up to the wall of the aptly named Evil Tiny Kitty Laboratories. I could see yellow police tape and warning signs all over the place, but no Sheriff. I propped the bike against a wall and walked over to get a look at the stiff in the green squiddy thing, and if the stiff looked stiff then the squiddy thing out stiffed him with ease. Hell, you could practically run a flag up it and salute St Peter and all the angels to their faces. I was no squiddy thing expert, but even if the damn thing had eaten the poor sap on purpose, I’d lay money on the fact he didn’t agree with it.

“Doesn’t look well, does it?” a voice like someone pouring molten steel down a valley suddenly appeared at me ear. I spun round and found myself face to face with a gargoyle. A six foot gargoyle in a top hat with a grin that would give a crocodile a complex and skin colour the envy of every battleship in the fleet. I did my best not to look flustered, but sometimes your best just isn’t good enough.

“Which one? The giant green spear of snot or the poor sod inside?” was all I managed in return.

“Ha!” gargoyle boy laughed, “either, both, take your pick. Shalmendo Glineux.” He held out his hand in greeting. I took it and let out an involuntary gasp – he was cold, cold like ice, cold like stone, cold like “Metal?” I asked.

“Heh, I’m made of it in exactly the same way you aren’t,” he replied with a smile that made me think of steak knives, “Dr Beck, I presume?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Well the doctor’s bag on your bike was my first clue. The Sheriff told me to look out for you, point you to the body, not that you could miss it,” he nodded his head towards the still stiff stiffs.

“No, guess not,” I said, “I’m going to take a closer look.”

“The sheriff said you’d want to, asked me to keep an eye on you in case Squiddster there did eat a passer-by and is still hungry. I’ve got some rope.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Rope?”

“Yeah, rope. You know, like mountaineers? Round your waist and heave ho if you fall of the edge into the goo. Rope.”

What could I say? Well, there was an endless supply of thing I could have said, but in the end I let a metal gargoyle lasso me before I gingerly approached a column made entirely of green goo and dead person. Just your average day in Steelhead, I told myself for the thousandth time…

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) Dr Alter notices the body here and here.
3) Elle reports that the issue was raised at the town hall meeting here.
4) The murder is discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.

The knock at the door woke me from a dream full of the stench of the sewers and death. I staggered over, opened it and found myself staring into the face of a stern young nun.

“Dr Beck?” her voice was as clean and crisp as the wimple framing her face. A face with eyes as deep as forever and the kind of mouth men go to war over. And this dame was a nun? It was a sin.

“Whazz wrung, sister?” I asked with a mouth drier than the Gobi.

“The sheriff has asked if you could come to Dr Alter’s warehouse. There’s been, well… an incident.”

Dr Alter? I knew the name, who didn’t. Cute-as-a-button kitten with a penchant for inventing death rays and diabolical plans in equal measures. Maybe one of them had gone wrong at last. Or right, I suppose. I rubbed my eyes hard with my palms and re-focused on the broad in the penguin suit, I needed more information, “What kind of incident?”

“Well,” her big, brown eyes darted left and right and she lowered her voice “a murder, doctor!”

I woke up for the second time that morning, “A murder? In Steelhead?” I sounded as dumb as brick and half as useful, but it was early and damn it if the board hadn’t stopped me thinking straight. She was one of the Steelhead Holy SWAT team working with the Sheriff, of course she meant in Steelhead!

“Yes,” she breathed breathlessly, which was a nice trick, I bet she was a peach on the bugle, “there’s a body inside Dr Alter’s squid thing!”

The squid thing, the green tentacle of goo that waved about like a drunk at midnight in the kitty cat’s yard. Maybe someone tried to feed it. Big mistake. Or maybe someone tried to bump the good doctor off. Even bigger mistake. The bumper would become the bumpee before they even knew they’d been bump-jumped. Although I found it hard to believe she’d be sloppy enough to get caught.

“Doctor?” Sister Sweetcheeks’ voice drifted through my thoughts and slapped me across the head. I looked up and into the face of a slightly shocked nun, “You… you were staring, doctor!”

“That’s my thinking face, sister. I don’t use it often but I find it helps when I’ve got a beautiful view.”

“Doctor!” she gasped, putting her hand up to her bee-sting mouth.

“Behind you Sister, the harbour in the morning sun.” The glowing red cheeks did nothing to dampen her appeal as I smiled as innocently. As innocently as any fox sat outside a henhouse.

“Well, er… shall I… shall I tell the sheriff you’ll come?” she was flustered and cute with it.

“Sure doll,” I said with a wink, “tell him I’ll be right over.”

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) Dr Alter notices the body here and here.
3) Elle reports that the issue was raised at the town hall meeting here.
4) The murder is discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.

I’m sure most people in SL have heard of Metropolis, the live recreation of Fritz Lang’s film done by CARP. Well one of the TSMGO troupe, Karuna Sands (1), is tied to the history of the film and his friend and fellow TSMGOer, Lucy Tornado (2), urged us all to go and see this amazing spectacle. After a few false starts I finally got to a show on 16th October and I can honestly say I was blown away! I *LOVED* this show! It held me from start to finish and the hour whizzed by – I *have* to see it again!

Without spoiling it too much (although for a film made in 1927 I doubt I need to worry too much about spoilers – and it does follow the film closely if my memory serves me correctly) let me tell you a little of what to expect when you go (and go you must!) and see it.

First off the set is huge! I seriously need to go back there and see how they did it, because every thing is done in the same Borg-like block – all the sets are buried within it and around it. At first I was worried I’d have to walk & fly around and that’s always a nightmare of lag and folks getting lost and crashing out. CARP have thought of that – your theatre seats (complete with nice sit poses, it should be noted) are your vehicles around the huge set. As one the entire audience flies hither and yon to the correct area for the scene underway.

Oh!, I hear you wail, what of cameras and having to focus on the right bit of the action – that must suck! Calm yourself, dears – CARP have solved that too. The seat, once sat in it, takes over your camera and uses a huge series of viewpoint cameras buried around the immense set to show you exactly the right scene and ensures that everyone sees the same scene at the same time. Nifty, huh? Think of it like watching TV – it’s that good (3).

Then throughout the show there are great touches that really show the creators know SL’s limitations and are more than capable of working around them – crowd scenes done with animated textures; animation loops used cleverly to give the impression of live, free-movement; music & camera angles that really added to the mood; and, my favourite of all, cue cards in the style of the original silent movie at key points to help lead you through the tale.

Don’t take my word for all this – take a looksee at the pictures below (and more on my flickr) and get your arse down to the next showing! Here’s the SLURL: http://slurl.com/secondlife/Benvolio/35/72/1497

(1) The pregnant man this year and Lucinda’s dummy last year, among many other roles.

(2) The doctor this year and tons more characters as well as set builder and writer.

(3) Osprey didn’t like that bit so much, but she doesn’t like people taking her camera away so I can see that it would irk. Mind you, she hasn’t had a telly for 20 years so has to be classed as odd(4) in my square-eyed book

(4) Lovely as well, obviously!