I’m sure Lego fans will get sick of me posting about MILS plates. They’re great but I don’t have the dollars to make eight or twelve of them and only then add landscaping.
So when I decided to raise my town to above so-called sealevel, I built a Duplo + Lego foundation plate in the MILS format.
Tomorrow another one …
Now came a bad time in the house. No peace in the daytimes. Builders tramped past all day, talking and laughing when I scurried for my water bowl or my litter box in the laundry.
They took over the garage and used it as their base. I watched them stormy-eyed as they trekked in and out through the screen-door with tools and materials.
I blinked. Didn’t hear the click of the lock that time. Started watching carefully. Listening too. The men grumbled.
The pernickety old woman came in with an armful of dry washing. “What’s the problem?” she said.
“We’re spending too much time looking out for that animal,” said one of them. “It’s maddening having to open and close that damned screen door every trip.”
“Can’t you board her somewhere?” said the other.
I didn’t wait for my human’s answer. Nipped to the screendoor …
That is, the writer has arrived at a crossroad in the saga. A place where the forward movement of several characters intersect with consequences good and bad, depending on who they are.
Kes is on his way to rescue Ahni. Srese, the female avatar, is familiarising herself with the world just beyond the door. Her brother Sard, the remaindered avatar, has a hide-out nearby.
Also in the scene are Youk, still trying to best the twins, and half a dozen more people. Though none are expendable extras, they’re not viewpoint-characters in the present.
If you’ve read both The Remaindered Avatar and Lodestar Part 2 up to this point, you may know the problem that needs solving. In the former, it was Sard who rescued Ahni, with all his observations and feelings of what happened in CAVE. (Which is known as Rockeater’s Ridge by the herders.) In the latter, more recently posted story, Srese organises Ahni’s rescue. Same event. Different rescuers.
Which version is the most dramatic? Which version should I disappear?
Both have their merits. But I have to admit, that even as I’m writing this I’m deciding that the version that has Srese setting Ahni’s rescue into motion is the more informative, if not the more dramatic one.
Sard’s version can be shortened toward its end because somewhere along both these time lines, Srese and Sard almost meet.
Meaning that a couple of chapters of Sard’s story need to be rejigged, later, when I resume work on that again. In Srese’s version, Ahni can be left where she’ll be found by Sard after he catches up on what’s happening in CAVE, because Ahni will still need to be in Sard’s hands when she is rescued.
Links to the relevant chapters for your interest:
The Remaindered Avatar 16: Rescuing Ahni
Lodestar 34: What the Implant Did
A while ago, when I thought I had plenty of energy, I started a second blog to be dedicated to Lego. Then followed a couple of months that had to be dedicated to me keeping my health on the positive side of the baseline. Which were followed by another couple of months …ya dee ya dee … you’ve heard it all before.
The upshot is that I don’t have enough energy to maintain two blogs. This one is it.
So. Now. I’m transferring stuff.
The most economical way to post up the Brick Stories–in time and effort–is to turn them into PDFs, too. But they’ll be posted on their own page, “Brick Stories”, up there in the menu. Though I do plan to ‘signpost’ whenever I put up a new one on this page.
As here … click on the heading and you’ll get to it. OR go to the menu in the usual way.
Wendy, Boss and Drew at their second planning meeting.
Some time later … my human looked at a thing she calls a calendar and had turned quite a few pages … I just knew a lot of days had passed.
In the early morning, the pernickety old woman said, “Ha, I hear the truck. I better go tell them where to park.”
Remembering the whole business in the roof that time ago, I hid.
The pernickety old woman came back inside with two men following her, both grey hairs like my human.
Neither of them took their boots off at the backdoor as is the custom. They walked in and out all through the kitchen, the living room next to it and the sunroom behind both.
The pernickety old woman darted in front of them, rolling up the rugs and getting things out of their way.
When they helped her move the refrigerator into the living room and parked it right in front of my hide-out, I’d had enough.
I scooted out of there and ran zig-zagging like a dervish-cat, circling them, then in front and then behind them. Thinking that if I could trip them over, they’d pick themselves up and go away.
The men just laughed and continued with their flicking measuring devices, pens and notebooks.
You’re surprised? I said they were grey hairs!
My human scooped me up and tucked me under her arm. She slid open a cabinet in the sunroom, took the drawer out completely, and put me in that cave.
“Stay there,” she said. “You out of their way and them out of your face.”
Back on track.
The next day, while the pernickety old woman and I sat friendly in the red chair–me on a towel on her lap–I could feel little things crawling around on me. I scratched. Aah! So satisfying. I scratched more. Then I saw them! Little black specks jumping from me to my human.
“Eeeh!” the pernickety old woman said. “Fleas! I should’ve known, shouldn’t I?”
Unexpectedly, she flapped the ends of the towel over me, and started to struggle up out of the chair with me tight in her arms. I was so surprised that she didn’t just push me off, I didn’t struggle.
“Have to take some stern measures,” she said. “Hope you’ll forgive me.”
I couldn’t act out yes or no, because I didn’t know what she meant.
She took me into the bathroom, a hard, shining, tiled place, and shut the door behind us. She opened the taps that make the rain and waited, still holding me, until the water falling from the overhead thing steamed a little.
She stuck her hand under and said, “Well. Here goes. Clothes and all.” She stepped into the warm rain.
Fleas jumped off both of us and were swept down the drain.
When I got water up my nose, I sneezed and started to struggle. I miaowed. Got more water up my nose. “I want to get down!”
The pernickety old woman set me at her feet where I sneezed some more. I walked from the rain stall and shook my wet fur. Brrr. Cold down there at floor level. That warm rain was lovely, I realized. Walked back in.
The pernickety old woman had taken off all her coverings in the meantime and spread flower-scented suds all over herself. Then she let the rain wash it off her. There’s no logic to humans.
She turned off the taps. The rain stopped. She dried herself off with a pink towel, and then me with a washed-out green towel. She slung on her dressing gown and led me into the sun-room at the back of the house. Where she set the little kindergarten chair for me to sit there and continue to dry myself.
She tackled the remains of the flea plague by spraying the red chair and the rug and the couch with an insect-killing fog. She opened the windows and turned on the overhead fan to lift the sickly lemon-scent, and finally she set out a treat for me.
If all that’s what happens as a result of walking in and out and in and out of the warm rain she organizes, count me in next time. Though I will tell you, it will need to be a sunny day, just like it was today.
Rita de Heer 