Huckleberry Hax's Blog, page 48
April 18, 2012
Woody in the UK
Working on an RL project that's almost done. Meantime, here's some classic Woody Allen.
April 4, 2012
Blue eyes/Brown eyes
Still one of the most compelling demonstrations of prejudice and discrimination I've ever seen.
March 25, 2012
five
31 March (Saturday) is my fifth rez day. To celebrate, I'll be reading a half hour of my poems from the last five years as part of the Milkwood Poetry Festival. Milkwood was the first place in which I read in SL and this is likely to be my last reading for some time, now that I'm rarely in SL. My slot will be at 12:30pm SLT. Do come along if you would like to listen.
I've also put together a book to celebrate my five years of SL. A collection of my SL pictures, poems and excerpts of the six novels I've written during this period, 'five' is an Issuu only publication and can be browsed here.
March 20, 2012
Second Life is a place we visit
Here's my March column for
AVENUE magazine
.
This is a column I've been meaning to write for a while now,and what better time than March 2012, the very last day of which denotes thefifth rez day of Huckleberry Hax? That'sright: five years of writing novels set in Second Life®. Five years of doing open mic poetry and livereadings, and being told what a wonderful voice I have (calm yourselves, it's justthe southern British accent). Five yearsof occasionally building 60s and 70s furniture and never quite getting around to finishing that shop I keep on saying isjust around the corner.
Five is quite an age in SL, if I do say so myself. I remember looking at two year olds sittingon the wall at Bear (the infohub I got sent to when I decided I was done atHelp Island) and being envious of their seniority. Now, I've exceeded their age by more than afactor of two. I've seen theintroduction of voice, windlight, sculpties, mesh, shadows and depth of field. And bouncy breasts. I've seen gambling banned and Linden homesbuilt and the continent of Zindra created. I've seen Philip Linden go and come back… and go again. I've seen SL open-sourced and watched therise of Open Sim worlds and third party viewers. I even visited Google Lively.
And five years of friendships with people from farawayplaces. When people get asked what it isabout SL that makes it special, they usually say something along the lines of,"the people". They're sometimes talkingabout 'user generated content', that oft-cited phrase that ultimately denotesthe separation of SL from a world of essentially default avatars andprefabricated locations (and, admittedly, less lag). In most cases, however, they're talking aboutfriendship; more specifically, they're talking about the realisation that firstdawned on them perhaps a few weeks into their inworld life – that SL is a placewhere you can find and make the friends you've always secretly wanted to have.
It's increasingly the case these days that our personal auditsare comprised of digital acquisitions, things that aren't tangible and real, atleast within our own physical space. Itall started with music downloads, bits of data you couldn't hold in your hand,but which it suddenly became appropriate to exchange money for. Now we have movie downloads and ebooks andapps, and, courtesy of social networking, we now have digital friends as well. Digital friends are a whole new type offriendship, at once better and worse than their RL equivalents. Like ebooks, we can't touch and smell them,and we can't look at them in one go in anything approaching completeness; allyou can see at any given moment is a single solitary slice. But, also like ebooks, they are instantlythere, it's so much easier to find them and it is their content – not theirphysical packaging – that is what makes us want their company. We connect with people in SL in ways it'smuch harder to connect with people in RL, at least some of us do. In part, this is because we're able to findmore likeminded people in the metaverse; but also – and perhaps moresignificantly – it's because we get to know deeper parts of them, the bitswe're more guarded about giving away – or being– in RL. The bits, also, that we can'tor don't want to see in others in RL because superficial aspects of them takeprecedence in our mind, like their appearance or the way they speak. We are all, as a product of both evolutionand social conditioning, naturally prejudiced as human beings. One of the reasons, then, that I get soexcited about online interaction is that it presents a way (not the only way) for us to escape the confines of ourprogramming. Our genetic and socialheritage is where we come from, not our destiny. It does not define us.
Like I said, it's not the only way. Poets and artists have been describing for usthe unseen world for as long as people have existed. But, for some of us, there is a moment in SLwhen there descends a feeling of being at the edge of something immenselymeaningful as a result of being inside this 'artificial' place. Our whole way of thinking about the 'real'world starts to change as a result of it. And this is a process that does not – which cannot – stop, once it hasbegun.
Cyberspace, however, can seduce us into falseassumptions. The realisation that trueand meaningful relationships can be found in it is only the start – not the endpoint – of our growth. Because it quiteliterally surrounds us, wherever we go and there is an internet connection, we canbecome fooled into thinking that the friendships we form within it will be justas pervasive over time as the metaverse is over space. Those early days of thinking, 'This is afriendship that will exist forever' do not last. Perhaps this is why we come to symboliseparticularly strong bonds within SL using the language of siblinghood; perhapswe describe our best friends in our profile picks as 'brother' or 'sister' asinsurance against that which we know deep down must still inevitably happen,because it has happened to us in RL so many times before: the eventual partingof ways. A brother or sister, after all,cannot not be our brother or sister;they are that for life.
The saddest part of my five years in SL, you see, is thefriends who have left. People who, atone stage, I thought would be a part of my life forever, have moved on. On our first encounter with this, it's easyto become disillusioned with or bitter about the sense of security and warmth wefelt we had discovered in SL, to be angry at ourselves for letting ourselvesbelieve that things could somehow be different. Speaking personally, I recall a time (in truth, I'm not entirely out ofthis stage yet) when I grew weary of people telling me they would always be inSL and couldn't imagine ever leaving it. I knew that they too would leave eventually – all the people I have beenclosest to in SL have left, or at least reduced their time inworld to havingleft to all extents and purposes. Insome ways, this hurts even more than when friends move out of our lives inRL. If a friend moves to a differentgeographical place, for example, then of course we will see them less; ofcourse the nature of our interaction will change. But a friend who leaves SL does so wholly bychoice – there is nothing physical preventing them from continuing to beinworld. They are choosing, therefore,to end an existence which had previously been celebrated for its immensity andendurance. It can feel like a whole newlevel of personal rejection.
But SL shouldn't be thought of as some sort of omnipotent placethat we can always reach out and brush our fingers against. If its function has been to introduce us tothe unseen world, an inevitable consequence of this is the realisation thathidden truths do not exist in the metaverse alone. These things are the things that actually areall around us, behind every shadow and smile and movement of a hand across aface. For some of us, then, ourexperiences in SL serve as a catalyst, an awakening, a leap in our level of personalconsciousness which then needs to be fed into our real lives if its ultimatepurpose is to be fulfilled. For some, SLis a respite, a place to just pause and get our breath back. For some, it is a playground, a chance toexperiment with being something different. For some of us, it is all of these things together.
Whatever it is that it is, however, SL is a place that wevisit and, for many of us, the visit is ultimately finite. Sometimes we leave for time out, butsometimes we leave for good. And that istotally okay. People are responsibleonly to themselves for their happiness, and they are the best judge of thedirection in which that lies. And lifeis meant to be fluid. If we who remaincan get past the bitterness phase then what's waiting for us on the other sideis a deeper understanding of what it means to experience real friendship, notto mention gratitude for having found people to discover such closeness, trustand intimacy with, however briefly that lasted. What's waiting is hope and optimism for all the things that we now knoware possible. What's waiting is a betterunderstanding of what it actually means to be human.
As I move towards my second half decade of Huck, therefore –my own time in SL, as it happens, currently just a fraction of what it used tobe – I look forward more to the continued growth in my thinking and being thanI do to any improvement technically in the metaverse experience or itspopularity (much as I do look forward also to these things). And this is a good opportunity for me tothank every person who has touched me in such a way that I have awakened just alittle bit more from their touch. Youare all deeply meaningful to me and – wherever you are – I wish you happiness.
This is a column I've been meaning to write for a while now,and what better time than March 2012, the very last day of which denotes thefifth rez day of Huckleberry Hax? That'sright: five years of writing novels set in Second Life®. Five years of doing open mic poetry and livereadings, and being told what a wonderful voice I have (calm yourselves, it's justthe southern British accent). Five yearsof occasionally building 60s and 70s furniture and never quite getting around to finishing that shop I keep on saying isjust around the corner.
Five is quite an age in SL, if I do say so myself. I remember looking at two year olds sittingon the wall at Bear (the infohub I got sent to when I decided I was done atHelp Island) and being envious of their seniority. Now, I've exceeded their age by more than afactor of two. I've seen theintroduction of voice, windlight, sculpties, mesh, shadows and depth of field. And bouncy breasts. I've seen gambling banned and Linden homesbuilt and the continent of Zindra created. I've seen Philip Linden go and come back… and go again. I've seen SL open-sourced and watched therise of Open Sim worlds and third party viewers. I even visited Google Lively.
And five years of friendships with people from farawayplaces. When people get asked what it isabout SL that makes it special, they usually say something along the lines of,"the people". They're sometimes talkingabout 'user generated content', that oft-cited phrase that ultimately denotesthe separation of SL from a world of essentially default avatars andprefabricated locations (and, admittedly, less lag). In most cases, however, they're talking aboutfriendship; more specifically, they're talking about the realisation that firstdawned on them perhaps a few weeks into their inworld life – that SL is a placewhere you can find and make the friends you've always secretly wanted to have.
It's increasingly the case these days that our personal auditsare comprised of digital acquisitions, things that aren't tangible and real, atleast within our own physical space. Itall started with music downloads, bits of data you couldn't hold in your hand,but which it suddenly became appropriate to exchange money for. Now we have movie downloads and ebooks andapps, and, courtesy of social networking, we now have digital friends as well. Digital friends are a whole new type offriendship, at once better and worse than their RL equivalents. Like ebooks, we can't touch and smell them,and we can't look at them in one go in anything approaching completeness; allyou can see at any given moment is a single solitary slice. But, also like ebooks, they are instantlythere, it's so much easier to find them and it is their content – not theirphysical packaging – that is what makes us want their company. We connect with people in SL in ways it'smuch harder to connect with people in RL, at least some of us do. In part, this is because we're able to findmore likeminded people in the metaverse; but also – and perhaps moresignificantly – it's because we get to know deeper parts of them, the bitswe're more guarded about giving away – or being– in RL. The bits, also, that we can'tor don't want to see in others in RL because superficial aspects of them takeprecedence in our mind, like their appearance or the way they speak. We are all, as a product of both evolutionand social conditioning, naturally prejudiced as human beings. One of the reasons, then, that I get soexcited about online interaction is that it presents a way (not the only way) for us to escape the confines of ourprogramming. Our genetic and socialheritage is where we come from, not our destiny. It does not define us.
Like I said, it's not the only way. Poets and artists have been describing for usthe unseen world for as long as people have existed. But, for some of us, there is a moment in SLwhen there descends a feeling of being at the edge of something immenselymeaningful as a result of being inside this 'artificial' place. Our whole way of thinking about the 'real'world starts to change as a result of it. And this is a process that does not – which cannot – stop, once it hasbegun.
Cyberspace, however, can seduce us into falseassumptions. The realisation that trueand meaningful relationships can be found in it is only the start – not the endpoint – of our growth. Because it quiteliterally surrounds us, wherever we go and there is an internet connection, we canbecome fooled into thinking that the friendships we form within it will be justas pervasive over time as the metaverse is over space. Those early days of thinking, 'This is afriendship that will exist forever' do not last. Perhaps this is why we come to symboliseparticularly strong bonds within SL using the language of siblinghood; perhapswe describe our best friends in our profile picks as 'brother' or 'sister' asinsurance against that which we know deep down must still inevitably happen,because it has happened to us in RL so many times before: the eventual partingof ways. A brother or sister, after all,cannot not be our brother or sister;they are that for life.
The saddest part of my five years in SL, you see, is thefriends who have left. People who, atone stage, I thought would be a part of my life forever, have moved on. On our first encounter with this, it's easyto become disillusioned with or bitter about the sense of security and warmth wefelt we had discovered in SL, to be angry at ourselves for letting ourselvesbelieve that things could somehow be different. Speaking personally, I recall a time (in truth, I'm not entirely out ofthis stage yet) when I grew weary of people telling me they would always be inSL and couldn't imagine ever leaving it. I knew that they too would leave eventually – all the people I have beenclosest to in SL have left, or at least reduced their time inworld to havingleft to all extents and purposes. Insome ways, this hurts even more than when friends move out of our lives inRL. If a friend moves to a differentgeographical place, for example, then of course we will see them less; ofcourse the nature of our interaction will change. But a friend who leaves SL does so wholly bychoice – there is nothing physical preventing them from continuing to beinworld. They are choosing, therefore,to end an existence which had previously been celebrated for its immensity andendurance. It can feel like a whole newlevel of personal rejection.
But SL shouldn't be thought of as some sort of omnipotent placethat we can always reach out and brush our fingers against. If its function has been to introduce us tothe unseen world, an inevitable consequence of this is the realisation thathidden truths do not exist in the metaverse alone. These things are the things that actually areall around us, behind every shadow and smile and movement of a hand across aface. For some of us, then, ourexperiences in SL serve as a catalyst, an awakening, a leap in our level of personalconsciousness which then needs to be fed into our real lives if its ultimatepurpose is to be fulfilled. For some, SLis a respite, a place to just pause and get our breath back. For some, it is a playground, a chance toexperiment with being something different. For some of us, it is all of these things together.
Whatever it is that it is, however, SL is a place that wevisit and, for many of us, the visit is ultimately finite. Sometimes we leave for time out, butsometimes we leave for good. And that istotally okay. People are responsibleonly to themselves for their happiness, and they are the best judge of thedirection in which that lies. And lifeis meant to be fluid. If we who remaincan get past the bitterness phase then what's waiting for us on the other sideis a deeper understanding of what it means to experience real friendship, notto mention gratitude for having found people to discover such closeness, trustand intimacy with, however briefly that lasted. What's waiting is hope and optimism for all the things that we now knoware possible. What's waiting is a betterunderstanding of what it actually means to be human.
As I move towards my second half decade of Huck, therefore –my own time in SL, as it happens, currently just a fraction of what it used tobe – I look forward more to the continued growth in my thinking and being thanI do to any improvement technically in the metaverse experience or itspopularity (much as I do look forward also to these things). And this is a good opportunity for me tothank every person who has touched me in such a way that I have awakened just alittle bit more from their touch. Youare all deeply meaningful to me and – wherever you are – I wish you happiness.
March 9, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part seven)
Part seven
Honeycomb was suddenly silent. I ran through the workings out she'd be goingthrough in her head, wondering how quick she'd be. After about a minute, I asked her, "You stillthere, sugar?"
"It looks like you were right, Mr Luck," she saidfinally. If my hunch was correct and shewas bright, there was only one conclusion she could come to (other than itactually just being some innocent newbie with the right numbers in his name):I'd recruited someone to pose as Alton74. Always assuming, of course, I was the first private detective she'd cometo with this case.
"I want to dance with you," I typed as Alton. "But not here. I know this great new place that people areflocking to. Come with me and I'll tellyou something you don't know about the owner of this club."
Of course, she couldn't resist. I sent her a teleport from the builder'splatform I'd erected a hundred metres above the office in which Honeycomb and Iwere fucking. She took it withoutchecking the co-ordinates and appeared in front of me. Ten seconds later, she realised her (fifth)mistake and disappeared, but a second was all the gadget under my deskrequired.
She worked it out for herself. Honeycomb/Cassandra/Burnished stood up andre-rezzed her skirt. "There's no suchthing as a portable IP detection device, is there, Mr Luck?" she said.
"I'm afraid not, sugar," I replied. "Just my little invention to dissuade youfrom attempting to bring on your own newbie 47, but it also confirmed to methat you had an IP device installed at your club – how else would you know yourown IP so readily?"
"How did you know it?" she asked.
"Wrote it down when you were here last night," Ireplied. "I have my own device installedright here."
"You're very clever, Mr Luck," she said.
"And lucky," I said. "You took on too much last night. All those pauses from you whilst your alts were typing: that was yourfirst mistake. But I wouldn't have realisedit were it not for the Burnished/Cassandra crosspost and the way you then rewordedit. Everything was just the two of us,all along. What a double act we made.
"I realise that Rico – Dominoe's owner – probablyactually was stealing your customers. Only thing is, you didn't just want to win against him; you wanted himdestroyed. It's amazing what you can digup on other people's old blog posts. Ifound some very pretty pictures of the two of you getting married a couple ofyears ago."
"He betrayed me," she said. "And then he had the gall to make out it wasme who'd been unfaithful to him."
"So you cooked up the idea of a protection racket," Isaid. "Run your own business into theground and put word out it was the work of an all-powerful extortion group,then approach Rico with the same deal you tell everyone you refused. Getting me to poke my nose in was just foradded authenticity. If Rico knew you'dbeen destroyed despite a good fight, he'd be more likely to take the threatseriously."
"And he would have agreed," she said. "I know him. He'd have paid through the nose to avoid being grouped in the samecategory as me, and he'd never have known I had him right in the palm of myhand."
I'd like to say it was a surprise to me that all herprevious investment in Frederick's amounted to nothing, but bitterness is mybusiness and there's little it can do to surprise me anymore. I gave Honeycomb the conditions for mysilence and she agreed. And she teleportedaway from my office and back to her empty club; and I, once again, was gratefulto have demanded my first week's fees up front.
Honeycomb was suddenly silent. I ran through the workings out she'd be goingthrough in her head, wondering how quick she'd be. After about a minute, I asked her, "You stillthere, sugar?"
"It looks like you were right, Mr Luck," she saidfinally. If my hunch was correct and shewas bright, there was only one conclusion she could come to (other than itactually just being some innocent newbie with the right numbers in his name):I'd recruited someone to pose as Alton74. Always assuming, of course, I was the first private detective she'd cometo with this case.
"I want to dance with you," I typed as Alton. "But not here. I know this great new place that people areflocking to. Come with me and I'll tellyou something you don't know about the owner of this club."
Of course, she couldn't resist. I sent her a teleport from the builder'splatform I'd erected a hundred metres above the office in which Honeycomb and Iwere fucking. She took it withoutchecking the co-ordinates and appeared in front of me. Ten seconds later, she realised her (fifth)mistake and disappeared, but a second was all the gadget under my deskrequired.
She worked it out for herself. Honeycomb/Cassandra/Burnished stood up andre-rezzed her skirt. "There's no suchthing as a portable IP detection device, is there, Mr Luck?" she said.
"I'm afraid not, sugar," I replied. "Just my little invention to dissuade youfrom attempting to bring on your own newbie 47, but it also confirmed to methat you had an IP device installed at your club – how else would you know yourown IP so readily?"
"How did you know it?" she asked.
"Wrote it down when you were here last night," Ireplied. "I have my own device installedright here."
"You're very clever, Mr Luck," she said.
"And lucky," I said. "You took on too much last night. All those pauses from you whilst your alts were typing: that was yourfirst mistake. But I wouldn't have realisedit were it not for the Burnished/Cassandra crosspost and the way you then rewordedit. Everything was just the two of us,all along. What a double act we made.
"I realise that Rico – Dominoe's owner – probablyactually was stealing your customers. Only thing is, you didn't just want to win against him; you wanted himdestroyed. It's amazing what you can digup on other people's old blog posts. Ifound some very pretty pictures of the two of you getting married a couple ofyears ago."
"He betrayed me," she said. "And then he had the gall to make out it wasme who'd been unfaithful to him."
"So you cooked up the idea of a protection racket," Isaid. "Run your own business into theground and put word out it was the work of an all-powerful extortion group,then approach Rico with the same deal you tell everyone you refused. Getting me to poke my nose in was just foradded authenticity. If Rico knew you'dbeen destroyed despite a good fight, he'd be more likely to take the threatseriously."
"And he would have agreed," she said. "I know him. He'd have paid through the nose to avoid being grouped in the samecategory as me, and he'd never have known I had him right in the palm of myhand."
I'd like to say it was a surprise to me that all herprevious investment in Frederick's amounted to nothing, but bitterness is mybusiness and there's little it can do to surprise me anymore. I gave Honeycomb the conditions for mysilence and she agreed. And she teleportedaway from my office and back to her empty club; and I, once again, was gratefulto have demanded my first week's fees up front.
March 7, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part six)
Part six
I got there at six, which is four hours earlier than Iusually like to reacquaint myself with the world of consciousness. I guess Honeycomb took the exact same view ofmornings; the proprietor of Frederick's turned up at quarter past nine, bywhich time I'd casually chatted with all eight of the regulars and greeterstaff who rezzed by.
"Hardened private detectives like to go dancing too,sugar," I replied. "Deep down, we'rejust as soft and fluffy as anyone else."
"Really, Mr Luck?"
"Not even remotely," I said. "But it makes a great pickup line."
"I'd rather hoped that you were at least here to work onmy case," she said, her use of the past perfect injecting somehow that air ofprofessional disappointment, "not just looking to remove yet another of myguests from the premises."
"Calm yourself, honey," I told her. "I'm just waiting for newbie 47 to show up."
"You think I'll get a visit?" she asked. "I told him rather unambiguously not toreturn to this place."
"That was before you lost half your customers," Ireminded her. "He might think you'vewarmed to the idea since then."
"I'll never pay, Mr Luck. Never. He can run me into theground for all I care."
"All I ask is you keep him here long enough for me to geta fix on his IP." I rezzed a new pair ofsunglasses and pointed them out to her. "Picked up these babies last night after our conversation. A friend of mine just invented them. Portable IP detection. When I say 'friend', of course, I meanassociate. When I say 'associate' I meansomeone who really wants what I know about his love-life to stay locked up inthis cynical head of mine."
"Portable IP detection?" she repeated. "I never knew such a thing was possible."
"I didn't know myself until last night," I told her. "Only the cutting edge when you hire me,sweetheart."
"So you can tell what my IP is?" she asked. I read her off the numbers. "That's amazing. You're quite correct."
"Just remember to promote me to all your friends," Isaid, knowing she wouldn't.
"Well in any case," she commented, "I don't think he'llshow up. Hang around as much as youlike, but I think it'll just be time wasted. Why don't you go over to Dominoe's and make some enquiries there?"
"Already on it, sugar," I replied. I had one of my oldest alts perched on thepiano stool there, making conversation with a camper who'd 'cleaned' at thejoint for nearly a year. "Honey?" he wassaying. "Yeah, we see her from time totime. Her and the boss have been at warover punters for as long as I can remember. Between you and me, pal, I think they're more interested in destroyingeach other than getting any actual custom. The word is things aren't so good for her place right now. Rico must be laughing himself sick."
"But I think you might be surprised," I toldHoneycomb. "Few extortionists expect thefirst meeting to go well. Demonstratingthe effectiveness of their product is fairly standard practice.
"Look by the door," I told her, before she had a chanceto reply. And it was a case of perfecttiming.
A day old newbie was entering the establishment. His name was Alton74.
Part seven (the final installment) will be published on Friday...
I got there at six, which is four hours earlier than Iusually like to reacquaint myself with the world of consciousness. I guess Honeycomb took the exact same view ofmornings; the proprietor of Frederick's turned up at quarter past nine, bywhich time I'd casually chatted with all eight of the regulars and greeterstaff who rezzed by.
"Hardened private detectives like to go dancing too,sugar," I replied. "Deep down, we'rejust as soft and fluffy as anyone else."
"Really, Mr Luck?"
"Not even remotely," I said. "But it makes a great pickup line."
"I'd rather hoped that you were at least here to work onmy case," she said, her use of the past perfect injecting somehow that air ofprofessional disappointment, "not just looking to remove yet another of myguests from the premises."
"Calm yourself, honey," I told her. "I'm just waiting for newbie 47 to show up."
"You think I'll get a visit?" she asked. "I told him rather unambiguously not toreturn to this place."
"That was before you lost half your customers," Ireminded her. "He might think you'vewarmed to the idea since then."
"I'll never pay, Mr Luck. Never. He can run me into theground for all I care."
"All I ask is you keep him here long enough for me to geta fix on his IP." I rezzed a new pair ofsunglasses and pointed them out to her. "Picked up these babies last night after our conversation. A friend of mine just invented them. Portable IP detection. When I say 'friend', of course, I meanassociate. When I say 'associate' I meansomeone who really wants what I know about his love-life to stay locked up inthis cynical head of mine."
"Portable IP detection?" she repeated. "I never knew such a thing was possible."
"I didn't know myself until last night," I told her. "Only the cutting edge when you hire me,sweetheart."
"So you can tell what my IP is?" she asked. I read her off the numbers. "That's amazing. You're quite correct."
"Just remember to promote me to all your friends," Isaid, knowing she wouldn't.
"Well in any case," she commented, "I don't think he'llshow up. Hang around as much as youlike, but I think it'll just be time wasted. Why don't you go over to Dominoe's and make some enquiries there?"
"Already on it, sugar," I replied. I had one of my oldest alts perched on thepiano stool there, making conversation with a camper who'd 'cleaned' at thejoint for nearly a year. "Honey?" he wassaying. "Yeah, we see her from time totime. Her and the boss have been at warover punters for as long as I can remember. Between you and me, pal, I think they're more interested in destroyingeach other than getting any actual custom. The word is things aren't so good for her place right now. Rico must be laughing himself sick."
"But I think you might be surprised," I toldHoneycomb. "Few extortionists expect thefirst meeting to go well. Demonstratingthe effectiveness of their product is fairly standard practice.
"Look by the door," I told her, before she had a chanceto reply. And it was a case of perfecttiming.
A day old newbie was entering the establishment. His name was Alton74.
Part seven (the final installment) will be published on Friday...
March 5, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part five)
Part five
It was a little bitfrantic for a while, what with all the back and forth trips across my lounge toattend to Burnished's increasingly short and urgent typings and the status ofBaggage at the bar. Within five minuteshe was approached by – wait for it – Cassandra, mysteriously returned from herboyfriend love-in, but now wearing a different outfit (perhaps to give her afew extra seconds of non-recognition time in case Trigger should show upagain). She picked me up with the exactsame line she'd used on me before, further reinforcing my theory that the(presumed) rewording earlier implied the (presumed) dual driver's suspicion. This time, however, she couldn't possibly knowI was the same guy. I accepted her offerand let her lead me out onto the dance floor.
Within another fiveminutes of dance, during which time Burnished and Gutter completed their matterarising and commenced on their post-coital cigarettes, Cassandra had complainedabout the dullness of the venue and relocated us once more. But not to Dominoe's. I supposed that she was worried Trigger mightstill be hanging around. So we materialisedinstead at a rave dive in a basement in an urban decay sim, prim rats scuttlingaround on the floor between the dancers and fake vomit. Cassandra took a moment to change her outfit,her red gown with its carefree left-side slit down the entire length of herbody blurring into a yellow piece of fabric about ten per cent of itspredecessor's surface area.
"What's so great about this place?" I asked her, keen topush for some sort of rationale. "Themusic is terrible."
"It ain't about the music, honey," she replied after afashion (Burnished was busy typing in a smoke ring aimed at my penis), "it'sabout the people. I love the peoplehere. That lot at Frederick's are likecardboard cut-outs. I'm through withthat place. This is where you want tobring yourself if you actually want to meet people and have a good time withthem. Trust me on this."
With that, I decided that my night's work was done. I told Cassandra I had a migraine to avoidand left before she got a chance to reply. And I planted a lingering kiss on Burnished's lips and told her I had toget up early in the morning.
Which I did. Forthe next day was the third of the month. I planned on spending it at Frederick's.
Part six will be published on Wednesday...
It was a little bitfrantic for a while, what with all the back and forth trips across my lounge toattend to Burnished's increasingly short and urgent typings and the status ofBaggage at the bar. Within five minuteshe was approached by – wait for it – Cassandra, mysteriously returned from herboyfriend love-in, but now wearing a different outfit (perhaps to give her afew extra seconds of non-recognition time in case Trigger should show upagain). She picked me up with the exactsame line she'd used on me before, further reinforcing my theory that the(presumed) rewording earlier implied the (presumed) dual driver's suspicion. This time, however, she couldn't possibly knowI was the same guy. I accepted her offerand let her lead me out onto the dance floor.
Within another fiveminutes of dance, during which time Burnished and Gutter completed their matterarising and commenced on their post-coital cigarettes, Cassandra had complainedabout the dullness of the venue and relocated us once more. But not to Dominoe's. I supposed that she was worried Trigger mightstill be hanging around. So we materialisedinstead at a rave dive in a basement in an urban decay sim, prim rats scuttlingaround on the floor between the dancers and fake vomit. Cassandra took a moment to change her outfit,her red gown with its carefree left-side slit down the entire length of herbody blurring into a yellow piece of fabric about ten per cent of itspredecessor's surface area.
"What's so great about this place?" I asked her, keen topush for some sort of rationale. "Themusic is terrible."
"It ain't about the music, honey," she replied after afashion (Burnished was busy typing in a smoke ring aimed at my penis), "it'sabout the people. I love the peoplehere. That lot at Frederick's are likecardboard cut-outs. I'm through withthat place. This is where you want tobring yourself if you actually want to meet people and have a good time withthem. Trust me on this."
With that, I decided that my night's work was done. I told Cassandra I had a migraine to avoidand left before she got a chance to reply. And I planted a lingering kiss on Burnished's lips and told her I had toget up early in the morning.
Which I did. Forthe next day was the third of the month. I planned on spending it at Frederick's.
Part six will be published on Wednesday...
March 4, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part four)
Part four
I told Honeycomb I'd take the case, but could make nopromises; she agreed and left. Cassandraapologised for the crosspost – making out it was meant to be to her boyfriendwho'd just come online for the first time in a week, but she'd felt bad aboutabandoning me – and excused herself quickly to take care of him. And then Burnished typed in, "Take my bra off,baby. Take it off now." Which was, of course, mistake number three.
But how could she possibly suspect that?
There were metaversedevices that could read the IP address of an avatar's computer – I had onemyself installed under the desk in my office. Two avatars with the same IP address would be highly suggestive of thembeing one and the same person (sure, one guy could live next door to the other, be jumping on his unprotectedwireless connection and just so happen to be in the same metaverse location atthe same time as him, but the chances of that were about as likely as myexpense claims being met). So far as Iknew, you had to have land rights to install such machinery. Cassandra and Burnished weren't even staff atFrederick's, let alone management. Hadsomeone invented a new device that could be worn and carried around?
Assuming that Cassandra/Burnisheddid suspect Trigger and Gutter to bethe same person, why had she taken one to Dominoe's and one to a privateresidence? Had she come to suspect thedeception before or after we'd left Frederick's? What would have happened if she hadn'tsuspected a thing?
And what, if anything,did any of this have to do with Honeycomb's extortion racket?
But you don't go tenyears in the business without learning when to recognise the smell of alead. Whatever their role was, they wereconnected somehow. The question was,what did they suspect me of and what, therefore, were they trying to get me tobelieve?
I logged Trigger out andbrought on another of my alts – Baggage Cardigan, last used eight monthspreviously to obtain pictures of a notable metaverse celebrity in a notuncompromising predicament. But, beforeI brought him on, I checked I could still connect my laptop to the next doorneighbour's wireless. It worked, butonly if I put it on the other side of the room.
Good enough. Now we'd see what happened when someoneunsuspected turned up at Frederick's. Iparked Baggage on the end bar stool with a cigarette in his mouth and a glassof bourbon at his hand. And waited.
Part five will be published on Monday...
I told Honeycomb I'd take the case, but could make nopromises; she agreed and left. Cassandraapologised for the crosspost – making out it was meant to be to her boyfriendwho'd just come online for the first time in a week, but she'd felt bad aboutabandoning me – and excused herself quickly to take care of him. And then Burnished typed in, "Take my bra off,baby. Take it off now." Which was, of course, mistake number three.
But how could she possibly suspect that?
There were metaversedevices that could read the IP address of an avatar's computer – I had onemyself installed under the desk in my office. Two avatars with the same IP address would be highly suggestive of thembeing one and the same person (sure, one guy could live next door to the other, be jumping on his unprotectedwireless connection and just so happen to be in the same metaverse location atthe same time as him, but the chances of that were about as likely as myexpense claims being met). So far as Iknew, you had to have land rights to install such machinery. Cassandra and Burnished weren't even staff atFrederick's, let alone management. Hadsomeone invented a new device that could be worn and carried around?
Assuming that Cassandra/Burnisheddid suspect Trigger and Gutter to bethe same person, why had she taken one to Dominoe's and one to a privateresidence? Had she come to suspect thedeception before or after we'd left Frederick's? What would have happened if she hadn'tsuspected a thing?
And what, if anything,did any of this have to do with Honeycomb's extortion racket?
But you don't go tenyears in the business without learning when to recognise the smell of alead. Whatever their role was, they wereconnected somehow. The question was,what did they suspect me of and what, therefore, were they trying to get me tobelieve?
I logged Trigger out andbrought on another of my alts – Baggage Cardigan, last used eight monthspreviously to obtain pictures of a notable metaverse celebrity in a notuncompromising predicament. But, beforeI brought him on, I checked I could still connect my laptop to the next doorneighbour's wireless. It worked, butonly if I put it on the other side of the room.
Good enough. Now we'd see what happened when someoneunsuspected turned up at Frederick's. Iparked Baggage on the end bar stool with a cigarette in his mouth and a glassof bourbon at his hand. And waited.
Part five will be published on Monday...
March 2, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part three)
Part three
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I askedHoneycomb. "What do you mean by youthought I'd think you a drama queen?"
"You know how things work in the metaverse, Mr Luck," shesaid to me. "I start talking about mycustomers leaving due to an extortion racket and the next thing you know theblogosphere is lit up with talk of the paranoid rationalisations of a failingmanager. Gossip is the true currency ofthe virtual world.
"This group is very secretive," she continued. "It of course does not officially exist. The guy who visited me was a one day oldnewbie and the very next day his account was deleted. He told me I'd be visited on the third day ofevery month by another newbie – a different one every time – with thecharacters 4 and 7 somewhere in their name. I was to pay them without any conversation, and within five minutes ofthem entering the venue."
"I told him to fuck off," she replied after a pause,during which time Cassandra ran her fingers down the front of my shirt atDominoe's and Burnished just removed my shirt altogether. "He was asking for 25% of my takings."
"Do you have a log of this conversation?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "The conversation was conducted entirely in voice. He told me at first he'd broken both hiswrists in a fall in RL and couldn't type, and then asked if we could go into aprivate call so he could ask me something."
"Not so newbie that he didn't know how to operate voice,then," I commented.
"Exactly."
"So tell me, honey," I said, quickly switching viewers totype some repeated ms into both of my other windows, "what exactly do you wantfrom me out of all of this?"
"Proof that these people exist!" she exclaimed. "Proof that they're ruining my business! Then I can go to the authorities and not fearbeing laughed at for inventing conspiracy stories to hide poor managementskills. This is my reputation in themetaverse, we're talking about, Mr Luck. I've invested too much in my identity here to see some wannabe mafiagroup destroy me."
"My fingers find the hook and clasp of your bra strap," Ityped into Burnished's box whilst Honeycomb wrote all that out. To Cassandra, I typed, "My fingers gentlytrace the contour of your jaw." A busynight for fingers.
"This is likely to be a long case," I toldHoneycomb. "I should warn you, I don'tcome cheap. It might be more costeffective to accept their terms. I'mjust saying."
"Over a year?" she replied after a moment. "Over ten years? After they put their demand up to 50%? In any case, I don't care. If this brings those bastards down, it'll bemoney well spent."
But I wasn't paying attention to what she'd written. Instead, I was preoccupied with whatCassandra had just written: "Go ahead and unhook my bra, baby."
Cassandra. Not Burnished. An accidental crosspost. Cassandra and Burnished were the same person.
And that was mistake number two.
Part four will be published on Sunday...
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I askedHoneycomb. "What do you mean by youthought I'd think you a drama queen?"
"You know how things work in the metaverse, Mr Luck," shesaid to me. "I start talking about mycustomers leaving due to an extortion racket and the next thing you know theblogosphere is lit up with talk of the paranoid rationalisations of a failingmanager. Gossip is the true currency ofthe virtual world.
"This group is very secretive," she continued. "It of course does not officially exist. The guy who visited me was a one day oldnewbie and the very next day his account was deleted. He told me I'd be visited on the third day ofevery month by another newbie – a different one every time – with thecharacters 4 and 7 somewhere in their name. I was to pay them without any conversation, and within five minutes ofthem entering the venue."
"I told him to fuck off," she replied after a pause,during which time Cassandra ran her fingers down the front of my shirt atDominoe's and Burnished just removed my shirt altogether. "He was asking for 25% of my takings."
"Do you have a log of this conversation?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "The conversation was conducted entirely in voice. He told me at first he'd broken both hiswrists in a fall in RL and couldn't type, and then asked if we could go into aprivate call so he could ask me something."
"Not so newbie that he didn't know how to operate voice,then," I commented.
"Exactly."
"So tell me, honey," I said, quickly switching viewers totype some repeated ms into both of my other windows, "what exactly do you wantfrom me out of all of this?"
"Proof that these people exist!" she exclaimed. "Proof that they're ruining my business! Then I can go to the authorities and not fearbeing laughed at for inventing conspiracy stories to hide poor managementskills. This is my reputation in themetaverse, we're talking about, Mr Luck. I've invested too much in my identity here to see some wannabe mafiagroup destroy me."
"My fingers find the hook and clasp of your bra strap," Ityped into Burnished's box whilst Honeycomb wrote all that out. To Cassandra, I typed, "My fingers gentlytrace the contour of your jaw." A busynight for fingers.
"This is likely to be a long case," I toldHoneycomb. "I should warn you, I don'tcome cheap. It might be more costeffective to accept their terms. I'mjust saying."
"Over a year?" she replied after a moment. "Over ten years? After they put their demand up to 50%? In any case, I don't care. If this brings those bastards down, it'll bemoney well spent."
But I wasn't paying attention to what she'd written. Instead, I was preoccupied with whatCassandra had just written: "Go ahead and unhook my bra, baby."
Cassandra. Not Burnished. An accidental crosspost. Cassandra and Burnished were the same person.
And that was mistake number two.
Part four will be published on Sunday...
March 1, 2012
Double doubled doubled (part two)
Part two.
I of course have – as would any good metaverse detective– a veritable army of alts. I have touse an Excel spreadsheet just to keep track of them: in addition to all the IDsand passwords, there's their gender, sexuality, appearance, age, attractiveness,species and identifiable personality traits to record. Then there's the places they hung out in on previouscases and the names of key people they met (with one asterisk to denote if Ithey might be inclined to try to kill me if they ever met me in RL and two if Ihad sex with them). I try not to takethem where they might be recognised.
Back in the office, Honeycomb Crumbled was answering byherself some of the questions my primary hadn't yet got around to asking, likeif she'd actually verified that some of the dancers at Dominoes were previouslyher guests at Frederick's. It was nolonger an important question, since Cassandra and Trigger were now locked inslow dance number three across black and white tiles whilst an ad for Cialisplayed over the music stream. Burnished,I decided, was a dead end – or would be after a half hour or so. Whilst she arranged pose balls that requireda standing position from me for the next few minutes, I asked Cassandra whatwas so good about our new venue in a way I hoped made it looked like I wascalculating the probability of the move being a step closer to fuckingher. After a fashion, she replied justthat there were more people there. I putit to Honeycomb that sometimes all it took was just one or two people in theright moment to check some other place out – maybe a sim crash had occurred atFrederick's one evening and a couple had relocated simply out of impatience –and the subsequent movement of the masses was no more a conspiracy than theflocking of dots in those computer simulations of traffic flow.
"I see I haven't yet convinced you of the malice in allof this, Mr Luck," she replied. "Verywell. Then I will tell you how I came toknow it. I'd hoped not to have to tellyou this yet; I would have preferred you discover it independently so you wouldn'tthink me paranoid or a drama queen. Thefact of the matter is, I'm the victim of a shake down. There's a group going round extorting moneyfrom venues in the metaverse. You paythem monthly and they ensure your reputation 'remains intact'. I was approached a couple of months ago byone of their representatives. And Irefused to pay, Mr Luck."
Metaverse extortion. Suddenly, this case was altogether more interesting.
Part three will be published on Friday...
I of course have – as would any good metaverse detective– a veritable army of alts. I have touse an Excel spreadsheet just to keep track of them: in addition to all the IDsand passwords, there's their gender, sexuality, appearance, age, attractiveness,species and identifiable personality traits to record. Then there's the places they hung out in on previouscases and the names of key people they met (with one asterisk to denote if Ithey might be inclined to try to kill me if they ever met me in RL and two if Ihad sex with them). I try not to takethem where they might be recognised.
Back in the office, Honeycomb Crumbled was answering byherself some of the questions my primary hadn't yet got around to asking, likeif she'd actually verified that some of the dancers at Dominoes were previouslyher guests at Frederick's. It was nolonger an important question, since Cassandra and Trigger were now locked inslow dance number three across black and white tiles whilst an ad for Cialisplayed over the music stream. Burnished,I decided, was a dead end – or would be after a half hour or so. Whilst she arranged pose balls that requireda standing position from me for the next few minutes, I asked Cassandra whatwas so good about our new venue in a way I hoped made it looked like I wascalculating the probability of the move being a step closer to fuckingher. After a fashion, she replied justthat there were more people there. I putit to Honeycomb that sometimes all it took was just one or two people in theright moment to check some other place out – maybe a sim crash had occurred atFrederick's one evening and a couple had relocated simply out of impatience –and the subsequent movement of the masses was no more a conspiracy than theflocking of dots in those computer simulations of traffic flow.
"I see I haven't yet convinced you of the malice in allof this, Mr Luck," she replied. "Verywell. Then I will tell you how I came toknow it. I'd hoped not to have to tellyou this yet; I would have preferred you discover it independently so you wouldn'tthink me paranoid or a drama queen. Thefact of the matter is, I'm the victim of a shake down. There's a group going round extorting moneyfrom venues in the metaverse. You paythem monthly and they ensure your reputation 'remains intact'. I was approached a couple of months ago byone of their representatives. And Irefused to pay, Mr Luck."
Metaverse extortion. Suddenly, this case was altogether more interesting.
Part three will be published on Friday...
