The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 463

In which dude looks like a lady and a dude.

I who fuck what? Andrew thought, just enough of his superego simultaneously grinding back online that the phrasing embarrassed him. On the topic of embarassment, his ego informed him, he was lying naked on the cold steel floor, his pasty white ass scraping against the rivets as he breathed, fully obscured from the world by the rest of his pasty white bulk. His pasty white penis, inexplicably erect, waved cheerfully to the world but made no apologies on behalf of him, his ass, or its trembling self.

“I,” said Andrew, and he tried to think of something better to say than “who fuck what,” but it’s what he said anyway.

“That was lovely,” Beatriz crooned, tenting her fingers and gazing ceilingward, dreamily. “You’re almost as talented a poet as you are a lover.” She was bathed in white light as the accidentally-activated cloning lab systems slowly, slowly wound down, banishing all shadows from her curvilinear form and, conveniently enough for my purposes, from the illustrations as well.

Andrew looked up at her, and his id explained to him why his penis was still erect.

About half of Andrew sat up, feeling like one single, complete Andrew. It said “My dick feels weird.” It rubbed its eyes, in an alternate reality where it wasn’t still wearing its gold-rimmed spectacles. In the reality we’re currently considering, to see whether we like it or not, this Andrew banged his knuckles on the lenses and swore.

“Fuck,” he said, his voice ringing unusually high in his own ears. “Remind me to pass out more conveniently next time. Put my glasses in a case, that sort of thing.”

He blinked, staring through the spectacles at Beatriz’s shapely legs – “I’ve got nice legs, eh?” she said – and the threatening black metal wall looming behind her.

Something was wrong.

“…something’s wrong,” he said.

“Not with my legs,” said Beatriz. “That’s not even a question.”

“My nose,” said Andrew. “My nose looks wrong.”

Even peripherally, it did look wrong. He tried and failed to cross his eyes, to get a better look.
He struggled to his feet, surprised at how easy it was considering how tired he’d been after how much he’d been fucking Beatriz. He felt like he was stepping out of a glue trap; he pointedly didn’t look down to see why that was the case. He took a deep breath, and his chest heaved, and that’s when he realized that his chest wasn’t his chest anymore.

His chest was a woman’s chest.

“…more than my nose looks wrong,” he amended.

Beatriz regarded him, or rather her, coolly. “For an out-of-shape middle-aged woman, you look pretty good, actually,” she said. Andrew’s beard was mostly gone, although an even coat of stubble ran across his jawline up to his spiked grey hair, which hadn’t changed at all. His nose was more gracefully curved, but he still had Stephen’s dipshit brown eyes and Abigail’s camgirl-white skin. His lips were a fleshy, feminine pink, but then they always had been.

His breasts, most notably, were now breasts; almost as noticeable, if one looked down, as Beatriz was now doing, was that his penis was now a vagina, or rather the future home of a vagina, once the skintones got updated.

Beatriz watched him carefully as he walked over to the emitter on the floor, in the centre of the test chamber. “What horrible thing have we done,” Andrew muttered rhetorically.

“We have discovered the absolute bottom,” said Beatriz, looking at him from behind, “of bottoms.

“What?” he said, still staring at the emitter.

“Your ass,” she said. “It’s somehow worse now that you’re an old woman. I didn’t even think that was possible.

“You didn’t even think what was possible?” asked Andrew.

From the floor.

Andrew turned around, and looked down, as Andrew turned around, and looked up, from the floor. Like an alternate universe counterpart to the first Andrew, the second Andrew reached up and rubbed his eyes, no eyeglasses in sight. “I’m glad I passed out so conveniently,” he said. “Put my glasses in a case, or something.”

He looked exhausted, and sunburned, and at himself looking at himself.

He blinked, staring bleary-eyed at the other Andrew’s shapeless legs and the welcoming sight of Beatriz standing behind her. “Oh,” he said. “Hello. And also what the fuck.

“Yeah,” said the female Andrew, staring at him, lips pursed. “I was thinking the same thing. Which, you know, shouldn’t really be surprising.”

The male Andrew staggered to his feet, a pulsating redness radiating outward from his crotch, which still felt like it was on fire – but at least, the female Andrew noted, there was still a fucking penis there.

“I think,” the male Andrew said, “we underwent complete cellular mitosis?”

The female Andrew nodded. “And my cells won the spectacles.”

The male Andrew nodded back. He nodded deeply.

He fell over backward.

* II *

“Come on, asshole,” a familiar but oddly musical voice implored him. “Wake your dumb ass up so we can go get some exposition from mom.” The meaning struck him at about the same moment as the full glass of water did; coughing, spluttering, he crawled to a sitting position, thankful that his doppelganger had at least kept her grip on the glass.

“You guys have fun with that,” said Beatriz, heading for the stairs as the male Andrew rubbed the back of his head, groaning. “I don’t think I want to be a fly on that particular wall.”

“Fuck, yeah,” said the male Andrew. “How are we gonna explain this?

“We’re not,” said the female Andrew. “At least, not the part where we were fucking some random chick in the lab.”

“Oh,” said Beatriz, suddenly grinning, standing at the rail. “I’m not some random chick, but I’ll wait until you’ve put yourselves back together before dropping that particular bomb.”

“I don’t like any of these particulars,” said the male Andrew, leaning back on his female legs. He was panting. “And I don’t think we’re putting anything back together today. This isn’t like that bad episode of Star Trek.” He paused. “This is like a different bad episode of Star Trek,” he conceded.

The second glass of water struck the top of his head, soaking his hair and running down over his face. He glared up at Beatriz, who was still holding the glass. She was smiling.

“I’m AWAKE,” he shouted.

“I know,” said Beatriz. “I just wanted to drop a load on you. Turnabout’s fair play!”

“Niiiiiice,” said the female Andrew, shooting finger guns at her.

“I think this is more of a “Turnabout Intruder“-style situation,” the male Andrew muttered, once again clambering to his feet.

“Would you believe me,” said Beatriz, “if I claimed not to understand that reference?”

“No,” said the female Andrew. “Somehow you look super nerdy to me, even under all the hotness.”

“Don’t put too much thought into the somehow,” Beatriz responded archly, arching an eyebrow, also archly.

The male Andrew rubbed his face, wincing at the soreness and heat. “If we split evenly,” he said, “Why aren’t her cells all bruised?”

“Maybe cellular mitosis doesn’t condone violence against women,” Beatriz suggested, tenting her fingers again and cooing softly to herself.

“Why are you so fucking chuffed?” the male Andrew asked her, gesturing at her naked body with his hands and his still-erect penis. “And why did my brain come up with the word “chuffed”?”

“I just love drama,” said Beatriz, walking down the stairs and heading for the exit. “And this is gonna be some hella dramatic.”

“What are we gonna say?” the male Andrew asked the female Andrew.

“Variations on “sorry,” I expect,” she replied.

“Very funny,” he said. “But seriously! She’s gonna flip her witch lid when we tell her what we’ve been doing.”

“Nah,” she said, waving one hand dismissively. “She’s a scientist. By the time she flips her witch lid she’ll be into her third or fourth round of diagnostics, and you’ll long since have gone home to sleep off your sunburn.”

* III *

“Go home,” Abigail snapped at the assorted townies standing around the frozen fountain behind her lab. Someone had poured dish detergent into it; most of it was piled on the ice, although the occasional bubble emerged as the falling snow began to melt in mid-air.

“We don’t have a home,” said a blonde-haired female townie; Abigail could never remember their names, no matter how hard she didn’t try.

“Well then just go away,” Abigail sighed.

“You sound like you’re in a bad mood,” said Beatriz, from behind her. Abigail turned around and was only mostly surprised to see that her variant was completely nude. “Wanna hear somethin’ fuckin’ funny?

“I don’t trust your sense of humour,” Abigail told her. “Or anything else about you.”

“That’s good!” said Beatriz. “If you’d mistrusted me enough to send me packing earlier, I never would’ve accidentally fucked a female Andrew clone into existence!”

“You did what now?” said Abigail, staring at Beatriz’s pointy pink nipples, a rising sense of unreality tugging one corner of her lip upwards.

“It made sense to me,” said the blonde townie, from behind her. “Grammatically-speaking.”

* IV *

“Yes, fine, I fucked her,” said the original Andrew. “In your lab, next to all your expensive equipment. But look on the bright side! Now you’ve got a third daughter, and you didn’t even have to fuck dad to get her!”

“Like she wants another one of you,” said Beatriz, pointedly avoiding Abigail’s furious glare.

“Fuck your face,” he replied, companionably.

“Hi,” said Abigail, shaking the new Andrew’s hand, smiling, trying not to stare through the glass at the townie wandering around in the control room. “What’s your name?”

“Wander,” said Wander, the female formerly known as Andrew.

“You’re lucky “Andrew” anagrams so easily,” said Abigail.

“I’m lucky I can do anagrams in my head,” said Wander. “Most scientists can’t do anything literary with paper and pens in hand!”

* V *

“What are you doing,” Andrew asked.

“I just thought…” the grey-haired townie sighed.

“You just thought you’d walk into our lab and steal our heat?” He was annoyed that she wasn’t turning to look at him. “You were randomly generated with a nice warm winter jacket, that’s better than most real homeless people get.”

“Yeah,” said the townie, still not looking at him. “But it’s not sunburning-my-naked-flesh warm, like this place apparently is!”

He looked down at his chapped red body and sighed.

“I think my outfit data got chewed up in the cloning process,” he muttered.

* VI *

“Well,” said Abigail, “I guess you don’t have to spend your entire life in here.” She headed for the stairs.

“You’re not gonna dissect me?” Wander asked. “Or have me disassembled at the molecular level, or anything?”

“Depends,” said Abigail.

“On what?”

“On whether you keep your room clean,” said Abigail. “And do your chores.” On a whim she turned back and walked over to the emitter. “I still don’t see how this thing did… what it did,” she said.

Yeah, because what it ORIGINALLY did made SO MUCH MORE SENSE.

“This an ugly nudist colony?” asked the grey-haired townie, from the bottom of the stairs.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Abigail spat. “My facilities have been compromised enough for one day!”

“Sure, sure, I get it,” said the townie. “You don’t want us poors getting access to your body part cloning factory.”

* VII *

Beatriz sat down on the bench, feeling the faint coating of snow melting under her body heat.

“Got a light?” Sullivan asked her, on the other end of the bench.

“I don’t smoke,” said Beatriz. “And also I’m naked, so where…?”

“I don’t smoke either,” said Sullivan. “But I was gonna offer to smoke these fuckin’ townies for you.”

“Hey,” said a fuckin’ townie, standing behind the bench, shearing the frost-rimed plaza hedges. “I’m not gonna stand here and do seasonally-inappropriate background nonsense if that’s how you’re gonna be.”

* VIII *

“Why,” said Andrew.

“Because I’m lonely,” said the blonde townie woman, holding him close.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” said Andrew, “for hugging strangers.

“She’s actually stealing your body heat,” said the old townie, from behind her.

* IX *

“Okay,” said Abigail. “Whyever you’re here, you’re here. So you might as well be here and clothed.

“You’ve got clothes in my size?” asked Wander.

“No,” said Abigail. “I definitely don’t have old potato woman clothes.” She stared at Andrew’s spectacles, perched pinchily on Wander’s nose, and suddenly she had to ask. “Are you… are you Andrew?

“I don’t know,” said Wander. “I have Andrew’s memories, but… well… none of his memories say anything about a vagina.

Abigail stuck her tongue out of one side of her mouth and nodded, thoughtfully. “Let’s see if we can’t get you something,” she said, heading for the door again, “to cover up that vagina.”

“Sweet deal,” said Wander, firing finger guns in her general direction.

“Actually,” said Abigail, just moments after leaving the back of the lab and heading ’round the side for the front doors. “Let me try something first.”

* X *

“What I don’t understand,” said the blonde townie, “is how you’re having kids at your age!”

“Men’s bodies don’t really work the same way as women’s bodies,” said Andrew. “But neither gender at any age generally has babies which are the same age as themselves.”

* XI *

Abigail typed rapid-fire and with flourish, just the way I do when I write these chapters, because we are both pretty cool people.

“Right,” said Abigail. “I’m pretty, and cool, and you’re people.”

“Will this hurt?” Wander asked, from behind the glass.

“Not as much as I’d hurt you,” said Abigail, “if I caught you macking on your relatives.”

“So you’re gonna set my family ties?” Wander asked, swaying back and forth, standing on the emitter. Abigail looked up briefly, saw the sagging white ass flopping about and went back to her calculations with a vengeance.

“That’s the idea,” said Abigail.

“Good,” said Wander. “It would be really gross if I accidentally had sex with a relative, or something.”

“Hahaha,” said Abigail.

“That laugh didn’t sound right,” said Wander.

“Hahaha,” said Abigail.

In the test chamber, up to her ankles in experimental emitter, Wander was having second thoughts. “How do I know this isn’t just your way of getting rid of me?” she asked.

“If I wanted to get rid of you,” said Abigail, “I’d remind the Maker what a waste of time most of my kids have been.”

She tapped out the final lines of code and struck the RETURN key. “There was really just the one good one,” she added.

“Now there’s two,” said Wander. “Of just the one good one.”

Cascading lines of coruscating green and blue danced over Wander’s body as the ceiling emitters dropped like four dark blue, metal, light-emitting testicles. Abigail turned away from the flash as Wander’s body turned translucent, then completely white, like a Wander-shaped portal into a nothing dimension.

“I really need to get some goggles,” said Abigail.

When the light in the control room went back to its normal abnormal brightness she headed back to the console, desultorily tapping out a few new commands, backspacing frequently, furiously.

“He’s got me all self-conscious about my typing, now,” Abigail grumbled.


“How much longer is this gonna take?” Wander asked.

“However long it takes the Maker to think of something more interesting for us to do,” Abigail replied. The emitters turned slightly and fired again, and this time Wander felt an itch she couldn’t scratch, because it was inside of her; inside of her insides, in fact, all of them, all at once.

“Hey,” said Wander. “What’re you doing now?

“Not much point in being born old, is there, would you say?” Abigail responded.

“You’re de-aging me?” Wander asked, closing her eyes against the flood of neon dance light.

“I’m honestly surprised you climbed out of Andrew as an elder,” said Abigail, watching the readout carefully. “Conservation of detail would seem to suggest you’d both come out… teenaged.”

Yeah, but who would want that?

“Fair point,” said Abigail.

Teenagers are the worst.

“This feels FANTASTIC,” Wander shouted, stretching back, feeling her spine lock. “Except for how my spine is locking.”

“Maybe wait to celebrate your new-found youth until after you’ve new-found it,” Abigail suggested, wincing.

Wander’s limbs were flailing about in the test chamber, rubbery, seemingly unethered to any particular joints or muscles or bones or sense of decorum. “I feel like my arms are made of jelly!” she shouted. “And my vagina is made of increasingly-less-old vagina!”

Abigail keyed up the exterior cameras and saw that the solar panels on the roof were sparking. She turned the cameras upward; was it possible that the sun was slightly dimmer than usual?

“We’re using a lot of power,” said Abigail. “I hope we don’t use up the sun.”

“I HOPE MY ARMS DON’T GET STUCK LIKE THIS,” shouted Wander. They were bent backwards over her head, hands gripping wrists in two inexplicable death grips.

“You’re really worming around in there,” said Abigail. “Any particular reason?”


“That’s not good,” said Abigail. “You shouldn’t have any gluons.”

There was a loud CRACK, and Abigail knew a bolt of lightning had just struck the power apparatus on the roof. “There’s that crack I was waiting for,” said Abigail. “My dealer came through!”

Maker’s got you covered, baby.

* XII *

“Fucking… go away,” muttered Andrew, straining to see around the bulk of the grey-haired townie’s coat. He was sitting in the small observation alcove, trying to watch his clone become his young clone.

“Or what?” said the old woman, slouching down. “You’ll involve me in an actual storyline? Oh, no. Please. Don’t.”

* XIII *


“Is that good?” Abigail asked.

“I CAN FEEL MY OPINION ON WHETHER OR NOT IT’S GOOD CHANGING,” Wander bellowed. There was a burst of fire from the emitter at her feet, and she felt all her aches and pains and weariness and skin and muscle and bone burn away.

“Hey-o,” said Wander, as the flames died down. She felt thirty years younger, and at least ten times hotter, and at least ten times more attractive.

“You young in there yet?” Abigail asked.

“If my libido’s anything to go by,” Wander responded. “I think this is what they call wanderlust.

As the ceiling emitters retracted into their niches, and the niches disappeared, Abigail undisappeared in a flash of light and sparkles. “Don’t soil my test chamber with your bad jokes,” she said, the sound hollow and echoey before she fully materialized. “How do you feel?”

“With my senses,” said Wander.

“WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU,” Abigail snapped. She looked Wander up and down and said “So.” Then she said. “You feel like an asshole.

“Yep,” said Wander. “One particular asshole, about thirty years ago.”

“Guess it worked, then,” said Abigail, noting Wander’s blonde hair, blonde pubic hair, and blonde facial hair. “Except for the part where you need a shave.”

“That’s right!” said Wander, rubbing her stubble. “Women don’t have to shave.”

“Oh, my sweet child,” said Abigail, hooding her eyes and smiling sadly. “I have such terrible news for you.”

* XIV *

“Can you teach me to beam myself around?” Wander asked. “I don’t like being dematerialized against my will.”

“You’ve been materialized, and de-materialized, against your will several times already,” said Abigail as the fruity-coloured sparkles spun out in the recycled air.

“That’s how I know I don’t like it,” said Wander. She looked across the control room to where Andrew was sitting in an expensive, uncomfortable-looking blue chair (and, more immediately, in an expensive, uncomfortable-looking brown suit), next to a wavy mirror on the wall. “Who’s the fairest of them all?” she called over to him.

“Not a female version of me,” he replied. “That’s for sure.”

She walked over to the mirror, and he watched her as she walked. “Wow,” he said. “You look like… Brandi Bertino.” He paused. “The… I want to say second Brandi Bertino? There’s two of them.”

“Do our skintones look the same?” Wander asked.

“The curvy parts do,” Andrew muttered.

“I’m gonna cover up the curvy parts,” said Wander, “just as soon as I lose this beard.

“Call that a beard,” Andrew chuckled.

“For a woman,” Wander said, “it’s pretty bad.” She looked down at her bare crotch. “I wonder if I can transfer some of this to the pubic region.”

She felt a sudden rush of air behind her and jumped so high she nearly hit her head on the blue concrete ceiling. “DID YOU JUST TELEPORT,” she yelled, “FIFTEEN FUCKING FEET?”

“I need to save my strength,” said Abigail with an eerie echo as she solidified, regarding Wander almost as coolly as Beatriz had regarded Andrew, several thousand words ago. “For putting up with two of you.”

“Gonna give a guy a heart attack,” muttered Wander.

“Girl,” said Abigail. “Guess that’ll take some getting used to.”

“No,” said Wander. “I meant ‘guy’. Look at him! Old fucker.”

“She’s allowed to say that,” said Andrew, closing his eyes. “On account of she’s me.”

“I think you’ll find,” said Wander, “that I’m me.

“I am he,” said Andrew. “And she is me.”

“And you are me,” Wander sang.

“And we are all wasting time,” Abigail finished. “Make with the mirroring.”

“Yeah,” said Andrew, trying not to look at Wander. “I’m kinda getting sick of having my tits flashed at me.”

Wander stared into the mirror, doing whatever Sims do to make radical changes to themselves through sheer willpower. “Any requests, other than the no-beard?” she asked.

“Can you put genitals on your skintone?” Andrew asked. “Your skintone doesn’t have genitals.”

“Thanks,” said Wander. “Thanks. It’s not at all creepy of you to notice that.”

She turned to look at him. “Don’t make a creep out of us.”

“Says the chick with the incredible disappearing facial hair,” he said, as her facial hair, incredibly, disappeared.

“Fuckin’ weird,” he muttered. “Always is.”

“Got any of Andrew’s old clothes in here?” Wander asked rhetorically, rifling though the drawers of an old white IKEA dresser.

Yep. Automatically.

“Any of them fit me?” she asked.

Nope. Game’s not built that way.

“So I’m stuck with whatever you bought for mom but didn’t like,” she sighed.

No, you can also choose from whatever I bought for Beatriz and didn’t like, too.

“Beatriz is basically mom,” Wander muttered, closing the top drawer.

That’s a very pessimistic angle for you, of all people, to take.

“Yeah,” said Abigail, walking out the front double doors, finger-gunning her. “And dangerous, for reasons you hopefully haven’t figured out yet. But look on the bright side! Existence is an ontological nightmare with no end, even in death!”

* XV *

“Are you gonna take all day?” Andrew asked. “Should I bum some youth potion off mom, in case I die of old age before you pick something?”

“Well,” said Wander, “I mean fucking LOOK at this shit.” She was now dressed in a ratty, moth-eaten yellow sweater with a pair of brown jeans that looked for all the world like they’d been fashioned out of cardboard, or maybe wet paper bags. “The fucking wrinkles are symmetrical, it’s tragic.

* XVI *

“How’re the Wander Twins making out?” Beatriz asked, yawning, lying lazily on the bench.

“If they are making out,” said Abigail, rounding the corner to meet her, “I’m tearing up those machines and making new ones.”

“New machines or new Andrew and Wanders?” asked Beatriz, wriggling lazily to a sitting position.

“It changes, moment by moment,” said Abigail, wringing her aching hands. She’d had enough screwdrivering for one day.

* XVII *

“What do you think?” asked Wander. She’d settled on one of Andrew’s old white labcoats, name plate included – the plate only carried his last name, which she figured was also hers, and his credentials, which she figured were also also hers – and a shirt too blue to survive even a single load of laundry.

I think you look like a pharmaceutical commercial.

“A cute one, though?” she asked.

For a pharmaceutical commercial made out of Andrew, yeah, you look pretty cute.

“I don’t care if she looks cute,” said Andrew, still in the chair, hands in his lap. “As long as she looks READY TO LEAVE.”


“How fucking COULD you?” Abigail demanded, just barely restraining the urge to slap her sort-of sister in her sort-of-sister’s version of their shared face.

“With my fucking genitals,” said Beatriz, reasonably. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you make me a Romance Sim so I could not have sex with the entire neighbourhood?”

“I didn’t expect you to start with my kids!” Abigail yelled.

“Well obviously,” said Beatriz, “or you’d have checked the family tie stuff sooner! So maybe I figured you’d be getting around to it eventually, and I needed to hurry if I was going to, pardon the parlance, “catch ’em all”!”


* XIX *

“Is this weird?” asked Andrew, patting her on the back of her lab coat. His lab coat. Their lab coat?

“It’s nice,” said Wander, hugging him back.

“But is it weird?” Andrew repeated.

“Of course it’s weird,” said Wander. “When I go to masturbate tonight, I’m not gonna know where to put my fingers.”

He stiffened.

“Oh,” she said, grinning. “You meant hugging myself?”

* XX *

“And another thing!” Abigail snapped, pointing one finger at Beatriz.

“Poink!” said Beatriz, tapping the finger’s tip with one of her own.


“They’re NOT MY NEPHEWS!” Beatriz snarled. “I’m not really you! I’m not your sister! I’m not your clone! I’m an idealized Romance Sim with your memories, probably, and a version of your appearance that didn’t wear out its vagina on some flaccid doofy Murphy-dick and then wear it out further by squeezing out seven goo-brained Murphy dorks!

She paused. “Did you like that? I’ve been rehearsing it.”

* XXI *

“What’re you writing about?” Wander asked, as Andrew sat on the floor and carved an entry in his diary with a blue-handled scalpel because game glitches are weird.

“You,” said Andrew. “And how cool you are.”

“Bit self-serving, isn’t it?” Wander asked, idly spinning the pieces of the science puzzle which she and all science-loving Sims can apparently produce out of thin air.

“Nothing wrong with self-serve,” he said, closing the book and discarding it into thin air. “Especially when, statistically, there’s more of your self than there is of all other selves but one!”

Wander swung the double doors open and walked out into the cool, early winter air. “The snow’s all gone,” she remarked.

Andrew nodded, walking along the edge of the lab, snapping his fingers and banging one fist into an open palm, wishing she hadn’t hogged the inexplicable science toy. “Winter’s passed into spring,” he said.

“What?” she said. “Winter’s only just started!”

“Not for me,” he said, disappearing around the side of the building.

* XXII *

“YOU WANNA GO?” Beatriz asked, inches from Abigail, chest puffed out, grinning in spite of herself. “YOU WANNA GO?”

YOU WANNA GO?!” Abigail shot back, her chest puffed out too, also starting to grin.

“You both wanna go,” said Sullivan, binoculars on the horizon. “Unless you want to get shat on by a shat-load of geese.”

Andrew came around the side of the lab, waving his arms in the air. “NO GEESE,” he shouted. “FUCK GEESE!”

“Geese,” said Beatriz, thoughtfully, “might be the only things I wouldn’t fuck.”

A townie, the one I think looks like the concept of the Barenaked Ladies, rose up out of the hedges, waves of stank radiating off of him in every direction, pointing at Beatriz. “Oh?” he said, thick black eyebrows waggling beneath the frame of his black indie nerd glasses.

“Okay,” said Beatriz. “Maybe there’s more than one category of thing.

“NOBODY’S FUCKING ANYBODY,” said Andrew. “The chapter’s over! We’re going home.”

“Where I definitely haven’t mustered an army of geese, shitting and squawking and honking their desire for bloody, violent revenge,” said Sullivan, appearing at the corner of the lab.

“Yeah,” said Andrew. “Where that hasn’t happened.”

“Did you actually?” Abigail asked, as Sullivan walked past her.

“If there’s any alternate realities worth living in,” he said, not really looking at her, “yes.”

Andrew looked over at Beatriz, blushed, and looked over at Wander. He blushed again.

“Remind me to fix your family ties,” Abigail muttered.

“You’re no fun at all, Abby,” said Beatriz, flourishing her magic wand and feeling the cool winter breeze ruffle the edges of her short skirt.

“That’s why I made you,” said Abigail, conjuring up her broomstick and grinning in spite of herself, and in spite of her other self, too. “So I can be fun, and be mad at myself for it at the same time.”

“We’re such a bitch,” said Beatriz as she watched her sister fly off into the sky. When Abigail was gone she produced her own broom, an ostentatious blue number with a ridiculous blue jewel perched on the end, and hopped on. She tilted the broom back and her skirt fell away, revealing her silky-smooth legs and her silky-smooth, by vaginal standards, vagina to the world.

“Using air travel to go door-to-door,” she laughed. “That’s not sustainable.”

But, like the vagina to the world that she was, like everything else she did, she proceeded to do it regardless.

Next time: filling some holes.

This chapter depicts gameplay from 26 December 2012.

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