M is for Myg

It started out as one of those perfect Philly evenings. In Little Philadelphia (Topgol, 200, 101, 55), it is always late summer. It feels like August did when you were a kid. School looms on the horizon, but you have weeks of relaxation behind you. It’s after dinner and your belly is full of your mother’s cooking—hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, knackwurst and sauerbraten and bean pies. There’s a game of kick the can and you’re sneaking off to make out around the corner in the red-orange glow of the sun as it sets in the unknown country between the York and Allentown mills. But since we’re all grown up now, we just remember those days, hanging on the street and talking, passing the time and telling the stories that make meaning of our lives as they come together on this far-flung sim at the edge of the galaxy. Here we were last night (I’m not in the scene because I took the picture):

Myg was pretending to show off her new riot bike, but really just as much showing off her cute ass in the pair of boxers she lifted out of my loft. I have to admit, they look better on her. Romana was schooling me in textures, and Torvalpac was subdued—a rare state for him—due to a string of bad luck that makes a craps table seem like a good option.

Deciding to continue her quest to petition for Torvalpac’s reinstatement into Baku (133, 148, 33), Myg did a couple of foot jam endos and fakie rollbacks on her bike and tp’d out. Romana, T-valPac, and I wandered off down the street to loaf in front of the Wawa. We were chatting with Gala while she ran maintenance routines on a couple of her lofts (the work of a landbish is never done), and Sable, who was looking even more alluring than usual. So alluring was Sable that I was unable to concentrate and failed to take any photographs of her. I was still being distracted, when Romana shouted, “Oh my God! What is *that *?”

We all looked and saw flames and smoke pouring out of Jovanna’s loft—right next to Wei 2008 HQ! Tupac and I sprang into action. I remembered that only fools rush in, so I grabbed my camera and began snapping away. Tupac, meanwhile, being dressed for the occasion in protective red armor, dashed straight into the conflagration to save the helpless Jovanna. You can see him above, in red, in the orange flames engulfing the rear of the first floor, and again below through a side window. I was making sure to hold down the photography end of the operation from the safety of the exterior, not wanting to expose my Nikon to excess heat.

Using some weird space technology, Tupac was able to nullify the effects of the blaze. There was very little damage to the place, much to Romana’s relief (it’s one of her newest rental units). A preliminary investigation reveals some indicators that the fire was suspicious. One theory being put forward by sources close to the fire commissioner is that Jovanna may have set the fire herself to attract attention and play damsel in distress, hoping for some large, well-built, well-hung man to come and, um, “rescue” her. So take note: any of you avs out there with a wardrobe that includes attire appropriate for SL’s bravest, you’re needed in Little Philadelphia.

This entry was posted on Friday, March 30th, 2007 at 12:27 am and is filed under Burgess.