“Well, now!” cries Benjamin Pond, lifting the champagne flute full of sloshing violet water which he’d claimed earlier and quite violently from a passing tray, “Are there any eats to be had in this sizeable coppice of fancy fishbowls?”
A tan hand trims the fat from his excesses, smacking him lightly ‘cross the back of his vehement, nodding head of flopsy brown rabbit hair.
The hair bounces as her fingers leave him, and he can feel her touch escaping his senses. Before she leaves him, her fingertips scratch lightly in his scalp, and suddenly he imagines his head as a forest made from the backs of field mice as they run in twilight gardens.
Lights flicker from somewhere.
His wife’s laughter echoes across the room, filtering the scene that dances over the big hanging screen made of crystallized seaweed. The strands of sea-life move back and forth like a wind chime, tinkling as they hit each other.
All the fish in the fishbowls are turning to face them, because the nice seaweed view-screen is now showing pictures of giant trees growing from the backs of field mice.
“I take it you’re having a good time with the telepathy weed!” a blue-gilled, thin silver minnow says casually, the words bubbling up from her bowl’s translator cube with only a very slight lag.
“Look at that, River!” Benjamin nods his wife a yes as he calls out, shouting over his shoulder at her.
The white-toga’d woman in gold curls stares, meditating on his face as though the sun is shining at her.
She turns, as though the moon is winking at her.
She laughs, as though the…
“River are you going to get over here? I want to kiss you rather badly!”