Q ~ Buy More Rice

Blame Mercenary Tigress Lianne for tonight's events. She took from
her room a bottle of German fig vodka and lunked its sole down on the
harpy table, saying, "I can't stand this stuff, so if anyone else wants
it they're welcome to it."

The bottle was fatter than your average and sloped like silver flab
rolling down from the hips. It's cap was lime green, waxy and moulded
to seem as if it were dripping down the side of the glass. Hen had a
free evening, so he poured himself a kind tumbler full and topped it up
at regular intervals, until he was gagging and his nose was corrugated.
Si?n took his tumbler away, and Lianne withdrew what remained of her
foreign vodka, at least to the other side of the table. Helen made
everyone tea, and Mary produced a chocolate box.

Hen was drinking his tea and pouring over the chocolates when Manley
arrived, his shoulders slouched.

"The tea our harpies make is better than the tea you get in The Bowl,"
Hen told him, stirring the cup with his finger, "But! There's nothing
sweet as the coffee with caramel that they do in The Hive. Thaz scrum.
I am enjoying this though thoroughly. Thank you, Helen."

"Your very welcome, boy," Helen sang, sitting cross-legged on the floor
at the end of the table with her tea, since all the seats were
taken.

Manley propped himself up against the cupboards, eyeing up the
chocolates greedily, and Hen leant forward across the table, which
tipped towards him and croaked.

"Now, lizzen, Manley. I was reading the Zun again thiz morning, and
those letters."
"Hen," scoffed Manley. "Have you been drinking?"
"He's drunk most of Lianne's fig vodka," warned Si?n, hauling Hen back
into his seat.
"Here's something," Hen continued, struggling against her effort.
"Pro-hanging types do not prezent a good argument for hanging, but they
do reprezent one. What's with them killers, eh? They're all zadists.
There's always room for zadists - zadists always bay so loud. Like
danzes with wolvez with megaphones."

"Oh, dear," Helen sympathised, almost simultaneous with:

"Yes, dear," agreed Si?n, almost synchronic with:

"Hmm," hmmed Besse, almost same time as:

"Oo," ooed Mary.

"Yeah, but what can you do, eh?" said Lianne. "Forget about it."

Manley tutted - up went his eyebrows - and together went his hands.
The conversation went elsewhere, and to Hen it was an orgiastic hubbub
- so he turned to the chocolate box groggily, and the descriptions that
were looped like skywriting under the illustrations. He showed them to
Manley, who tittered and muffled himself.

'Swirls of golden caramel wrapped in thick, dark chocolate,' it said,
and, 'a rich, fudge centre surrounded by luxurious dark chocolate,' and
so on.

"Catacombs of um?rose-zented toffee? entombed in a dark
chocolate?zarcophagus!" boomed Hen.

"An entire civilisation of strawberry ice cream? buried alive under
volcanic chocolate?rock," volunteered Manley.

"Chocolate black as a charred?.zmokeeey Night, enshrouds a gypsy
caravan of thieving Iriss coffee," moaned Hen.

"A sunken city of, er? ripe passion fruit sorbet, thousands of?
nautical miles below an oily?. ocean of chocolate!" Manley stumbled,
throwing his arms up.

And Hen tried out his ironic racism, muttering, "You know what makes
me mad?"

"What?" asks Manley, suspiciously.

"Jews! They're everywhere - zomeone should burn them!"

The harpies sighed. Si?n jabbed Hen with an elbow. Manley covered his
eyes and ears and mouth one after the other and shook his head,
groaning.

"Hen. You'll get into trouble. Never say anything like that out in
public or you'll be lynched, and so will I, probably!"

"But izz ironic," protested Hen.

"They won't get it. Trust me."

"You're wrong, Manley. The situation's even worse. Zome'd agree.
They're only pretendin to be ssivilized. Maybe not so many for Jews
azfer Arbs, say, but still you know, they cud use me azza
rattrap!"

"I think there's still a good lot who'd prefer to lynch you."

"It's all about what you buy into. Lizzen! It's all about what you buy
into and wash your brain of. Example, I buy into Leonard Cohen, but you
uproared contemptussly at the line, 'While silence blozzoms like
tumours on our lips,' which Leonard wrote. And look, neither of uz buy
into chocolate box dezcriptions, so we find them funny instead. Like
the Zun Zays, and like the whole, blezzed state. We fight fire with
fire, old man."

Hen came back down to the kitchen a little while later as the effects
wore down. Besse had retreated to the cooking cove to make a plate of
toast, which she then put down on the table. Hen and Manley made their
hands leap at it.

Your dog will beg for more.