What really happened was... no lunch, no wine, no tribespersons bearing platters of desert delicacies. No sand-ripened scorpion-hearts in sticky date sauce.
No. What really happened was that the thrice-dusted Islimiri drew himself up to his full height (rendering himself ahead behind the monstrous JackJill) and began shaking his robes vigorously.
As well, strangely enough, a tribesperson of diminutive stature and cognition, who had crept into the tent without anyone noticing, took hold of one of the buttock-rugs and began shaking it vigorously. Clouds of what looked like dust filled the air as Islimiri and his short shaker shook themselves and their rugs mysteriously to no apparent purpose.
“What in Belial’s name are they doing?” whispered Selestin into Clothilde’s ear.
Being discourteous, it would seem, silently she replied, “Being courteous it would seem”. Then vocalised her thoughts and said aloud, “The Funnees are renowned for their hospitality. They share everything they own with guests, or travellers, or travelling guests if you must.”
“What are they sharing, sand? Or dust?” smirked JillJack.
Clothilde paused before responding, her huge green eyes inquisitively interrogating the scene before her.
“No, not dust. Desert sandfleas. Of the family Pulicidae. They are much prized in Funnee culture as a self-storing foodstuff. “
“Oh puhleeze, pull the other one,” said JillJack. “He’s shaking himself so his fleas can jump onto us so that we can carry them around and eat them at a later date? You better lay off that Foo-foo juice, you’re hallucinating or something.”
“Keep your voice down!” hissed Clothilde.
JackJill turned down zer volume slightly. “Well I for two ain’t gonna eat his fuckin’ fleas,” ze rumbled softly.
Dire Lord Cappuccino raised a simianistic warning eyebrow. The alien’s message was clear: eat the fleas or die a slow and horrible death.
“It may be absurd,” said Clothilde, “but we must do it. It is the gravest insult to refuse the Gift of Fleas. It is a great honour they bestow upon us, and to refuse the Gift could bring terrible doings down on our heads. The Funnees are very very serious about hospitality.”
“Hospitality? Is that what they call it?”
Another warning eyebrow from the Dire Lord, even higher than the first.
Each of the Omoze shrugged resignedly in zer own fashion, spread zer arms and legs then lowered zer head to enable the fleas to jump aboard.
CONTINUES in NIGHTMERRIES: THE LIGHTER SIDE OF DARKNESS out now at Amazon
This so-called "book" will chew you up and spit you out on the carpet, frothing and twitching and giggling like a deranged banshee! More than 60 darkly feculent fictions. Copiously illustrated with over 20 grotesque images you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Includes all the twisted tails in Mastress, Hags to Haggis, and Fiends & Freaks, and THEN SOME (more). WARNING: Immature content! Adults maybe!
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NIGHTMERRIES: THE LIGHTER SIDE OF DARKNESS This so-called "book" will chew you up, spit you out, and leave you twitching and frothing on the carpet. More than 60 dark and feculent fictions (read ‘em and weep) copiously illustrated by over 20 grotesque images you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.
AWAREWOLF & OTHER CRHYMES AGAINST HUMANITY (Vot could be Verse?) We all hate poetry, right? But we might make an exception for this sick and twisted stuff. This devil's banquet of adults-only offal features more than 50 satanic sonnets, vitriolic verses and odious odes.
MANIC MEMES & OTHER MINDSPACE INVADERS A disturbing repository of quotably quirky quotes, sayings, proverbs, maxims, ponderances, adages and aphorisms. This menagerie holds no fewer than 184 memes from eight meme-species perfectly adapted to their respective environments.
FIENDS & FREAKS Adults-only Tales of Serpents, Dragons, Devils, Lobsters, Anguished Spirits, Gods, Anti-gods and Other Horse-thieves You Wouldn't Want to Meet in a Dark Kosmos: 4th Edition
HAGS TO HAGGIS Whiskey-soaked Tails of War-nags, Witches, Manticores and Escapegoats, Debottlenecking and Desilofication, Illustrated
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