Zawmb’yee Becomes High Priestess 92, About Chapter 8

Zawmb’yee continues the blog


     Oh well, this is the second time we had had a bright sunny morning, and an ominous afternoon. But this time we decided not to rush into anything. Last time, when we rashly chased after Zusoiti, Doug was nearly killed by a hand gun. But this seems to be an escalation: I had thought weapons from the sacred tiboesri were never to be used up-top. Whoever this was, evidently, is willing to use the legendary acacizg weapon. With the exception of it possibly being used in ancient times, as described in the Ofuye, I don’t think it has ever been used before. It was to be stored for the gods return. But I’m not sure if the brew of this storm is mixed with lightning or with swirling updrafts.
     I suppose jogging and dodging through traffic and crowds back to Doug’s apartment had been good exercise, and I had gotten to practice seeing upper Utd’mbts, but in my fancy flight I think I have felt more like a pigeon than a hawk, not much like a dove, because my anger waits for its eagle nature to emerge while I rest in the fatigue of ruffled feathers, a sadness that reigns in the unknown. I wonder how it is that Doug remembers a little Utd’mbts in a crisis, but usually doesn’t know any; it’s not that I’m an expert or anything (and I too often only speak the verbal lower Utd’mbts) but …
     Oh I forgot the point I was going to make. So anyway, we got back safely, Doug made eggplant parmesan with sardines, anchovies, and cherries, and I made mocha-cinnamon-ginger coffee with banana ice cream on top, a happy foam.
     We ate in the dining room which we used to call the banquet room, but ever since Doug bought a new table at “Curiosity Tables” in the village, it doesn’t seem so elegant or royal. The guy told Doug it was made in the 1950’s but I think it’s too primitive — more like the 1890’s(no,wait: electric motors were invented when?). Oh Kievifkwa, what do I know: I’m not a furniture expert; I should ask Chloë. Well, it is a curiosity: the table setting areas on the periphery are normal, but the center is taken up by an oblong conveyor belt. The whole thing seats thirty without a squeeze, but there’s usually just the two of us. Mostly, we sit together at one end, but sometimes we sit at opposite ends of the table so Doug can play with the mechanism. He puts the plate down at his end and it circles around the table until it reaches me. We don’t do it much anymore because he once told me to pass the pie while we were sitting at opposite ends. It annoyed me. I raised my pitching arm and threw it at him like a flying saucer. He threw it back and so no more face-offs.
     I think we’ll ask Chloë to find us an elegant table, or we’ll just put the old one back. This time, Doug served me graciously, and we sat together staring into each other’s eyes.


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