Posted by PK on February 06, 2002 at 17:33:10:
Albert was a creature of appetite. He stuck out his tongue and tasted. A riot of sensation
expoded in his brain. Fingertip. Female fingertip with sauce on. Such a sauce....
Not quite knowing how it had happened, Albert found himself recounting his adventures in
excruciating detail. To his gratified satisfaction, Alysand listened as if entranced.
A drop of the elixir dripped onto Alysand's foot as he talked. He wanted it. Somewhere along
the way her shoes had fallen off. Dare he?
"Timeline split," Buffy reported. The Professor checked the instruments. "I've got a bad
feeling about this. It may be a rough landing."
"Not to worry," Sam said. "I'll just get my sword."
"I don't quite see how that will help," the Prof said.
"That's why I'm here," Sam said. "Swords always work." It was a family tradition. She
grinned, and the expression had the look of her father in it.
The Marmalade had suspended Albert's time sense. It stopped, slowed, reversed and lurched
sideways. Anastasia. In Elsewhere a Wardrobe Door swung open.
A drop of the elixir dripped onto Alysand's foot as he talked. He wanted it. Somewhere along
the way her shoes had fallen off. Dare he? Who Dares Wins. On the other hand, the early
worm gets the bird. Or the bird gets the early worm. Be the second mouse. The second
mouse gets the cheese.
Toes with liquid gold on. And the chunky bits. God is in the chunky bits, he was sure he'd
heard that somewhere. Albert came down a fraction. Helen of Troy. Not quite. GOOD stuff!
Oh, his vocoder/translator was still telling stories. Or he was. Hard to tell with no time sense
meaning all of the above happened inbetween the lines. Timelines. For a split nanosecond
Albert almost believed he understood what he was thinking. Fortunately his mouth was
disconnected from his superego. Alysand still listened as if entranced. She liked his stories!
The precious drop of Tiptree gold was sliding off her swinging foot. Albert had to rescue it. He
just had to, if all the barbed briars on Achernar barred his way. His tongue had a will of its
own. He licked the second hit as it slid down her bare instep. Tasted. Seeded with exotic
aromas and just a little bit of orange peel.
"You ate them all, right?"
Albert started.
"An entire Japanese volleyball team?"
Still here, Albert thought, not halfway through Jupiter. Bloody hell, this stuff really worked.
"Not all of them," he heard himself saying. "It wasn't that simple."
Alysand had sensed Albert's enjoyment as he licked her foot with that cute, slithery tongue. It
tickled her all the way up. What a Bad Boy. Marmalade or Me? Sauce for the goose? Or...
Oh help. Can I possibly be jealous of three dozen jars of fruit preserves?
She wasn't aware in any logical way of the effects of the empathic feedback. She was Don
Juan's reckless daughter.
Albert, tale teller extraordinaire, was becoming aware of an all too familar sensation,
amplified to a transcendent degree. Trying to suppress it was futile, but given his dietary
predilections it could ruin his mission here. His Grand Quest. How long ago did I start thinkig
in capitals, he wondered.
He was about to get an attack of the munchies.