It Turned Out
sucker for trompe l’oiel- (I am not a billionaire)
- with protuberant eyes glued to the bathers
- tastes like raspberries and smells like rum
- See how he dances and prances for you!
Tune in next time part 898 Click Here for Earlier Installments
It turned out that in Colloquillia a “summit meeting” actually takes place atop a mountain. By arriving in an airship we saved ourselves what was apparently a rather perilous climb. Fleur linked elbows with me so she could steer my course with suitably stately poise, as if I might get lost on our way across the gangway. In truth, my hangover still had my head a bit swimmy and I was grateful for someone to lean on.
“Don’t look down,” she said. Of course, I looked down immediately.
“How high is this mountain?” I blurted out. The chasm below us seemed to drop away forever. Then I remembered that Colloquillian agriculture is all carefully planned and managed in order to create images and optical illusions when viewed from above. Presumably the hope is that any would-be enemy pilot is a sucker for trompe l’oiel.
“What I mean is,” I stammered, “how high is my new military rank? I am not familiar with this getup I’m wearing.”
Fleur said, “It’s not really military per se. Daddy lets certain tycoons buy their way into the command structure. So, this ‘getup’ you’re wearing will let the Colloquillians know that you’re ultra-rich.”
I wasn’t sure how I should behave (I am not a billionaire) or how I should feel about this ploy. And I wasn’t going to get a chance to mull things over, because seconds later we entered the summit facility. The lobby was breathtakingly, confusingly grand. It had several large fountains containing nude statuary, but there were comical toy armadillos with protruberant eyes glued to the bathers in strategic locations to ensure their modesty. Fleur collected two glasses from a passing server’s tray, handing me one. I knew it was the local brew, a sparkly drink that tastes like raspberries and smells like rum, but I was unsure whether it would help my hangover or land me on the floor.
“Here comes the ambassador now,” Fleur muttered. “Introduce me.”
I stepped forward, intending to execute a formal bow. But as soon as I leaned forward, my outlandish hat threatened to topple. Trying to save it, I triggered at least half of the bells and whistles in my underwear. The harder I tried to rein it in, the more my uniform found ways to rebel, sending me into a swirling conniption of high kicks and arm swings. The ambassador bypassed me and greeted Fleur directly.
I couldn’t hear what she said to him, but I overheard him exclaim, “See how he dances and prances for you!”
bonus points for using them in order