The Dead Prince and the Talking Doll

 

On the Shelf:	Behind the Counter:
₵$26 Ghost Tobacco (20)	₵$10 Shiraz of Maybe Electrical Damage
₵$20 Bloody Mary	₵$145 The Safe of What You Want for Dinner
₵$50 El Dorado Green (1/4)	₵$100 Chocolate Bar
₵$30 Mugwump Jism (g)	₵$104 Bottled Emotions
₵$1 Slut Root (kg)	₵$32 Beard Cobwebs
₵$25 Marital Aid Potion	₵$74 Tofu Which Pairs Perfectly with Your Wine (350g)
₵$10 Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)	₵$21 Cuck Chair
₵$5 Blue Roses (doz.)	₵$50 Self-Cooking Olive Oil (375 ml)
₵$67 Mythril (oz.)	₵$40 Quad-Option Flare Gun
₵$4 BZTCN	₵$167 Coles Red (10L)

This Week's Special:

(I’m doing a thing, for reasons. This time it is the second sentence from Wikipedia pages sourced via their ‘random article’ tool. Feel free to skip this post, but it might make a dadaist poem.)

Side A In 2003, Lester Ray Nichols was convicted of "traveling with intent to engage in illicit sexual conduct with a minor" under 18 U.S.C. § 2423(b). Its seat is the village of Rzekuń, which lies approximately 5 kilometres (3 mi) south-east of Ostrołęka and 102 km (63 mi) north-east of Warsaw. Despite being based in France, the club competes in Super League, the top tier of the British rugby league.

As described in a film magazine review,^[2] Bud Watkins is in love with Betsy Burke. Cserny was tried for murder and executed following the Republic's fall. He competed at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin with the men's coxed four where they came fifth. Headquartered in Moscow, it sells its products in Russia and overseas, and is formally known as Public Joint Stock Company Mechel.

That market is Liam.

 

* I decide the price of Sascha, Sex Doll Goon Sack, by totalling amount I spent on wine the previous month. This includes dessert wines and gifts given to others.

From the Cellar: 23.3.25

On the Shelf:	Behind the Counter:
₵$35 Ghost Tobacco (20)	₵$3 Rare Minerals (g)
₵$20 Bloody Mary	₵$16 Fine MRE Spice (g)
₵$50 El Dorado Green (1/4)	₵$10 Magic Coat Hanger
₵$8 Black Meat (g)	₵$46 Cleansing Ale
₵$1 Slut Root (kg)	₵$293 The New Shampoo
₵$30 Marital Aid Potion	₵$480 Four Pack of Beer
₵$25 Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)	₵$20 Democracy Honey
₵$5 Blue Roses (doz.)	₵$20 Level Up Fig
₵$27 Mythril (oz.)	₵$87 D.C. Datura
₵$4 BZTCN	₵$58 Sex Doll Goon Sack

This Week's Special:

It was Michael's birthday and he asked that nobody get him anything. Liam gifted him an expired fire extinguisher with $20 taped to it.

Michael said: 'You, uh, you shouldn't have.

Liam smiled: 'That's all right.'

'No, you really shouldn't have.' Kristy glowered. 'The fuck'll we do with an expired fire extinguisher?'

'It's a conversation piece. Simply place it somewhere visible -' Liam's demonstration is coffee table. '- and your guests with natter high brow.'

Liam's use of 'natter' raises Kristy's hackles but he is right. On three occasions, Fire Sale by Liam has prompted small talk of investment portfolio variety.

'... Trump got preppers cooking MREs...'

            '...another batch of Beer coming up...'

                        '...he just kept pumping Sascha...'

These conversations steer widely around the expired fire extinguisher on table.

Kristy wants Fire Sale by Liam out of the house but it is Michael's so he gets to choose its swappings. Michael agrees: whoever buys this conversation piece is, likely, wanker. This is not artwork for venture-capital bros, this is chintzy for hobbyist entrepreneur. The buyer will pose as innovator and not very well.

That market is Frankie.

Frankie had an unwanted four day weekend. It started typically hungover but Saturday and Sunday were perfectly balanced between productive and recuperative. Monday morning surprised with nausea and Frankie called sick before vomiting water and spending twenty-four hours in sweating toss-and-turn. Tuesday's further tummy issues were most likely hunger.

Excess (but necessary) sleep kept Frankie awake for five hours of Tuesday's bedtime. When she hit REM she hit hard: a tropical resort where claymation Jordan Petersons played poker, badly. They did not point most of their cards towards themselves.

Frankie played and her winnings became the first-things-first water bottle on bedside table. Now those who sip on Water Bottle (Name Pending) will glimpse purview of their hypothetical next child's life. It is snapshot akin to hovering mouse over adult film offered in list, if they still do that. Frankie does not want kids.

That market is Michael, who has been binging Spy X Family.*

 

* Despite it not being very good. 

On the Price of Fine MRE Spice

 

Tonight's venue is a suburban home. The main conversation piece is the man-eating black metaphor that covers the ceiling. The owner, recently 'widooowed?' and with bub, agreed to lease out her apartment in exchange for 10g of Fine MRE Spice. This is 1% of the world's Fine MRE Spice which, being better than Great or Good, can make delicious. The homeowner is keen to see what this product can be exchanged for because she needs nappies.

He who determines the price of Fine MRE Spice, the owner of 90g, is Albrecht. A dozen-and-a-half prospective buyers mingle with wines and brie. Carl, pissed off with their potential competing offers, places a step-ladder near the snack table and climbs into the ceiling mould.

Chit-chat:

'They all know how badly Tom, in particular, wants a baby.'

            'The shipping charges, among other things, would be ridiculous.'

                        'Caroline considers mugs barbaric.'

'All right.' Albrecht is on his second glass of Paramimma 2020 Petit Verdot. 'Here's how this should go. Pitch your thing. I offer the amount of grams I want to pay for it. You can accept or make one argument. We've all got drinking to do.'

Liam drops a traffic cone at Albrecht's feet: 'Boomerang.'

'I appreciate the brevity.' Albrecht rubs eye lids. 'But could you elaborate?'

'The Boomerang Traffic Cone.' Duh. 'I found it. I threw it. It flew back.'

'And?'

'If you put it somewhere and somebody moves it, it slowly moves back.'

Who even are you?: 'I'll give you three grams.'

'But I want five.' Liam whines. 'It can save your car park.'

'Good point. Deal.'

Dorothy is next to petition: 'I have Gloves of +1 Fire Damage and Resistance.'

(Azrael sniggers: 'Not The Gloves?')

Dorothy earned these gloves after making kangaroo chilli. Au naturale, she did not use gloves when preparing the Jachuranga Peppers. She did use Mechanix SpeedKnit Utility gloves when, with the chilli stewing, she spent a free hour weeding. Capsaicin remained after rinsing - on her skin, in her pores, in her sweat, trapped within the gloves. Stubborn tap roots of thistles burnt to ash within the earth and Dorothy dared not masturbate for a week.

Albrecht: 'Again, don't really need it, but I'll offer you ten grams.'

Dorothy panics: 'Make it fifteen and I'll throw in a blow job.'

Wow that got semi real quick.¹

'Fifteen minus ten.' Liam mutters calculations to himself before hollering over crowd. 'So can I get a blow job?'

Dorothy hollers back: 'Not for you.'

(Fika: 'So that's how you meet people. Blow jobs.

Nathan: 'Uh, yeah?')

Albrecht is flattered: 'How much does your recipe actually need?'

'I reckon ten, but I want twelve just in case.'

Averting eyes: 'All right, no blowjob but eleven if you invite me to your next dinner party.'

'Deal.'

Which is not to say that after-dinner-party sex is out of the question.

Yvette is drunk: 'I have a Level Three EB World Card. I found it in the male staff toilets so you know it's got points.'

'I'm not a gamer.'

Ignoring him: 'And any rewards you earn, emailed to the original owner, will mess with them.'

'One gram.'

'What if also sex?'

What Yvette means is that, as a sex goddess², she will also be able to twist beyond-the-veil matters to positively influence Albrecht's sex life. Given a moment, she heads how she sounds but lets the question hang in the giggling air.

'Why, why do people keep offering me transactional sex. No, not for me. I don't want to appear in any memoirs.'

Yvette, insulted, flicks the bird on her exit, stopping by the drinks table for a Unico Zelo Tropo 2022 Sparkling. Liam follows her. Saperavi takes the opportunity to front the crowd. Pedro, her pterosaur partner in crime, gives her a digit up before slugging a IIPA through curly straw. Saperavi takes a deep breath:

'I come bearing goods from, well, the far east sounds, uh, colonial. From up north. I have a piece of bedding made from the finest silks, pioneering technology and the weirdest of circumstances.

Once upon a time, 2022 I think, a young man lived in a hermit kingdom. He was poor, like most people in his country, but he was happy because his king kept him safe and cared about him. Thing is, that king had a sister and the young man fell in love with the Red Princess. His go-to wank fantasy involved at least two body doubles.

The young man crushed on the princess but became self conscious of his posture. He sought to remedy his forward haunch. Well, he spent a third of his time sleeping, so why not straighten his back on his bed?

The young man sought perfection, to fit his neck with a self-confident pose. And so, he slept without pillow, or at least tried to - North Korea is not known for its mattresses. It does have beer though.  The craft beer scene is pretty good.'

Pedro raises his curly-strawed stout and quacks in approval.

Saperavi continues: 'So the young man plunged into the underworld, the madmen and the black market, to make the pillow that would lay him most horizontal. He found and experimented with avant-garde technologies that had trickled down from three generations of lunatic autocracy. He developed a pillow three millimetres thick but which provides sleepy-time bliss.

Then he shacked up with an actual woman - he spent less time on his back, she spent more time on hers.'

Albrecht: 'My posture is fine.'

'And the pillow is very easy to pack.'

'Ten grams.'

 

1. Possibly a bad idea, if the eating of Jachuranga Peppers would transfer bad gobby.

2. She is not technically a 'goddess', a title similar to 'doctor' given to medical practitioners who do not have a Ph.D.

Magdalene Does Thoughts

Magdalene is not likely to cry over spilt milk but keeps stubbing her toe on the wooden dick-and-balls that has sprouted from her floorboards, where the Potion of Plus-Two-Inches smashed. Her cupboard is overfull. She has dozens of re-corked wine bottles containing alchemical concoctions that she brewed solely to make a YouTube video of herself making relevant potion whilst sozzled. She has no use for most of these potions - raising Plus-Two-Inches with beau is akin to acknowledging pants ill suited to your wife's bum.

One flick of the wrist and the latest Catnip Page is open in Magdalene's right hand, the catnip/tobacco dart falling into her left. Said cigarette between Magdalene's lips and free hand reaching blind for lighter in its designated place on countertop. One inhale, one exhale, the latest market prices materialise:

₵$59    Ghost Tobacco  (20)

₵$15    Bloody Mary

₵$55    El Dorado Green (1/4)

₵$19    Bug Powder (g)

₵$1      Slut Root (kg)

₵$30    Marital Aid Potion

₵$10    Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)

₵$5      Blue Roses (doz.)

₵$34    Mythril (g)

₵$9      BZTCN

Various peeps have put in offers for one-or-another of Magdalene's excess potions, paying with esoteric ingredients. Such an exchange would provide space for next video's potion and provide ingredients for said potion. The deciding factor of which potion for which ingredient is: how drunk is she allowed to get?

After almost dying, Magdalene discovered a YouTube audience for drunk alchemy. Potions have recipes. Booze causes mistakes. Mistakes leads to corrections. Booze flubs said corrections. Sometimes, to keep the video going, this means the recipe branches into a similar recipe that leads to a very different potion, or opens The Trap Door and leads to new problems which (once solved) provide new ingredients which branch into more ambitious potions, either option plunged into with drunken confidence.

For example, Lucy wants the Potions of Knowing Exactly What You Want to Eat Tomorrow (Which Also Has Marginal Benefits in Alleviating Sleep Apnoea). Lucy is a writer who dabbles in prostitution, because every second sex worker is writing a salacious memoir - it is a genre. Another (esoteric) bonus is the Sex Juices that accumulate in a dream catcher thing hung on bed head/rear-view mirror/shrine to Aphrodite and drip into an empty ice-cream container. Lucy has offered a quart of Sex Juices for the Potion of KEWYWET (WAHMBASA).

Sex Juices are a necessary ingredient in Marital Aid Potion, a favourite of Magdalene's customers. Magdalene uploaded a video titled 'Step-by-step Marital Aid Potion' in younger, gender dysphoric days. Rehashing the same material could only be made interesting with a bottle of whiskey and:

 

If Magdalene were to attempt making a Marital Aid Potion whilst pre-emptively stonked and swinging arms around in something called the 'Maggie Shuffle' (for reasons archived in brain cells sine lost to alcohol) then she might burn the wolfsbane or spill the kaiju smegma. In which case, she would have to substitute ethically-sourced hawksfoot or gorgon hang-ups, respectively, pursuing new recipes towards the Potion of +2 Cleaner Pooping  or the Potion of X1.12 Sobriety Duration (which: apt). But that Maggie Shuffle, despite stationary feet, is a recurring bitch...

Alternatively:  Michelle has been eyeing the Potion of Excusing Impolite Sexual Hungers For At Least 48 Hours, which is like a Marital Aid Potion for the saving-it-for-marriage crowd. She has offered a quart jar of Tomato Cream. Tomato Cream is a thing because tomatoes are neither fruit nor vegetable but teat. The implications are fascinating.

Magdalene has never been keen on Tomato Cream, a readily available but labour intensive ingredient, but it is crucial in Strategic Fart Brew. This potion is useful in preparation for a first date. Some people prepare a bail-out call, where a friend will call them during the date and, pretending to be family or the like, offer a false emergency to excuse the dater, should the date be going bad. Strategic Fart Brew instead preps the guts so that the drinker can, at a time of their choosing, release silent gas that is repulsive to the date (and the dater but to a lesser extent) to compel the date to use their own bail-out call.

Magdalene could comfortably Brew a Strategic Fart over an evening with a bottle of Parker 'Terra Rossa' 2020 Cabernet Sauvignon and improvising steps to Toconoma's 'Dawn':

 

Mistakes can be made but those can be attributed to more-art-than-science. Different steps of alchemy contribute to different gastro-intestinal processes which prepare the fart. The first and easiest step of the Brew is filtering the Mud of Tartaria, which strengthens resolve and discipline of anus. Later steps turn the bowels into a clean slate before the upper intestine adds to potency and fragrance. Woopsie-daisy deviations can lead to Farts useful for road-trip pranks, with a hint of frangipani at the back of the throat, or Military Grade Brews where 'silent but deadly' is not a euphemism and the C.O. barks 'all right, boys, down 'em. If you get caught, you know what to do. If you don't, we'll all gather in an open field to drop our ordinance before running away, giggling like school girls.'

Another option: Liam has expressed interest in the Potion of Anti-Anti-Traction (for Mazda 3 consumption). The computer of the Mazda 3 car can somehow go iffy and turn the anti-traction safety features permanently on, so that it drives sluggishly. Exactly how a car's computer is used to visit dodgy websites of weird pornography is a conundrum best left for more technical minds. The Potion of Anti-Anti-Traction, poured into the coolant reservoir, somehow gets into the car's brain.

Liam has offered, for the potion, a Sex MacGuffin. He found it. Magdalene can only think of one use for a Sex MacGuffin - the Potion of Being More Ready for Parenthood - and it is a terrifying potion to brew. The music

 

will be laid over video in post-production. Only two beers would be drunk - oatmeal stout, because it does not need to be refrigerated and, unlike mid-strength, Dutch courage is imbibed with fewer blind reaches of the can, eyes kept on lab equipment.

The Essence of Sex MacGuffin will boil yellow from blue and, if it is not poured into cauldron within ten seconds of this happening, the potion will lack potency. Oh shit, oh shit, I just need one more year, to get it out of my system, to taper off, to become an adult. Once the ambrosia is melted in skillet, the slut root embers* must be cooled to minimise evaporation, yet not cooled enough that the ambrosia begins to re-congeal and clump like diced bacon in its own fat. In which case: yeah, little person is gonna' be baller, I am going to buy that jetski that transforms into a jetpack that I invented two cones ago. Alternatively, nobody is ever ready for parenthood, that the potion is folly, that there are too many factors and perfection is impossible.

Which would make for a good video.

 

*Because gas is getting expensive and a footnote is necessary because Blogger seems to make the last line tiny.

Brick(s) of Cocaine

 

The south of Australia was hit by an arctic front in late May, early June. Through kitchen window, through blanket of 4mm/hr rain, over corrugated fence, Michael watched Ryan kneel amongst vegetation wilted to sodden ground that Ryan pounded with fist:

'My tobacco! My tobacco!'

Michael's focus withdrew to his reflection in kitchen window, sipping glass of water:

'At least he has something to do now.'

Kristy rolled sardonic eyes hidden behind unfolded Weekend Australian. Michael plonked onto couch with glass of Puratap and flicked through a dozen television channels at ~10 second intervals, settled on Bargain Hunt. It was a Natasha Raskin episode and Kristy bristled invisibly. They needed something to do. Lo, on page 3:

 

So why not cocaine? Kristy's heels itched as she broached the subject with a 'Heeey schmorkel poos?'. Michael read the article and Kristy recognised her own epiphany in his eyes. Hence followed an afternoon of brisk pacing, chins in palms and fingers caging smiles, imaginations accelerated by a Concha y Toro Casilero del Diablo - Reserva Privada 2019 Carménère, hands tumbling mid-air to unspool trains of thought.

'What if we _______?'

'Then we could ________.'

'Then we could _______.'

Kristy and Michael had their three months couple's project. They shelved the idea of applying the Japanese scientists' methodology directly to the coca leaf because the coca leaf does not refrigerate well. They instead sourced cocaine from various suppliers and tested said bricks for additives. Each particular additive suggested a different pathway of chemical reactions to create a substance, of weight and tactility similar to construction bricks, which can also be ground and rehydrated (and then dried again via microwave) to make a passable cocaine hydrochloride. Michael and Kristy then figured out what food colourings replicated fired clay. They used the Japanese scientists' lacquer because fuck mice.

 

Now it is October. Michael and Kristy share smiles over brunch and dozen Bricks of Cocaine. Said bricks could technically be used for construction but are more suitable for discrete storage - instead of a drug stash in the space behind the loose brick, the drug stash is the loose brick. Also: 72% purity and a five year shelf-life.

Kristy sops egg-yolk with toast: 'So now what?'

Michael mangles grapefruit: 'Keep a couple, I 'spose, and sell the rest.'

Finishing Bloody Mary: 'Who do we know would pay the best price?'

'Hm.' Drying sticky hands. 'Maybe we put a rumour out, like on the local k-pop scene or something, see who comes to us.'

'Not here.' Crunching celery. 'We need a venue.'

Nathan's voice: 'Maybe I can help with that.'

'Fuck's -' Kristy clenches fists and teeth. '- sake.'

Michael turns wide grin: 'That shit never gets old.'

Nathan appears in the dining room entrance by shedding the Hi-Vis Invisibility Cloak that he won in a game of strip poker. Safe to say that Felicity has a woeful poker face.

Nathan has discovered a discrete location in which to commit black market dealings, within this realm but something of an Easter egg. Each Bunnings Warehouse, specifically the door handle aisle, usually has a sample line of door handles attached to a rail, so that customers may see and test said door handles as if they were installed, such as on a door. Pushing down on these door handles in a specific order (Satin Chrome Bailey Set, Matt Black Square Angular Passage Set, Stainless Steel Leno Passage, Satin Chrome Bailey Set, Satin Chrome Gala Passage, Satin Chrome Gala Passage, Satin Chrome Olive Passage Set) will open a door to a two metre by four metre courtyard which is on Bunnings' property but is not Bunnings' property, by Common Law. Nathan leases this courtyard to Kristy and Michael in exchange for a Brick of Cocaine.

So word is slipped to the street (or, rather, granny-flat speakeasies) and a long desk moved to the far end of the courtyard. Michael stacks a three long, three high cube of bricks on the table before standing right and behind Kristy, seated, with hand on her shoulder, all very family portrait. They hold this position for a minute and 43 seconds before their first customer arrives - a middle-aged man in trench coat and jeans that give him an almost neo-western aesthetic.

(An aside regarding the mechanics and origins of enchantments. Some enchanted items, such as the Fiery Pool Noodle of Mark, are the product of an enchantress transferring magical properties from one artefact to another. Other enchanted items, such as the Driver's Licence Photo of Todd, acquire their magical properties through esoteric energies channelled via ritual. Other artefacts, such as The Metal Chair, are the result of feats catching the attention of higher powers who need material for water cooler conversation. The last is relevant to the following product.)

Kristy: 'And you are?'

'Alexander Wong. My details are on the form I submitted.'

Michael pats pockets: 'So that was that thing.'

'Do we even -' Kristy, brief goanna eyes. 'Nuh, whatever, what are you offering?'

Alexander: 'A 10 Pack of Condoms of +4 Bureaucratic Efficiency.'

Michael unfolds paperwork: 'He, uh, he pleased the God of Bureaucracy by, uh, doing bureaucracy?'

Alexander spits tobacco: 'Two metre "In" pile. Two metre "Out" pile.'

Michael: 'How?'

'I'm good.' Smirking cocky. 'Also, cocaine.'

'Checks out.'

Kristy: 'So you pleased the God of Bureaucracy and they...'

Alexander, paperwork: 'Bestowed a +4 Bureaucratic Efficiency on the next thing I purchased. Condoms. Again, cocaine.'

'Checks out.'

Kristy looks to Michael with glance loaded with meaning: I can't use condoms, for obvious reasons. Michael returns loaded glance: paperwork makes my dick limp. But, like, if bureaucrats are a thing of yours? Kristy scrunches face: Ummmm. Nah, we're good.'

Michael raises apologetic hand: 'Sorry mate, we're going to have to pass.'

Very well, Alex spits bemused tobacco and leaves. Kristy and Michael doodle around on their phones for thirty-two minutes. Standing perpendicular to table with eyes down on the Wikipedia page for the 2021-present global energy crises, Michael catches new customers in his peripheral vision and texts Kristy: Them peeps gone fucked in turtle enclosure? Kristy snorts, covers it with a cough.

Indeed, it is Elise and Todd. Their Quetzalcoatl Feather side hustles brought them together and their being together, very publicly, shunned them from the Quetzalcoatl Feather game. They continued using their networks and skills to produce goods exchangeable on the esoteric shadow market - Todd is a cryptozoologist and  Elise is a zoological psychologist. Their own couple's project of late has been nursing a scaff gremlin alpha back to health.

Like the fire chicken, the scaff gremlin is the sterile cross breed of cryptids that only meet in Australia. On the mother's side is the skunk apes that stowed away on cargo containers of Floridian palm heart. On the father's side is the yowie, Australian native also known as bunyip, pangkarlangu or Greg, because it is just the one individual with the inclination and suave to sire an entire generation of creatures that look like gravelings.

Scaff gremlins are so named because of their nocturnal habit of assembling unattended scaffolding, which helps them catch moths. Todd had been remotely viewing this practice when an amateurishly secured transom fell on top of one of the scaff gremlins. Elise, standing right and behind Todd with hand on his shoulder, all very family portrait, suggested responsibility. Yeah, fair enough, it was Todd's drone that buped the scaffolding. They Ubered there and carried the thrice-swaddled scaff gremlin to their home.

It took three months for the scaff gremlin they named 'Mary' to heal a broken leg. Elise and Todd took turns in taking Mary out for short walks. They discerned that Mary is the rostrum's alpha and that it is the alpha's urine that marks scaffolding for assembling and gathers the usually disparate rostrum of scaff gremlins. By the time they released Mary back into the wild, a very 'get the fuck out of the cage it's been half an hour already' affair, they had a litre of Scaff Gremlin Alpha Urine.

Kristy: 'And you're hoping to trade this litre of urine for a brick of cocaine.'

Todd: 'We'll throw in a spray bottle because you can dilute it at ten-to-one. Then you just liberally spray scaffolding and leave it for the night.'

Michael: 'Yeah, uh, we don't want or need this urine.'

Nathan's voice: 'I want that urine.'

'Fuck's -' Kristy clenches fists and teeth. '- sake.'

Michael turns wide grin: 'That shit never gets old.'

Nathan appears at the far end of the table: 'Would you like the Hi-Vis Invisibility Cloak?'

Elise: 'No, we want a brick of cocaine.'

Michael sulks: 'I wanna' Hi-Vis Invisibility Cloak.'

Nathan: 'I have a brick of cocaine.'

'Wait.' Kristy's eyes pop hopeful. 'How about we give you guys cocaine for the urine and give you -' turning to Nathan '- the urine for the Invisibility Cloak?'

Michael: 'It's ok, porky-schmoos, I don't really want -'

Kristy ignores him: 'Deal?'

Everybody shrugs ok and goods are exchanged. Michael giggles and throws the Hi-Vis Invisibility Cloak over his head. His feet are still visible as he waltzes around the courtyard going 'woo-ooo, woo-OOOooo'. Todd and Elise leave discretely.

Nathan says to Kristy: 'Should I...?'

'How about you go dilute your urine?'

Exit Nathan. Michael gets bored with playing ghost in twenty-four minutes. Kristy kinda' wants to bone and laments that they did not buy those condoms, +4 Bureaucratic Efficiency or otherwise. Well, onto the next customer.

Liam saunters in with long steps matched by sways of arms bent 90° at the elbow. Folded over his shoulder is a brown faux-mink blanket.

Kristy frowns: 'There's a story here. There always is.'

'Yeah.' Liam's smile widen and he tilts his head back slightly. 'Last Saturday, I had a bottle of red and two stouts. Went to bed feeling ok and woke up vomiting in an hour. Most of it landed on the floor but also the curtains, walls, quilt, pillows bed sheets. But not this blanket. It was on top of the quilt.'

Kristy: 'Sooo blanket is magic? Stain dodging blanket?'

'If it wasn't before, it is now.'

Michael: 'I doubt magic. Just a fluke.'

Liam: 'How about I also throw in -'

Liam pulls, from within blanket, a clock. The hands move backwards, what would conventionally be called counter-clockwise. The numbers on the clock face are also reversed - the 11 is just right and below the 12. This clock therefore tells accurate time.

Kristy: 'That's fucking stupid.'

Michael is fascinated.