Partysix

Ishtar had been called worse things, and she did after all share some of the classic (though highly anthropomorphised) traits of the family lepidoptera.

Er, what we mean to say is, she could prosaically and accurately be called a butterfly in the coquettish sense.

In any case, another victim seemed to have fallen foul of Mr Buggeh's dream juice. Resolving to send the manufacturer her compliments, she moved in behind the frolicking insectivore.

Definitely nice fur. Ishtar grabbed two handfuls of 'wolf.

Lady Knight appeared to gamely absorb the 'wolf's analysis. "Ma- muhteer- mameermalism's nae bad if ish good madeerial, though," she tried to point out. "Then ish jus' gud tashte, shee."

Pasht pretended to pout. "Good? Pity. I am far more likely to be horrid than good. If you've bitches to spare, though," she undulated, "surely we can work something out. Or in. Or in and out and in...."

Subtle? Eh, why bother.

"If you're good at being horrid, it's all... good!" Ishtar beamed over her shoulder, still groping the poor werewolf's biceps.

Julia still looked like a stunned goldfish caught in headlights.

"Sorry", she eventually managed to croak, "I'm afriad I'm a good girl."

She definately hadn't had anything to drink...

She would have appreciated a male lap to jump into, she was that scared.

The werewolf shuddered, and bit at whatever was feeling at him.. Butterflies with fingers, that was quite wierd.

This might not turn out to be a good drink after all. Or maybe it just took more.

"Ow, my feelers," pouted Ish happily.

"You can take a hard bite, then? Good," said Pasht. Her eyes still shone with a red tint and her fangs had not retracted, but her rage seemed forgotten. In fact, the little vampiress appeared immersed in sizing up Ishtar -- to the point of taking her measurements with handspans.

Lady Knight uncharacteristically giggled. "'E bi' 'er!" she roared. Between alcohol and her already thick accent, it was doubtful anyone could understand her anymore.

"Ummmmmm..." said Julia, still not entirely sure as to what had just hapened, and why everyone else wasn't freaking out.

Bowman appeared on her shoulder with a comforting "Puuuh" and stroked her hair with a primary process. Irritating though he was at times, Julia was quite relieved to have the little guy there.

"Is it just me," Weft asked Julia, "or has everyone except us and the yogic sarracenia in the walls gone insane? And very promiscuous?"

This was after the monk had stopped gaping like an ornamental goldfish and sheathed his sword (not that he was at all convinced he wouldn't need to whip it out again in a hurry).

His mood was nigh indescribable. Weft hung close to Julia, too disturbed even to disparage the jelly-thing on her shoulder. It looked like something they'd sell in the most exclusive restaurants back home, but at least it wasn't impersonating his friend. Enemy. Whatever Suitov was.

"And very delirious I taste too," Ishtar said, dismounting her newest toy for a moment to give Pasht the full benefit of her attention.

"...though perhaps not ideal for your specific needs, as you don't seem to be for mine." Undead... not a decent meal on any of them. And while Ishtar could give a very good impression of blood-bearing vessels, it wasn't close enough for the choosier haemophiles.

Pasht raised a trim eyebrow at Ish. "Ah, but unless our requirements are indentical, is there no possibility for sharing prey, or at least tactics? Perhaps we could even strike up a loose acquaintance -- or, if lacking, hire one."

At this, Lady Knight fell over. Her chain mail clinked as it landed on the flat of her drawn sword.

"Yoink!"

Julia grabbed the rest of Lady Knight's drink as she fell. Well, waste not... and she certainly felt she needed a stiff drink.

"Don't suppose you fancy a walk in the quieter, more sane and certainly less promiscuous gardens?" she asked Weft.

She took a gulp of her newly acquired booze before conitnuing.

"Nothing implied, it's just the pheremones are starting to give me a headache."

And if she was honest, she was more than a little intimidated. At least Weft was shorter than her, and probably slower than usual after the affect of his magic juice.

There was an agonised pause, then "...Yes," said Weft. "Please. I mean, yes let's, before someone makes a meal of us."

"If that's an invitation to go hunting," Ishtar said with another approving full-length glance, "you've got a deal, babes."

"Would it be safer to head off at a sprint, do you think? Or would she take that as a cue to the chase?" Julia asked Weft.

"You go first, I'll cover you." Weft's years of training at last kicked in, and he managed to regain a little poise.

Besides, he was really hoping one or both of the predators would give him an excuse for violence. Now if he could just focus on them through all the blue candyfloss that seemed to be filling the room, all would go swimmingly. Tweak Weft's butt, would they?

Unexpectedly, as they jogged towards the exit, Julia found she held Bowman in one hand and Weft's hand in the other. She hadn't intended for that to happen, but he seemed not to notice large items of furniture that required a bit of dodging, and she found herself leading him around them and outside to cries of "Wahey!" from onlookers inside (and Mutt).

Mhelarn was vaguely worried. He'd never known he'd had a thing about butterflies. Not like that.

But he wanted to find this one. It was somehow, somehow, right. The nature of the rightness, and it's interpretation was something to be left to the imagination. Or perhaps we'd better avoid that arena.

In any case, he went in search of the five-fingered butterfly, which was somehow furry. And perhaps four-legged, though he knew that chitinate meant eight.

"Drink must be first rate," he mumbled. This had to be one of those idiot drunk moves, where you play silent observer to your own stupidity.

"It is indeed," Pasht said regarding her invitation to Ishtar. "In fact, shall we give chase? I believe two morsels are eluding as as we speak -- though the shrimpy one is," she paused disdainfully, "not to my liking. He may suit you instead."

Lady Knight's snores rattled her sword. Her hands, now devoid of bottle and blade, curled protectively around head and its halo of loosened blonde hair.

Weft cannoned gently into Mhelarn at this juncture. "Oh, hello," he said. "You're not, ooh look, fuchsia, not Thingy, are you?"

"Could be a short chase," Ishtar said with a smile like the crack of a caldera (hot, smoky and generally bad news for the surrounding landscape).

"Then again, Thingy didn't have monkey hoofves, anyway though, in fact," Weft added.

Mhelarn examined his appendages. He clapped them together and the sound was unhooflike.

"Nope, definitely not hooves. Could be thingy, though. I've been called worse."

Beer and butterfly..

In the air they liked to fly.

Beer and butterfly..

She knew she had to try..

Mhelarn had no idea whatever the butterfly wanted, but he was definitely not averse to helping the beer try. So long as it meant being drunk, anyway.

Gendered beer. Strange concept. He thought about beer reproducing and decided not to.

So much for covering me Julia thought.

"Look, if you will strike up conversation with random hairy things I may have to leave you behind."

From the way Ishtar and Pasht were eyeing them up, something told Julia that Weft wouldn't want to be abandoned here.