“Two toy avatars, one advanced — novel 8 — beyond his origins to become truly human and all the advantages and disadvantages involved. The other remained a base, a root. No evolution, for good or bad. This is of course our Grassy.”
“Who I’ve banned from The Table.” She looks around, sees Newt beside her, observes Baker Bloch across from her. “I love Grassy like a green son…”
“I know, I remember — novel 8 as well.”
“But the blue moved on, *up* to me. My height and beyond. Grassy is so small, especially if you take away his outer, delicious, candy coated shell.”
“Like a turtle,” Baker Bloch added.
“He has Hawaiian shorts. Embarrassing, actually.”
“He’s so sweet (though).” Baker makes a pouty face. “Reconsider?”
Wheeler reaches back into her own refrigerator to match Baker Bloch’s for more ice for her drink — a Russian Roulette I believe, courtesy of the ever inventive Marty, way back in ’65 for this one I recollect, along with an embryonic version of “Back in the USSR,” which had just been playing actually. Maybe prompted Wheeler to make the drink in the first place — most likely did as I think of it. I’m catching up (with red).
Plop plop. “No.”
Sunklands 