“Wheeler says I got to grow up fast so’s I can married George, Milo. Whereever he is.
“So I took this job at the bar below the castle. *Pretend* job, anyways. I don’t know nothing about mixing drinks or anything, Milo. But it makes me appear *big*. In the eyes of others at least.”
Milo meows meekly, perhaps unconvinced, and moves himself and his two attached eyes on his little kitty flannel cap away from Shelley, hopping down to the ground in order to get to the milk bowl for a refresher. Suddenly she doesn’t feel that big; feels exposed again to the world with the pussy not directly in front of her, protecting her, comforting her. The castle is just out of view to her right, thankfully. She doesn’t want to think about marriage right now, nor the child that would supposedly be born from her loins despite the race difference, a child already *here* — future style. Speaking of which, here comes her first potential customer of
the day her career. Wheeler, wearing the latest postmodern beachwear from Germany. At least Liz isn’t with her, she thinks — probably left up at the castle with Newt or whatever he’s going by these days. Perhaps Man in Black still. Nah, she remembers, that persona was ditched with the return to the peninsula. *Her* peninsula they kept calling it.
Wheeler spots Shelley in the distance, comes over. “Oh hi, just heading down to the ocean to catch some serious rays today. You like?” She turns around, modelling the futuristic — thing. Purple force fields instead of cloth. Daring! And the *back*… She recalls the photo in the box, the one that caused so much trouble. Borneo.
“Yeah, sure.” Does Wheeler even know? she ponders. Suddenly she wished Liz was with her so she’d have someone to talk with about all that.
“Soo… what’re *you* doing down here?” Shelley comes out from behind the bar, chickening out of the role play. “Oh nothing. Just playing, heh.” She stands awkwardly in front of the outfit, wondering how all that worked. Plasma? Lasers?
Wheeler looks in the distance again, spots the place she wants to lay to maximize her time in Our Second Lyfe’s always bright sometimes tanning sometimes burning sun. Nah, best to move one spot over so she’ll be under the umbrella later on. She looks at Shelley again with this, notes the eyes through the reflected purple glow. Still ordinary brown, it seems — no books in them yet, nor the rest of the interwebs. That will come later. But it better come quick.
(to be continued)