“Yeah, I’ve got one like it back home,” Jeffrie Phillips speaks about the geode on the mantlepiece before him. ‘Cept mine is pink and and *maybe* a tiny bit smaller, maybe.” Much smaller, he thinks here. But I like it just as much. Not everything has to be *big*, pheh. Except in — well, he’s got that department covered anyway, he he. He can always lord that over the people he meets. The girls flock to him, Charlene the punk being only the latest in a long line. Too bad she liked the catacombs. I was hoping I could get rid of her that way. But her mettle has been put to the test and she survived. Round 2 coming up — only about a 1/3rd make it to round 2.
“Do you know what you have to do?” Jeffrie Phillips knew that David A.B.’s diamond-like brain lie within this new host with voice deep and bass. He couldn’t look him in the whites of his eyes. This never happened.
“Um.” Jeffrie instead looks down at his shoes randomly scuffing the floor. “Sure.”
“You must coordinate the two places, there and here. This is a connector. Take it and place it with the other one. Make sure they face each other. You know the rest.”
Jeffrie Phillips didn’t know the rest but he could guess. Alchemical sex, large to small, or one inside the other. Maybe he shouldn’t have lied about the size. He decides to tell the new host. “Listen, um, Jim.”
But Jim would have nothing of it. “Coordinate!” he demanded, which made
Jeffrie Phillips quickly gather up the green geode and high tail it outta there.