Mirrored from Sythyry.
We rushed out to rescue Mellilot from whatever poisons or magics came from eating the petals, or whatever horrible injury it had done to her entrails, or … we didn’t know what really, since it was a new universe to all of us but one. She was curled up in a tight and chitinny knot. I cast various spells, and poked and sniffed and suchlike. “That’s odd. She’s not poisoned in any way I can tell. I wonder if that spell doesn’t work here?”
Arfaen pried up one of her ex-girlfriend’s antennae, and rubbed it. “Mellilot? Are you all right?”
Mellilot slowly uncurled. “I’m just fine … whoah. Everything’s spinny and spinny. I’m drunk.”
Arfaen sniffed at the petal. “Why’d you eat that? It smells like aged guntry with a port-wine and truffle reduction sauce, garnished with braised leeks and strong cheese. That’s meat, and you don’t eat meat.”
I leaned over to sniff. “No, it smells of fresh baked goods and bean paste.”
Mellilot shook her head. “It smelled like salad and grilled carrots. The best I had ever smelled … I somewhat lost control.”
I poked at the petal with this and that. “A tricky little mind-reading and illusion spell, that makes it smell like your favorite food of the moment, I guess. And then it’s alcoholic, I believe.”
Mellilot added, “And euphoric or something too. I almost kissed Arfaen when I saw her.”
“You can, and you know it,” said Arfaen. Which lead to a moment of smooching, with Arfaen’s other lover (me) and Mellilot’s (Este and Phaniet) standing around looking a bit perplexed. Evidently Arfaen and Mellilot are not wholly over each other … unless there’s some mysterious love field pervading Heaven? There could be. I can’t sense one, but we’re talking direct construction by a god here.
Mellilot pried the Cani off of herself. “Enough of that. I feel woozy and happy, but I’m still kind of upset at you, Arfaen.”
“So it’s a druggy flower petal that tricks you into wanting to eat it, but not that strong, I guess,” mused Phaniet. “This Heaven seems to have traps in it.”
Mellilot recovered completely in a third of an hour. Alcohol and euphorics it may be, but gentle ones … somehow the alcohol in the petal wears off faster than regular alcohol.
Me: “Can we go home yet?”
Everyone Else: “What, and leave this universe that is clearly designed for safe recreation? You are simply captain of the boat — you do not decide where she goes! We wish to explore, to experience, to enjoy! Besides, if anything goes wrong, surely you can fix it.”
(Well, actually they were a good deal more rational than that, and there were several factions and a lot of argument, but do you really want to hear it?)
So: the part of Heaven that we are in at the moment is a vast and convoluted flower, whose petals smell and taste just like the food that you wish for at the moment (and even if you’re expecting it, the smell sometimes sneaks up on you and you find yourself about to take a bite of flower petal), and whose flesh induces a transient drunken euphoria that has no ill effects that Saza and I can discover. The flower itself is quite huge: the size of the largest temple in Vheshrame, I suppose, though the petals separate it out into a hundred, a thousand small rooms. The flower has only three exits, all through very large doors covered with pink silk.
Certain members of the crew have been taking advantage of this topography and recreational flavor. Inconnu, in particular, seems much in demand, perhaps because his particularly bouncy style of body-play makes the petalled floors sway and vibrate in ways that particularly please, um, most of the non-Orren wrongfolk who normally take advantage of Inconnu’s particularly energetic charms. At least, he seemed particularly exhausted, and several of the more playful and less relationshipful of the wrongfolk were giggling, wriggling, and even occasionally jiggling about him.
In any case, we decided to send out three teams of explorers, one through each of the doors. Yerenthax and Jyondre; Lithia, *-Eyes, Dorze, and Saza; and Este, Phaniet, and Grinwipey. Vae, hCevian, and I will stay home and keep an eye on each of them through the scrying insignias, and, presumably, teleport over in an instant should there be the least spot of trouble.
But this is Heaven. Is trouble even metaphysically possible here?