firmly, "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."
Klog beeped once, drifted over to the cabinet for a mug, and then poured the piping hot tea from the tip of another finger.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Drusilla declared as he beeped twice more. "You must have cost a fortune!"
Klog chirped his reply and floated off to clean the waffle iron.
What with strange footprints in the sand and big, purring cats lurking nearby, Drusilla donned her robe before sitting down to breakfast, thinking she probably ought to reconsider her intention to swim in the nude. Then she remembered Zef yammering on about the skinny-butt Baradans and decided against it completely.
She also decided that she should mention to Klog that serving her the kind of meals that stemmed from her deepest, most hedonistic cravings was probably a mistake—unless he wanted to remake all of her clothes in a larger size. Drusilla was petite, but with Klog in charge of the menu, that was likely to change. Still, waffles on her first morning seemed celebratory; she'd wait until later to tell him that a little fresh fruit and toast would be adequate from then on—no matter how much she might want waffles.
With that thought in mind, Drusilla leaned back in her chair to ponder her life. When was the last time she'd done anything just because she wanted to? It took her a long time to come up with an answer for that, and she realized that, prior to diving into the lake on the previous afternoon, she would have to go back at least several months for the last spontaneous fulfillment of her heart's desire. That, of course, was the day she told Drab Dave that he could go to the drag queen conven tion without her.
Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it; her refusal was purely a matter of principle. Dave had been chagrined, but not overly cast down, and had gone on to attend the event with his friend Charles, who had no objection to sharing a room—or a bed—with Dave. By the end of the summer, their ensuing love affair had reached legendary proportions.
Drusilla sighed deeply, wondering if it was possible for her to find a love as intense as theirs. Enthusiasm was something that had always been lacking among her suitors. They liked her. She liked them. They got along fine but never felt any overwhelming passion—never even held hands in public, let alone exchanged stolen kisses, and even in intimate moments there was a decided lack of fervor. People in films were always falling into each other's arms, kissing hungrily and ripping clothing in their haste, but Drusilla was convinced that that sort of thing never happened in real life—at least, not to her—and if it ever did, Barada was the last place she could expect it to occur. What made it worse was that she had some inkling of how it should feel; she'd always felt a passion for her work, and the discovery of some fabulous new birds always sent her blood racing, but men? Not lately—and possibly not ever.
Until she had taken the time to design her dream man, that is. She'd felt something the night before that was entirely new to her. Passion. Lust. Excitement. Unfortu nately, he only existed in her mind…
***
Manx had begun his day quite early, spearing fish for breakfast and exchanging news with Zef. Manx was understandably curious about the new tenant, and the garrulous eltran had plenty to tell.
"Her name's Drusilla," he said without preamble. "Thought you'd want to know."
Manx didn't bother to deny it—or to admit that he already knew. "How long is she staying?"
"Three months," Zef replied. "She's from Earth— wherever the hell that is! I've never heard of it."
"Me either," said Manx. "It must be a long way from here."
"Yeah," Zef agreed. "Lots of lakes there, though—a fuckin' eltran paradise to hear her tell it! Would you believe she's only here to see the birds and paint pictures of them? Ever hear of crap like that before? Stupid thing
Klog beeped once, drifted over to the cabinet for a mug, and then poured the piping hot tea from the tip of another finger.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Drusilla declared as he beeped twice more. "You must have cost a fortune!"
Klog chirped his reply and floated off to clean the waffle iron.
What with strange footprints in the sand and big, purring cats lurking nearby, Drusilla donned her robe before sitting down to breakfast, thinking she probably ought to reconsider her intention to swim in the nude. Then she remembered Zef yammering on about the skinny-butt Baradans and decided against it completely.
She also decided that she should mention to Klog that serving her the kind of meals that stemmed from her deepest, most hedonistic cravings was probably a mistake—unless he wanted to remake all of her clothes in a larger size. Drusilla was petite, but with Klog in charge of the menu, that was likely to change. Still, waffles on her first morning seemed celebratory; she'd wait until later to tell him that a little fresh fruit and toast would be adequate from then on—no matter how much she might want waffles.
With that thought in mind, Drusilla leaned back in her chair to ponder her life. When was the last time she'd done anything just because she wanted to? It took her a long time to come up with an answer for that, and she realized that, prior to diving into the lake on the previous afternoon, she would have to go back at least several months for the last spontaneous fulfillment of her heart's desire. That, of course, was the day she told Drab Dave that he could go to the drag queen conven tion without her.
Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it; her refusal was purely a matter of principle. Dave had been chagrined, but not overly cast down, and had gone on to attend the event with his friend Charles, who had no objection to sharing a room—or a bed—with Dave. By the end of the summer, their ensuing love affair had reached legendary proportions.
Drusilla sighed deeply, wondering if it was possible for her to find a love as intense as theirs. Enthusiasm was something that had always been lacking among her suitors. They liked her. She liked them. They got along fine but never felt any overwhelming passion—never even held hands in public, let alone exchanged stolen kisses, and even in intimate moments there was a decided lack of fervor. People in films were always falling into each other's arms, kissing hungrily and ripping clothing in their haste, but Drusilla was convinced that that sort of thing never happened in real life—at least, not to her—and if it ever did, Barada was the last place she could expect it to occur. What made it worse was that she had some inkling of how it should feel; she'd always felt a passion for her work, and the discovery of some fabulous new birds always sent her blood racing, but men? Not lately—and possibly not ever.
Until she had taken the time to design her dream man, that is. She'd felt something the night before that was entirely new to her. Passion. Lust. Excitement. Unfortu nately, he only existed in her mind…
***
Manx had begun his day quite early, spearing fish for breakfast and exchanging news with Zef. Manx was understandably curious about the new tenant, and the garrulous eltran had plenty to tell.
"Her name's Drusilla," he said without preamble. "Thought you'd want to know."
Manx didn't bother to deny it—or to admit that he already knew. "How long is she staying?"
"Three months," Zef replied. "She's from Earth— wherever the hell that is! I've never heard of it."
"Me either," said Manx. "It must be a long way from here."
"Yeah," Zef agreed. "Lots of lakes there, though—a fuckin' eltran paradise to hear her tell it! Would you believe she's only here to see the birds and paint pictures of them? Ever hear of crap like that before? Stupid thing
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