You quickly stammer your wish to not do the death dance all over those glittering facets rushing toward you and the djinn.
"Oh, that? Really? Well, it's your funeral... I'm kidding! Wow, the look on your face..."
With a staggering crack in perception, you feel the wind slow and then tumble chaotically about your face. The sweat there cools quickly, though you can still feel the damp tightness in your clothes where they're strung through folds and corners of your flesh. Your eyes aren't closed, are they? It's become very hard to focus on anything other than the tumbling sensation, which goes on much longer than you had thought remained in your fall. With a sudden burst of warmth and then cool freshness, like someone stuffed a Mentos fire extinguisher in your mouth, everything becomes still.
"Well, va va voom, if I don't say so myself! Which of course I just did, now didn't I?"
You open your eyes, which it seems you had scrunched shut in the fray. All that falling really did a number on you, so much that you feel like you're still floating. Timtam floating next to you isn't helping much either. He's snickering a bit, bringing back all your memories. Yeah, you were going to think "high school memories," but let's face it, folks have been tsk-tsk-ing or giggling about you most of your life. You realize that you probably let loose in the terror of your plummet, and his reaction is probably due to your stinking nether-regions. You instinctively reach around your hips to clutch at your rear, but find nothing. Not a clean pair of shorts, mind you, but nothing at all. Your hands flop through empty air and you panic, sure that you've disintegrated.
This sets Timtam into a fit of laughter, and he rolls in the air, over and over, gasping and yelping. "No, no, please, stop! Here, here, look! Look!"
With a flamboyant puff of vaporizing rose petals, he pulls a full-length mirror from the air and holds it in front of you. Staring blankly in the glass is a gorgeous woman, prettier than any you've seen in real life. It dawns on you after some clumsy glances over your shoulders, that this bombshell must be you. A moment of shock later, you see this stacked woman begin to turn red and sweaty as she spits and yells at Timtam. He begins giggling again, making the mirror shake. The jiggling, panting, red-faced image suddenly strikes at the core of your self-image, quieting you as your new identity hardens in your consciousness. You grab your breasts, and your eyes get big.
"Hey, hey, hey! Cut that out! Those are my payment, you beautiful lech! I'm gonna lick the salt off of 'em!" With this, Timtam begins cackling and chasing you in circles by tumbling through the air. You scramble in a loop, certain you do not want to be manhandled by this chortling desert-demon. He finally stops and his face gets very serious.
"Now listen, I'm not kidding. I saved your life there, for not even a single salt crystal, and I do expect payment. You're to be my companion at Djinnfest. It'll be SO refeshing to have a bumbling newbie there, and we'll have so much fun together! You've never seen a party like this! And I'll take very good care of you and your new skins." The long mirror disappears with a no-nonsense ting. "So yes, come along, let's go. You owe me, remember, so no bargaining." With this he begins (bedjinns?) to herd you onto the softly crunching path leading through the crystal crags.
Your now-foxy head is spinning, so you allow yourself to be led for the moment. Similarly beautiful women appear to the sides of the path intermittently, using what look like hellspawn lawnmowers to shred new paths through the crystal monoliths, creating the powder you feel underfoot. They wave with sultry smiles, pausing as you walk past. You find yourself staring open-mouthed at their barely-clad frames, at their curves undulating under what appears to be sprayed on, technicolor fur. You're thankful your man bits aren't around to betray you, until you realize your MAN BITS AREN'T AROUND TO BETRAY YOU. Your heart starts racing again, and you can feel those glorious breasts begin to heave, your plump and arching lips dry out, and bile rise, burning, into your closing throat.
"Aren't they lovely?" Timtam interrupts your looming panic attack by gently taking your hand. "You'd never guess they were made of rotting flesh before we hired them and did a classic retrofit. And those mowers are a cute touch. Darnadian told us he'd figure out a clever way to deal with the whole mountain-devouring dentata issue..."
Timtam rambles on in a soothing voice, perhaps aware of your pulsating emotional frenzy. Just as you notice that the suede-like dress you wear has pattern reminiscent of stretchmarks you loathed in your mirror back home, and the "F" from the "Fatty McButterpants" tattoo from that one frat party betrayal is just above the hem of the skirt, Timtam dashes ahead while hollering greetings at a couple ambling along an intersecting path. The couple's tentacles intertwine, oozing an oily, dripping fluid, while they catch up on all things djinny.
Your eye catches a glint to your left. One of the dentata lawnmower girls is beckoning you, glancing sideways at Timtam nervously. She is obscured in shadow between two white cliffs, but you can just make out her swirling coat rustling in the gentle breeze. You feel the tug of your phantom organs when she shifts her weight and jiggles, and your still-present brain knows she could hold the key to escape or a toothy death. But you sure can't smell any rot from her at this distance.
Whatever you decide, you better make it quick. Creatures of all sorts and sizes are converging on the spot from all the paths you can see, and Timtam is sure to realize your absence any moment.
If you decide to follow the girl's fuzzy rump into the shadows, click here.
If this lady thing ain't so bad, and you wouldn't mind being wined and dined and taking these parts for a spin, click here.
If you run madly into the crystalline distance, stripping off your manskin dress in horror, click here.
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