SEATTLEHAMA: RIP

Warrior Remon died while Bunné kissed his jacket, shirt, shoes, and slowly worked her way toward the bloody center of his crotch. Just as her lips touched the bloody material, the amphitheater went dark. After a long moment of complete silence and pure black, the crowd stood, and screamed.

When the lights came back up, Bunné, now surrounded by saleswarriors-armed with long shears-and purple satins, stood with the others from the show and smiled and waved. Her precisely tailored navy jacket-exactly like the design Vada had showed me on the Pacifica-gave off a shimmer like a school of silvery fish.

The audience, me included, stormed the stage. Soon a hundred surrounded Bunné, and when I saw that the saleswarriors were letting her fans greet her one at a time, I knew this was my chance. I pushed through the wools and sheers, grasped the edge of the stage, and hauled myself up.

Slipping between two Black Dead Breeders, I saw that one had on a skivvé and was rubbing the tube furiously. Farther back, a Magnificent Wasp Female with a ten-inch corseted waist let out a wobbly exaltation and fainted, caught by a Warrior Remon in violet frill. While I didn't feel the same lust and love as the others, I had been captivated, even mesmerized, by the show, and standing there, waiting my turn, I studied Bunné closely, hoping to understand how this one woman could be the ruling celeb of the city, the inventor of M-Bunny, Vada's sister, the most talented seamstress I'd ever seen… and the castrator and killer of millions of men.

"Truth is a gingham parasol!" said Bunné, hugging a Sorry-Girl in torn rags. A moss-green WaterButtie stepped before her. "A lumen of hope," she said with a kiss. To the next she said, "A flock of history." A Pricilla Filth, nude below her flowing gown, wept as Bunné whispered, "A single kernel of myth."

She was a heavy warTalker. I don't know why that surprised me. After all, this was where Kira and all the other saleswarriors got it.

"Three seconds," said one of the satins guarding her. "Three-second hugs only."

"Left arm up… right low," said a saleswarrior demonstrating. "No more than five words or ten syllables."

"One air kiss," added another satin. "Off her right cheek!"

"Keep moving," growled another. "Say your line, give respect, and move on."

Bunné spoke with two Blackwitch Breaths. "The heart of the infinite!" she said with a laugh, and then her expression fell. "Crushed by the swooping fall of a lone Chesapeake leaf."

"Once you greet and hug," said a saleswarrior, pointing to stage left, "release and travel."

A Commander Sheppard in a worm jacket stepped before Bunné, but couldn't remember which arm went where.

"Right arm down! Right arm down!" barked a tall satin.

"I'm sorry," sputtered the man, "I'm nervous… I just wanted to say-"

"Time's up! Move on!" One of the satins grasped his arm. "Only five words!" He dragged Commander Sheppard away.

"I'm sorry!" he called to Bunné. "I'm terribly sorry. I love you dearly!" By then, half of the real worms on his jacket had been squished.

"Next," a satin intoned.

Bunné seemed not to hear or notice her guards and handlers. She smiled at a woman dressed as Reginald Ball Fairy and said,  "I am a new humanity." It was as if she had a special phrase for each of them. When Bunné hugged the woman, her luminous blue eyes met mine.

I shouldn't have been looking at her. I should have been gazing down at the stage or the tops of my Jacque 24 chameleon sneaks, trying to remain unseen and invisible. But I couldn't look away from her, even as every nerve in my body screamed to do so.

Bunné released the Reginald Ball Fairy, and peered at me suspiciously. She pointed one of her long fingers. "Advance."