Keith Zenith and the Imperial Egg: Part 2

In a dusty, slightly egg shaped room about the size square footage-wise of a Walgreen's, a small fingered priestess strummed an off-white miniature guitar and stared up at the crack in the ceiling with wide eyes. Her mouth was frosty with cosmic detritus and her bracelets swayed like Jupiter's unhinged belts. Then, at the coaxing - what felt like the beginning of an insistent rash - of the ever silent egg, she began to vocalize. Spittle like wet snowflakes puffed out from the bellows of her long dormant lungs.

"Wee Boweevills....spy a bright flicker....pluck a penguin feather...soap suds....blue....black.....red....." Her voice was a little constricted but was loosening. Foam bubbled and buckled at the corners of her thin lips. Egg was just getting her loosened up - making sure the instrument worked, clearing out the frogs. He had a communication to get across and he hoped Blue Fingers would grant him an ear. The only way was to get this little priestess to carry it to him with her viral folk tune.

"Run it to the floor...crumpet....rainbow...delicate...crease..." Her straw-thin fingers resolutely plucked the strings. Their movements were gaining in confidence. Little peals of phosphorescence leaped from the vibrations like the residue of tiny unborn universes being released and then sizzled. Gases, gasps of color, smells like burning hair and buttered lasagna and copper frizzled off into the room.

Egg made not a sound locked in the drawer.

Outside the cottage, brothers conversed. Karl stayed sitting in the drivers seat of the parked Impala and Keith stood, speaking with him through the unrolled window. His lips barely moved. No discernible body language.

The little priestess continued her hesitant caterwauling and the little crack in the ceiling began to let in a little thick blue light. Like a viscous gel being poured into water. Egg was now having the priestess moan and curse a bit and rapid strum flamenco-style - just to make sure she was warmed up and the airwaves were clear for him.

For fun he had her say, "Ball glove! Ball glove! Let's play Ball!" Then he initiated silence and stillness. He collected his energies (hiss energies) and aligned his juices.

He'd sung this song before but until now had not gotten his message across. He needed the right ear to receive. If he could get an audience with Blue, even for the slightest fraction of a fraction of a microsecond, his song could do its work.