The imp nodded magnanimously. "Sure. I'll give you a night to think it over. But in the morning, I expect an answer."
The night would give him time to think of something, though he didn't know what. Rick smiled nervously. "Thanks. I'll be sure to...urpp!" as he found himself standing in his apartment, the imp having transported him there without his consent. True to her word, the Jennifer chest was standing in the corner, a look of mingled fear and outrage still on her varnished wooden face. On second sight, she looked more like a cabinet...a liquor cabinet, to be precise. Well, the imp had mentioned putting some things inside her.
"God, I need a drink," he muttered. He grasped the chest's wooden nipples and opened the manager's torso open. Inside was now a fine assortment of booze... scotch, whisley, tequila, etc, as well as glasses and other utensils. One bottle at the back had a very unusual shape. Rick frowned. It wasn't... it couldn't... he pawed aside the others to grasp it by the neck. Its literal neck, for it was in the form of a shapely nude woman. Diane, to be precise. A cork rested on top of her head like the round hat of an old-fashioned hotel bellhop, and on her stomach was a label proclaiming DIANE'S SPICY JAMAICAN RUM. 120 PROOF. From the slack expression of the bottle's face, he guessed she was already quite pickled.
What would happen if he drank her? He didn't want to find out. He could only guess the imp wanted him to mull over her fate before he made his decision. Trying to forget that fact, he reached instead for the bottle of scotch and a corkscrew...
...which turned out to be a miniaturized silver-plated Harriet. He should have known. Her once-blonde hair was now upswept and formed a long spiral with a sharpened end, and on closer examination he saw her legs could spread apart at right angles to form a convenient handle for the user.
"Sorry, Hari," he whispered, snapping the legs back into place. He returned the corkscrew to its slot. Jeez, what next?
Since he couldn't uncork any of the strong stuff without torturing Harriet, he chose a bottle vodka which had a plastic cap and reached for a highball glass.
Rebecca. Cut onto the face of the tumbler, naked and voluptuous in a kneeling cheesecake pose, one hand holding up her hair, the other fingering herself between the thighs. A 'come-hither' look had been clearly etched onto her tiny glass face.
"Oh, come on!" Rick said out loud. But he got no reply. The imp was long gone, and his friends were, after all, inanimate objects and couldn't reply. He grabbed an everyday glass from the kitchen cupboard and began to drink. Sooner then he'd realized, the bottle was empty. And he was quite drunk.
Sun, 14-Oct-2001 17:22:14