Ben - Chapter Nine

As with all thinking creatures, Ben was no exception to those especially tempted by the bottle. Falling back on that sweet glass and its contents was all too easy. Embracing it as a friend came naturally, and locking lips to lips as that sweet liquid further familiarized with the gullet was part of the rescue from a hard day battling belchbears, frost and pestering natwinnies.

Ben was in luck, as the story would have it. A tavern sporting green decking and spurting nut juice was a hare’s whisker away. The cacophony of bees could not show it much more - acting as pests and advertising beacons. Rabbit’s knew that when they heard the sweet hum of the wings, other delights were close by.

Alongside the aforementioned Vietnamese dry, with its oaky taste to be shared amongst closest friends, the sweet nut juice was more guilty a pleasure and one to relive with discretion and secrecy. Ben kept this thought at the front of his whiskers and dashed some glances around, before farting and darting into the burrowbar when the coast was clear.

The reward for such caution was a fresh glass of sweet and brown, which was quaffed with gusto. As the glass was consumed in one gulp and hammered back down upon the stand, a quiet scan of the interland was conducted. And there she was.

She stood fierce and confident, with an air of wisdom beyond her years and eyelashes you could build a runway on. She ran her fingers up and down a tall glass, standing alone and joining smaller beads of condensation together, waiting and watching - almost an art of hers.

To her left, as she observed, three honeybees were playfully jostling, perhaps embroiled in a love triangle. To her right, a microweevil was writing a song, as penance for yesterday’s poor behavior and payment to the bar for rear-sicking up all over one of the snugs.

Ben would throw a secret eye across, ensuring it would pass without notice. He was enthralled and captivated, but not obvious, open or flirtatious. Quite the opposite. The picture painted was one of intrigue. The twigs overhead wrapped this comfortable scene with a reassuring warmth.

As the nut juice flowed liberally and endlessly, the lips were again embraced. Ben wished to work up the courage to put the glass down and open conversation. As time wore on and he thought deeper, the glasses were continually lined up and knocked back. It would not require the wisest hare nor rabbit to know where this story was going.

This would be another night of excess. This had been another promise of that final slug before retiring to bed at a godly hour. Just one more, then bed, then sleep, then rise at a respectable hour. The nut juice would flow liberally down the rabbit-gullet and fill spaces piece by piece, in search of the courage to go over and talk to her. Courage supplied by reckless abandon paved the way for his tapping paws to make their way to her. His head and heart followed in earnest. This was going to be a fantastic idea!

Shuffling up beside her, his clumsy manner gave way to thoughts and fears, and the words could not come out as planned. Things could not be rewritten. This played out on the other side of the road. This was a little metal four wheeled rocket being trampled by a large bear. This was a disaster!

Words of wisdom and charm were meant and fully intended. Churn, chunder and purge were the nasty side effects. Out it all came - akin to a volcanic eruption and one so fierce so as to be comparable to an extinction event.

A pretty cat whose whiskers glistened in the moonlight now stood covered, aghast, in the most pungent nut juice. Walnut and carrot permeated the surrounds and weevils, wolves, deer and lice made their quick exit, abandoning their trance-like dance to the riot of a band of roaring bears.

Eyes staring and claws bared, she looked straight at Ben with a determined precision.