Kirama's face, sweet and beautiful and entirely rapacious with its cake of makeup framed in half a head of snowy hair, wavered over the small waves the wizard's body had made, his countenance skirting over the ripples like a toy sailboat.
"Well, that escalated quickly," he murmured, exaggerating a sniff with both shoulders before sitting back down at the stone table in the center of their own little boat, "do you think we convinced him?"
The bull in the front of the boat nodded dumbly, his squarish snarl of a face jutting down against his chin in dejection.
"It would have been better if you'd just let me barbecue his testacles, Kirama," Kujata breathed, as fire stormed from his great nostrils in two overzealous spouts.
Kirama sighed with two full angel lungs, then swept long pale fingers through the red water surrounding the boat. Then he rose up in a volley of circling sparrow's wings and strode over the man-bull, who was twiddling with a stone piece on the table board between them.
"Now now, my dear Kujata," the angel gasped, taking the bull's big head and tracing naughty patterns of sixes and nines over his thick flattened ears, "I'm sure we paid him enough. He's bound to come back in the next century or two, and you had testacles 'last' week. Remember that lovely chap who popped by? The one with the moustache and the trans-dimensional pillar he kept darting in and out of?"
Kujata snorted, and a searing heat sang against Kirama's face, frying the edges of his long side-hair.
"Yes, I do remember him, dear- he had the whitest teeth, and that moustache! Always muttering about some physician… didn't Mab say she knew a physician once?"