Undeniably Lovely

Ask her if she'll be my parrot, whispers Terence.

You ask her, says Sweezus.

I'll ask her, says Gloria. She flies up to the branch where Celia is sitting.

No need to ask me, says Celia. I know what he wants. Tell him I'm making an assessment.

Gloria drops down.

She's making an assessment.

Heavy, says Sweezus. Can we hurry this up a bit?

Gloria flits up.

Come with us, and meet the others. Do you like plums, or apples?

I like plums, says Celia. Okay. I'll talk to the infant as we travel.

She's coming, says Gloria, flitting down.

Yay! says Terence.

I'll go ahead, says Gloria. You follow.

Celia flies down onto Sweezus's shoulder.

Arghh! His throat tickles. He shudders. Get off!

Sorry? says Celia. Am I not welcome?

Come on ME! says Terence. My shoulder.

Celia hops down to his shoulder.

Terence looks proud.

No need to look proud, says Celia. I haven't yet made a decision.

I used to live in a palace, says Terence.

Why tell me that? asks Celia.

So you know, says Terence.

Well, I know, says Celia. That means you're spoilt.

He's not spoilt, says Sweezus. He had a hard time with Saint Joseph, and the Virgin was distant.

Oh, says Celia. I'll take that on board.

I know how to make pots, says Terence.

Boastful, says Celia.

I was going to make three, says Terence. But now I'm just making one.

Lazy, says Celia.

To be fair, says Sweezus, a lobster took a third of his clay.

He could still have made two pots, says Celia.

I don't really want you, says Terence. You can go back to your tree now.

That's not how it works, says Celia. I'll decide if I'm coming or going.

Good on you, says Sweezus. Terence needs a companion.

Not a mean one, says Terence.

Yes, a mean one, says Sweezus.

She's not even a parrot, says Terence. Real parrots are grey and they coo and eat bread crumbs.

That's pigeons, says Celia.

But Terence knows what he knows.

You'll be a challenge, says Celia. I like a good challenge.

Well I'm a bad challenge, says Terence.

You did want a parrot, says Celia. I heard you.

A red one, says Terence.

A red pigeon, says Celia, is not going to happen.

Terence glowers.

Look at me, says Celia, fluttering her wings.

The wings have red and pink trimmings. Her body is stout and yellowish green. She has dark irises, and on her back, dark blue colours.

She is undeniably lovely.