Being Bella's consort has some perks of reflected fame; by the time Ripper's solo album is done, he has plenty of fans, enough to support a significant tour through even Earthly venues.
[I doubt it. Anyway, they don't just up and fuck you, you have to ask nicely first.]
Nibble nibble. [Should I conjure up some actual food, do you suppose, since there doesn't seem to be any lined up?]
[Maybe the enchantment just knows we're not sitting down to have dinner,] he laughs. [I am kind of hungry, though. For something other than you.] Nibble kiss.
[I'm not very filling,] she giggles. And she conjures up a few baskets of assorted fried things, ranging from breadcrumb-dredged avocados to plain old seasoned curly potato fries to churros.
But he does sit up (and snuggle her) and have a go at the Actual Food.
It is good and fried (in the sense of results, if not the process of its creation) and actual. Om nom nom.
Bella brushes it away for him. Nom. Kiss. Snuggle. Nom.
[So,] (her mouth is full), [have you been up to interesting non-me-related things of late?]
[This and that. Writing some more songs. I think I'll do another photoshoot with the clowns sometime soon.]
[The clowns,] chuckles Bella. [Any ideas for sets so far?]
[Not yet. But I'm taking suggestions. Anywhere in particular you want to see me naked?]
[Oh, everywhere. You could take a few pictures here,] she suggests, [maybe angled so you can see you and also the Milky Way through the roof.]
She does in fact take several photographs before becoming irretrievably distracted.
"What do you think," he muses, cuddling up to her, "more pictures while the petals are still flying?"
"Sure," she laughs, "if we can disentangle ourselves. I do not wish to appear naked on your album cover."