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.
It's been long enough - have they really been dating for more than a year? - that the previous explosions of petals are nowhere to be seen, and the gazebo is not currently flowering. But it's still there, still in good condition, still enchanted.
Bella pulls Ripper down onto the couch-thing that formed when they stopped sitting in opposite chairs, in case anything happens when they do that besides the predictably obvious.
And flowers bloom from the walls and the floor and around the edge of the uncluttered table. These ones have a collar of black leafy spikes surrounding a flower that starts red-orange at the base of each petal and moves through brilliant yellow to fiery yellow-white.
[Or there's new ones. I wonder if it's going to - yep,] he says, as flamelike petals start gently raining on them.
[Very charming. Hopefully tentacle porn flowers aren't in its repertoire, that'd be a surprise.]
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.
[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.]