Obadiah had led the others into the pressing hall. He could’ve led them in with his eyes and ears covered and his hands and feet numb. Because of the potent whiff of fruity fragrances which greeted him as he marched through the mill’s inviting arch doorway. A thousand tantalising tangs hitting his nostrils and coaxing his starved senses into action. Like a lover’s caress. Like a farmer’s cattle prod. Like a pair of alarm clocks stapled to his elephantine ears. Like the twinkling tinkle of edible piano notes exciting his taste buds up and down his scales. Overkill, in fact. I’ll say something for nanos; at least they dull nature enough so it doesn’t blind you. That’s right; the scented wonders of the pressing hall were natural; old skool fermenting of herbs and flowers. Enough to cause Obadiah momentary blindness, deafness, pins and needles and dizzy spells all at once. All the colours of the rainbow, all the sights of the universe, all the tastes of paradise rolled into one. Synaesthetic enlightenment. Hard-drive overload; sensory shutdown. Now that’s an effective weapon.
In fact, to Obadiah, entering the pressing hall was almost like reaching some kind of…
Psytopia Adagio 1
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