Barty

Bartholomew "Barty" Buttercup, a swinging gnome of discerning tastes and even more discerning morals (or lack thereof), surveyed his domain. Pampas grass swayed like gossiping old ladies, whispering secrets to the breeze. Barty perched on a toadstool the size of a small car, twirled an upside-down pineapple. Its spiky crown pointed suggestively towards the heavens, or perhaps, slightly lower. He winked, a glint of pure mischief in his eye. The pineapple dripped a sticky, sweet juice – a metaphor, of course, for…well, Barty wasn't one for over-explanation. He preferred the language of innuendo, the subtle art of the raised eyebrow, the eloquent wiggle of his rosy, if slightly grubby, toes. A faint whiff of…was that elderflower? And something distinctly…earthy? Barty chuckled, a sound like pebbles gargling in a drainpipe. The air crackled with unspoken invitations.