Like pearls upon the red rock of Mars, the domed community of Federico Ruiz is the go to place of the glitterati. Inside the shimmering domes the decadent loll upon large cushions embroidered from the silk of mutated spiders, their hands clutching luxuriously bubbling or curiously slow shifting beverages boasting a bewildering variety of intoxicants.

They bathe in the golden fountains that swim with miniscule fish who nuzzle your every pore. Their conversation is shallow and high brow, the banter of those who have nothing to talk about but others who have nothing to talk about. Their sound passes through the domes, even to the furthermost domes, the small jungles of primal lust.

Knots of flesh seethe, sending sighs awry amid the fluttering candy coloured insects. Hands grasp smart tattoos that scatter and reform some place where they may be seen clearly. At the center of it all, Federico Ruiz may be found by the sickle of his white grin.