December 30, 2007
Freckles.
A gust of wind blew across the room, grabbed Mordred’s wrist, and tugged up his sleeve. “You’re speckled!” Imulu said, sounding a bit aggrieved.
Mordred sighed and tugged the sleeve back down. He greened his eyes just in time to see the demon lean forward to stare at his nose.
“They’re called freckles, Imulu. People with skin like mine get them, if they’re in the sun too long.”
“Oh.” Imulu kept staring at the freckles on Mordred’s face. “But not all pasty people get spots.”
“Freckles, Imulu. And no, I didn’t say all pasty people get them. People with skin like mine get them.”
“Oh.” Mordred jumped as the demon poked his nose. “There are many kinds of pasty skin, then?”
“Um, yes,” Mordred said, leaning away from Imulu’s touch.
“Oh. Do demons get speckles?”
“Freckles, and I don’t know.”
“Will I get speckles?”
Mordred almost laughed at the alarmed look on Imulu’s face. “Have you ever gotten any before?”
“Nooo…”
“Then probably not.”
“But I don’t spend much time in the sun…”
Mordred paused. “They’re not dangerous, you know.”
“Oh. Are you sure? Humans get spots when they’re sick, I thought.”
“Sometimes. It depends on the sickness. But freckles are just little spots. They’re okay.”
“Oh.” Imulu pondered this. “Is it like how some pasty people go brown if they’re left out too long?”
A pause. “Are you okay? You’re trying to chew your lip off.”
I’m trying not to laugh at you, Mordred thought. “I’m fine, Imulu. Yes, it’s just like that.”
“Okay, then.” The demon vanished from the office in another gust of wind. Freed from the constraints of politeness, Mordred put his head down and laughed himself silly.
First Meeting.
The person at the end of the dock turned to greet them. The Seven stared.
Imulu elbowed Hush. “I thought humans came in two kinds,” it hissed.
“Define ‘kinds’,” muttered Pirig. Imulu glared at it. “I’m serious,” Pirig said.
“It’s how they make more of ‘em, right? There are two kinds, and if you get one of each kind together and their parts fit right, and their plumbing works, they bake babies. Right?”
“Um,” said Hush.
Sigsig choked back a laugh. Nimur stalked over to the edge of the pier, looking like it’d rather be anywhere else. Urbarra and Ushum were studiously ignoring Imulu.
“Your point?” Nimur snapped.
Imulu waved its arms helplessly in the direction of the person, who looked amused. “Does … that look like either of the two kinds of human to you?”
Five sets of eyes looked in the direction Imulu was waving. Imulu stared at its siblings. Nimur stared at the sea they’d just crossed, looking cross itself.
A consternated silence fell.
That silence rapidly became an embarrassed one when Mordred said, in flawless Edini, “Welcome to the White Island.”
