Mirrored from Sythyry.
[As a Labor Day Weekend special, I'm going to post extra Sythyry entries this weekend. If this pleases you, dedicate a burger to Sythyry before you eat it, or kiss someone you don't ordinarily kiss enough, or write a very silly bit of graffiti. Bonus points if you tell me what you did!
-bb]
Lexical Conventions
I am going to give the Elfimel their own letters: Elfimel A, Elfimel B, etc. When two Elfimel appear with the same letter in a given scene, they are the same Elfimel. When two Elfimel appear with different letters in a given scene, they are different Elfimel. When two Elfimel appear in different scenes with different letters —- they might be the same or they might be different. We don’t know; that would be heretical and open the door for wickedness. (I suppose. I have never found names to be particularly wicked. (And, for what it’s worth, Rassimel — who are the prime creation of Mircannis on the World Tree — are noted for naming everything.))
Tour
Elfimel A: “Well, here we are at the great glade of Large Fruit! Look! Look all about you! Beautiful and also bountiful fruit grows on every tree!”
Grinwipey: “Yah, you’ve got a yogger-snoshing banana bush over there, can’t deny that with all seven tents.”
Elfimel B: “Every cycle we come back to this grove. It is my favorite place in all of Heaven!”
Elfimel C: “Oh, fie! What anti-cojumation is this being spoken? Everyone’s favorite place in all of Heaven is the Temple of Mircannis!”
Elfimel B: “Of course! The Temple of Mircannis is the center of beauty and love in all the universe! There is no argument thereof, no dispute! All sing the hymns of Mircannis!”
All Elfimel: [singing, in a very pretty harmony, as if they've been practicing about forever, which, evidently, they have] “We sing the hymns of Mircannis / We sing of singing the hymns of Mircannis / We sing of singing of singing the hymns of Mircannis / Sweet goddess / of thee we sing / of thee we sing of singing / of thee we sing of singing of singing!”
Elfimel A: “So you see, O visitors, that you have come to the best of all universes, and there is much delicious fruit!”
Este: “I see, and the pren I am eating now is one of the best prens I have ever eaten.”
Phaniet: “You’re not dying of poison, then, or forgetting all about home, or being transformed into an Elfimel?”
Este: “Home? Our home is in Heaven!”
Phaniet: “Uh-oh…”
Este: [grinning] “Technically that’s right, ’cause Strayway is back there, and that’s our current address of record. Our ultimate home is Castle Wrong in Vheshrame. And our bed there has a faded green comforter that you mended with a patch of blue-green cloth from my old pyjamas, when it got ripped on your left toeclaw one day while we were having a tickling match. See, all OK?”
Phaniet inspected him with magic sense. “All OK, as far as I can tell.”
The Elfimel, a dozen or so of them, all sat in a circle around the primes, smiling, arching their extravagantly-colored tails over their heads. Others drifted in over the conversation, to see the newcomers and listen. There was no fear among them; they were all bright eyes and wide-spread ears. No shame either: they cuddled each other and sometimes petted each other intimately as they chatted.
