A Kink Blog About Hiccups

Bran is called his name because in the events of the show's finale I assume new arrivals get access to their names.

Bran is one of those water-filled glitter-filled squishy stress toys. So, if you were to squish him, the other part would bulge out, and you could shake it to see all the glitter sparkle. The color would become paler as his out-layer would stretch. Cause, y'know, physics!

He's got bear ears cause...duh.

Underneath his shirt are top surgery scars, but I have no idea how to create those in a marriage of his form to what they would look like.

I also assume every new arrival gets the lowdown on what they are and a brief history of the c!rcus as a whole.

Bran 100% still gets hiccups and his lower part bulges and jiggles and the glitter swirls and the water bubbles with every hiccup. Sometimes when he holds his breath, he gets hiccups from the water swirling and bubbling.

He still loves getting hiccups. In fact, he loves it even more, now!

Jury's out on who finds out about his kink or their reaction to it. But I think he does eventually really enjoy his new home and the people he meets. I feel like he, Z0oble, and G@ngle get on really well with the whole creativity thing and gender thing.

Anyway, welcome to my current hyperfixation! And if you are inspired to make Circus!Bran art, I won't complain! But I won't insist, either.

Had it been a week? Bran wasn't sure. It was hard to keep track of time without his phone or a watch or clock. He rubbed a hand on the front of his body and winced a little as a slightly rubbery squeak sounded and vibrated through his entire form. He shivered and caught the swirl of glitter and bubbles inside him from his periphery.

He felt the movement inside his new body. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation, but it was alien enough to make it very difficult to make direct eye contact with what he now was. His eyes skidded over reflective surfaces in his room and in the hallway. Even though everything from the way he ambulated to how many fingers had was unignorably different, he managed to keep the self-inspection at bay.

He was an old hat at body dysphoria and dysmorphia, after all. Disassociation from his physical form was more than habit, it was a skill of survival he used as he was growing up. Back when he was...not this.

Bran sighed a bit dramatically as he looked around the room he'd been given again. He lay on his bed getting used to the swishes of movement the deep sigh caused.

Rooms were apparently inspired from Bran's...brain...scan. He tried not to shiver again. So, it was no surprise how much art and how many art supplies it held. One thing that had surprised Bran was that there was a soda machine. It was tall and took up one corner of the room. Bran hadn't even tried to get anything out of it (it didn't look as if it required money) because what was the point? He could see entirely into his body and there wasn't a diaphragm in sight.

This was, in his mind, worse than having his brain scanned and learning he was a conglomerate of that scan and not the full person he felt he was. This was worse than finding his body modelled after a Y2K style stress toy you'd find in a Dollar General. The inability to hiccup for all of eternity? The sorrow was immense. It wouldn't kill him, but it would certainly make all of this even more difficult to acclimate to than just having his entire existence changed.

Ca!ne, the chattering wind-up teeth in a ringmaster costume, had offered to attempt to make a more comparable body for Bran, something more similar to what he looked like, what he still looked like, as a human. But Bran declined. What a tease it would be to have a similar body but still not the ability to hiccup? Besides, he felt he would look garish and monstrous compared to the aesthetics of the carnival-style world and its cartoon-ish characters.

People, he reminded himself. They were humans too, as trapped as he, and from the abbreviated history they had shared with him, much more traumatized than he by the experience.

Bran sighed again, groaning and acclimating to how his voice felt in his head. His body was basically a giant orb and his head another. He had ears like a bear, which was almost insulting with how obvious the decision was to include. The more he thought about it, the more he felt as though he'd just transformed into a giant belly with a head. The thought made him chuckle. The chuckle made him jiggle and sparkle with glitter refracting on his dimly lit room from the lamp beside his bed.

"Ugh! Get up, bitch!" he grumbled at himself, rubbing his eyes with slick rubbery hands. He watched the sparkling spots lazily fall from the mitten-like hands into his plump purple arm.

At least he was his favorite color.

Bran wasn't one to mope. He hated moping. So, in a shift of his soft smooth body on his cozy duvet, sat up, body fluids shifting and stretching the lower part of his round self into a stretched bloat, and then flopped the bottom of his body on the floor of his room.

In movements that felt worryingly natural from the moment he arrived at the C!rcus, he bounced and scooted on the base of his body to the door. He straightened the small, short sleeved, collared shirt he'd arrived in, and took a breath before opening his door and startled.

Every single member of the C!rcus was in the hallway facing his door. They all stared at him with mild alarm at being caught before babbling awkward greetings and overlapping dialogue.

"We were just checkin' on ya..." came R@ggatha's voice.

"...seeing how you were settling in..." K!nger was saying.

"...oooh! Are you an artist too?" Bran heard G@ngle ask as a white mask peeked beneath one of his arms.

"...and wanted to make sure you hadn't already abstracted!" That was Z0oble.

Everyone paused awkwardly at that. The collection of shapes tried to laugh it off but did poorly. Bran only knew what abstraction was on a surface level from the history portion of his introduction here. It didn't seem good and the response that the poorly delivered joke got proved it was something dark and upsetting.

"Is he okay!!??" another voice Bran recognized as the chattering teeth ringleader called from the end of the hallway. The floating form seemed turned in on itself, worrying hands.

Z0oble rolled their eyes and grumbled.

"Yes, Ca!ne! He's fine! ...I think," they said. Bran nodded for confirmation.

"Are you sure?" This was the small but clear voice of P0mni, the jester. Her large, pinwheel-esque eyes stared up at him.

P0mni was in the middle of the group, out front. She was insufferably kind and compassionate in a way that would've been annoying if Bran hadn't desperately needed that support. Between her, the rag doll, and the dad vibes of the robed chess piece he felt way saner than he thought he should be.

"No, I'm...okay," he confirmed. "I mean, crippling existential dread and severe body horror are actually not completely foreign concepts to me."

Bran shrugged.

"The squeaky skin, however," he rubbed his hand on the roundest part of what he'd decided to call his belly and demonstrated the sound, "is really throwing me off!"

The group chuckled a little, obviously relieved.

"Preaching to the choir!" Z0oble agreed as they manipulated one of their arms with the other with the sound of a squeaking creak.

"Aww, I think it's cute!" G@ngle said wrapping her red ribbon of an arm around the plastic one.

"What's he saying?! I can't hear him!" Ca!ne shouted.

"Ugh!" P0mni turned down the hallway. "Just come down here!"

Bran threw her a confused look.

"It's...been a long time since we've gotten someone new." She looked down and then back up. "Not since...all that stuff we told you about happened. You're the first new person since then. So... I think he's nervous. He doesn't want to...uh...do anything wrong, I guess."

Eyes and teeth and a sharp red blazer came into view.

"D-do you need anything? An update on your outside self? A new body? Maybe...a distraction? A game? A song. Actually, nix the song. Last time I sung...it...didn't go well." Ca!ne's teeth clacked softly as he 'blinked'.

"Maybe..." Bran struggled for a moment to figure out what he did want. "Maybe just company? Maybe you all can tell me more stories?"

K!nger didn't have a mouth, but for some reason Bran saw a smile on his face. Everyone smiled a little.

"We've...definitely got stories!" R@gatha said as she swung an arm in front of her in the perpetual nervousness she always exhibited.

In Café Cirque Bran recieved an even more detailed idea of everyone's stories. He also learned that holding his breath made the glitter and liquid in his body swirl and sparkle brightly.

It was an alluring sensation as bubbles from the motion tickled his insides. He surprised himself by laughing in amusement when he breathed again, a small release of air like a belch from his mouth popping out unexpectedly. He covered his mouth, eyes enlarging. He didn't even know that was possible.

Everyone around him just laughed. Apparently bodily functions were not completely off the table, then. He shouldn't get his hopes up, but when Z0oble asked what he wanted because she wanted to practice creating and manifesting things, he admitted he wanted something fruity and fizzy.

"I can do that! Maybe..." they said.

Eventually, they could and did produce exactly what Bran wanted.

"Good job, Z0oble!" K!nger said gently. Then the chess piece turned to Bran. "You're acclimating very well, Bran."

Bran shifted his round purple body on the booth cushion with a shrug as he took the cold fizzy beverage from a corkscrew shaped limb.

"I dunno about that," he admitted.

The others had started to talk amongst themselves, laughing sometimes, or speaking lowly in the corner. Ca!ne, Bran noticed, was sitting at the bar and glanced at him with a seemingly meaningful look before turning back to R@gatha. Bran frowned a little before refocusing on K!nger speaking.

"Trust me. You're doing great. Then again, I think this is a much...safer place than it used to be." K!nger's lower eyelids squinted in what Bran identified as a smile, again.

"Everyone's been...really nice, yeah," Bran agreed. He took a sip of the drink and hummed at the taste. It was very good.

One thing about having a molded, painted on beard was that liquid no longer clung to it. But the whole experience of drinking the beverage was a little baffling, honestly.

Bran expected the drink to be visible somehow in his body. But it wasn't. It defied logic even though he had absolutely felt the fizz go down his mouth into some sort of semblance of a throat. It was a delightful sensation. He thought, though perhaps it was psychosomatic, that he felt a bit of pressure from his throat and body.

"Mm, we've all been through a lot in here. We've lost...a lot," the robed game piece said. "It's easy to be angry after all of that. Fortunately, the people who are here now, as flawed as we all are, have made a nice family after all of that time."

"I can tell urp!-scuse me! Sorry." Bran put his hand to his mouth having been surprised by the burp. "I can tell you all care about each other a lot."

K!nger chuckled, "Must be the bubbles."

Bran took another drink and nodded.

"I've always been a sucker for carbonation-HYUP!"

Bran froze after his entire belly expanded tightly and slammed back to its original size, leaving him jiggling with the reverb.

"Oh!" he said. "HYU'UH!"

The double syllable one was even more dramatic. The spasm stretched and jiggled him in two parts, causing the upper half of his body to jerk in dramatically as the lower half expanded and then pulled back roughly causing the second half of the hiccup.

The hiccups had a second tone to them, a distinctive squeak not caused by whatever passed as vocal cords in his toy-ish form, but from how his body's skin rubbed against itself during the quick movements. There was also a thump in rebound. Like, well, like the sound of someone squeezing a water-filled stress toy quickly.

K!nger chuckled, "Ya got the hiccups, kiddo?"

Bran nodded before another hiccup jiggled the swirling glitter in his body causing his head to jerk back and forward again.

"I'm pretty prone to them HYU'UP! in real life. HYUH! I didn't think it was poss-YUH!-ible to get them here. HYUP!" Bran admitted as he first put a hand on his chest and then his belly as it expanded more than his human one ever had.

Bran was immediately excited.

In his excitement he caught Ca!ne's softly satisfied expression. Did the AI know? And why was Bran not feeling more dread about the possibility?

"I admit, I've never seen anyone really have them here. But I suppose it was always a possibility," K!nger said.

"Anything's possible here," said the set of teeth in a top hat.

"Oh, do they hurt?" R@gatha asked with genuine concern. "They look violent."

"N-no," Bran stuttered before inflating and rebounding with another hiccup.

"Sorry my drink gave you those..." Z0oble was saying. Bran was having a hard time paying attention, though.

"It's ok-HEEYULP!-okay!" Bran said. "I'm used-YULP!-used to them! These are-Y'LMP!-are a little different though!"

Internalizing the hiccups caused his body to shake even more. Oh, he was definitely enjoying this!

"But I'm HYULP!-uh, I'm fine! I think I'll tr-YULP!-try to rest in m-HEE'YLP! in my room, though!"

"Good idea," said Z0oble looking a little alarmed.

"I hope you feel better!" G@ngle said with a watery smile.

"Tell us if you need anything," P0mni said kindly.

If holding one's breath caused a certain reaction, Bran didn't want to test if having an orgasm caused another visible reaction. So, he had to get to his room quickly.

Travelling with these hiccups was just as exciting. The weight of his body's spasms and expansion put a literal hop in his step (if he had anything to step with). He could feel his entire body snapping and the contents in it swirling like waves.

When he got to his room and locked it, he didn't even know where to touch himself. But he, for the first time, actually looked in the full length mirror he'd been avoiding. He watched the transparency of his body bulge with every hiccup. He watched his silly purple head wiggle back.

He took off his shirt and ran his silly mitten hands over two grooves in his chest that sparkled where his top surgery scars had been on his human body. His chest was less of a chest, though, and more of a continuation of the soft ball shape of his lower body. Even so, it did what a chest did when hiccups happened and dimpled in causing the lower half of his body to bulge out, rebound, and then jiggle.

Bran couldn't help it. He moaned. His silly little bear ears twitched in the mirror. He groped himself down his girth until he got to a part right before the base of where his body met the floor and it became an immediate erogenous zone. His cartoon eyes squeezed shut as his body continued to pooch, bulge, and tremble.

Hiccups came faster and faster until they were back-to-back. He wasn't breathing, but he didn't need to. He felt the contents of his body swirl deliciously and as he cracked open his eyes, now on his bed, he saw the glitter grow brighter and brighter.

Bran's forearms felt jiggle after jiggle until he felt himself orgasm.

The purple bear startled terribly when at the moment of his orgasm a sound like a party horn squeaked from where his hands were and confetti spilled out onto his bed.

His hiccups had stopped and Bran blinked twice, looked down, and guffawed explosively at the sight. His entire body jiggled again, but this time with laughter.

Aasif walked briskly back from the kitchens, his quarry tucked into his sleeve. No reason to advertise—the servants or guards would only wonder why he was carrying such a thing through the palace, and he really didn’t see why anyone else had to know.

He returned to his bedroom and set his prize on his desk. For a moment, he just eyed it, wondering about the best way to begin. Should he just go for it?

At that moment, his door opened, and Aasif let out a long-suffering sigh. “What do you want, Sita?” he called over his shoulder. It had to be his sister. Any of the palace staff would’ve knocked, and his parents didn’t come to him—they’d send one of the servants to fetch him.

Sita hung back in the doorway, holding up a vase of cut flowers. “I got these from the gardens, thought you might like some,” she explained.

Well, how was Aasif meant to be annoyed with her when she was all thoughtful? It was one of the most aggravating things about his sister. “Yes, thank you,” he said in a resigned tone. “Come on in.”

He stood in front of the desk to block her view, but Sita didn’t seem to be paying much mind anyway. “What are you up to?” she asked, fussing with the (admittedly very pretty) flowers as she walked into the room.

“Oh, you know—plots, schemes, the usual,” Aasif replied.

“Huh?” She looked up at him.

Aasif chuckled. “Nothing, Sita.”

“Mmm.” She nodded. “Right.” As she looked around the room, Sita murmured to herself, “Now where to put you?”

“Maybe over by the—” Aasif started to say, gesturing to his bedside table, but Sita approached the desk instead.

“What about here?” she asked in the same breath as Aasif. Slipping past him, Sita set the vase down and was pulled up short by what she found on the desk.

“That’s a hearth pepper,” she said.

Aasif gave the thing a glance. “Is it?” he mused, as if he’d only just noticed himself.

“Why do you have a hearth pepper in your room?” Sita wondered.

No, she was annoying. Definitely annoying. “It brightens up the atmosphere,” Aasif drawled back.

“Aasif,” Sita said.

Aasif’s sister could be meek and withdrawn in company, but if she felt comfortable enough with you, she could be downright stubborn. With another sigh, Aasif admitted, “I need…practice.”

Sita frowned. “Practice at what? Eating the hottest food that grows in Iqara?” Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Is this a bet? With who, Rashad from the stables?”

“It’s not a bet,” Aasif told her. “It’s…” Between the two of them, it was very rare that Aasif was the tongue-tied one. He wondered if Sita was enjoying the role reversal. “Look,” he finally said, “it’s to help me get ready for seeing Tariq again.”

“But why would Tariq want you to—?” Sita began, and Aasif saw the exact moment she realized what he was doing. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a small laugh escaped her.

Aasif gave a small huff and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Go on, say it.”

“You’re trying to get the hiccups?” Sita asked.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Aasif retorted. “I always get so embarrassed and cranky when I have them. Tariq’s curse is non-negotiable, so I have to figure out a way to get used to them. And I thought, practice—this is the first thing I could think of that might work.”

As she thought this over, Sita cocked her head. “Wait here,” she told him. “You’d better at least have some milk ready for yourself, or you’ll regret this fast.”

All right, so Aasif couldn’t be annoyed at Sita’s smarts either, not when they saved him from his own impulsivity. “Yeah,” he agreed, nodding. “Good idea.”

Heading for the door, Sita added, “I mean, you might regret the idea anyway. But at least you can prepare yourself for the fallout.”

“Thanks, Sita!” Aasif called after her.

While he waited, Aasif discovered that he was starting to feel apprehensive about the whole thing. Whenever the cooks served dishes made with hearth peppers, it never took more than a few mouthfuls for him to start sweating, and that was when they were blended into a sauce. They were supposed to be even hotter when they were raw, weren’t they?

That was the trouble with Sita’s pragmatism—when she pointed out all the logic, it gave you time to second-guess yourself. If not for her, Aasif would have done it already. Of course, that might’ve meant he’d be curled up on the floor with his mouth on fire, so there were pitfalls on either side.

A few minutes later, Sita returned with a pitcher of milk and a goblet. “You didn’t tell anyone what you needed it for, did you?” Aasif asked.

“Of course not,” Sita replied. “I didn’t think you’d want the servants to know the man you like is cursed, so you’re giving yourself the hiccups to help you cope with it.”

“Not man,” Aasif pointed out.

Sita’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t think Tariq’s a man,” Aasif explained. “Not exclusively, anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” Sita asked.

Was Aasif stalling? Hard to say. “Didn’t you hear Laila the last time they were here?” Aasif said. “She used ‘he,’ ‘she,’ and ‘they’ when she was talking about Tariq.” With a playful grin, he just nudged his sister. “Or when Laila talks, are you too busy getting lost in her eyes to hear what she says?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Sita informed him, making a face.

“I happen to be an excellentjudge of my own humor,” Aasif countered.

“Fine—the person you like is cursed then,” Sita said. She sank down so she was eye level with the desk and looked at the hearth pepper. “Are you stalling?”

“I would never!” Aasif exclaimed. Sita raised her eyebrows at him and he realized that, if he talked much longer, he’d wind up backing out. If he wanted to go through with this, it would have to be now.

So, taking a breath, Aasif said, “I’m ready.” As he picked up the pepper by its stem, Sita filled the goblet with milk for him.

Just raising the hearth pepper near his face was enough to make his eyes water. Aasif told himself that that was good—it meant it had a good chance of working.

Okay, now or never.

Somehow reckless and cautious at the same time, Aasif took the smallest bite possible of the hearth pepper. It gave him about half a second of grace before it assaulted his tongue. By the time Aasif managed to swallow, he was already sweating.

“Oh-oh-oh!” he panted, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Aasif,” Sita prompted. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she held up the goblet.

Aasif seized it with both hands and gulped down a few swallows. “Oh my g-*ulk!*-god!” He downed the rest of the milk and handed the goblet back to Sita. “More, pl-please,” he begged. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he fanned at his tongue.

“Yes, I have it,” Sita assured him.

Another hiccup hit him while she was refilling the goblet, a hard “*huck!*” God, his throat and chest were burning now too. “Hurry!” Aasif insisted, his eyes streaming.

Sita gave him the goblet and watched as he tried to quench the fire he’d just swallowed. “Aren’t you glad I came along?” she asked.

“Shut up,” Aasif replied between gulps of milk. It was helping a little—the heat wasn’t unbearable—but he still felt like, if he breathed too hard, his desk would go up like kindling. “*hup!*”

“At least it worked,” Sita offered, giving Aasif a sympathetic smile as she took the empty goblet from him and refilled it again.

Aasif wasn’t so sure. After four goblets of milk, he was feeling slightly more human again, but in that time, he only counted six hiccups.

“I don’t think I have them,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Sita argued. “You started hiccupping as soon as you swallowed it.”

“It made me hiccup,” Aasif conceded. “But I don’t think it’s given me the hiccups. It’s like th-*hmmk!*-they haven’t fully taken.”

Looking with grim resignation at the hearth pepper, Aasif realized, “I need to try again.”

Sita gave him an incredulous look. “Do you seriously want to put yourself through that a second time?”

“I’m nearly there,” Aasif told her. “At least, I think I am. I bet one mor-*herk!* bite would put me over the edge.”

Sighing, Sita refilled the goblet in readiness. “Have it your way.”

It took a firm resolve to back go for a second round when Aasif’s tongue still felt tender from his first attempt. But he reminded himself of Tariq’s sunshiny face and gorgeous black curls. If Aasif was going to get over his damn embarrassment over getting the hiccups, he’d have to face it head on.

The second bite was, if possible, even smaller than the first, but it packed just as much a wallop. Aasif’s poor beleaguered tongue, mouth, throat, and stomach staggered like wounded troops being told to get ready for the next bout.

Sita was on hand with the goblet, and Aasif doused his mouth with a few swallows before the first “*HUP!*” hit him. Another swallow, a “*HUCK!*--*ulk!*”, then a rat-a-tat of “*hmmp!**ULK!**HUCK!*” kept him from drinking any more.

With a wince, Sita offered, “Well done?”

Aasif nodded weakly through a “*HERK!*--*HUP!**HUP!*”, hiccupping too fast and too hard for much else. He’d never had hiccups this badly before, and he was all but at the mercy of them. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he grimaced at the unforgiving drumbeat of hiccups slamming against his throat and chest, which were still searing from the heat of the pepper. “*HMMK!**HMMP!**hmmp!*--*ULK!**HMMK!*”

“Sit tight,” Sita told Aasif, squeezing his shoulder. She emptied the goblet back into the pitcher and ran to fetch a different one, the water pitcher by his wash basin. Hurriedly, she returned to the desk and refilled the goblet with water.

“Th-*HUP!**HUCK!*-the-*HMMK!*-point i-*HERK!*-is-*HMMP!**ulk!**HUCK!*-to h-*HUCK**HUCK!**HERK!*-hav-*ULK!**HMMK!**HUP!*”

Aasif gave up—he was barely eking out his words anyway, and from Sita’s expression, she was having trouble following him. Fumbling on his desk for paper and ink, he scrawled a hasty note in a hand that jerked from his hiccups.

The whole point is to have them, not cure them

Sita read his note, then looked back up at him. “I know,” she said. “But frankly, I doubt water would cure them right now. I was just thinking that it might slow them down a little, let you catch your breath.”

There she went again—logical. With a “*HMMP!**HERK!*--*HUCK!**HUP!**HUP!*--*hmmk!*”, Aasif nodded, and Sita gave him the goblet.

“Slowly,” she counseled. “See if you can manage a small sip.”

She had a point. Aasif would probably start sputtering and coughing if he tried to drink normally. He wasn’t sure what effect that might have on the hiccups, but he could guess that it wouldn’t be good.

“*ULK!**herk!**HUCK!**HERK!*” A tiny sip, barely enough to wet his tongue. “*HUP!**HMMK!*--*ULK!*” Another sip. “*HUP!**HUP!**HUCK!*” Another.

It took all of that goblet, but Aasif got himself down to the slightest reprieve between hiccups. “*HUCK!*--*ULK!*--*HERK!*--*hmmp!*” Although they were still much harder than his normal cases ever were—faster too—they felt like less of an assault on his body. “*HUP!*-Can-*HMMK!*-I-*HUCK!*-have-*HERK!*-anoth-*HMMP!*-nother?” he asked his sister.

“Yes, of course,” Sita replied reassuringly. She filled the goblet again.

By the time he got through a second goblet of water, Aasif still had a bad case of hiccups, but they weren’t unbearable. A fair amount of the spice had dissipated too, so he wasn’t feeling fresh heat with each hiccup anymore.

“All right-*HMMK!*-I think th-*HUCK!*-that will-*HUP!*--*hmmk!*-do,” Aasif announced. He threw himself into his desk chair in an exhausted-yet-dramatic pose, tipping his head onto the chair back and resting a weary hand on his stomach as it jerked with his hiccups.

“Are you all right now?” Sita asked.

“Some-*HMMP!*-thing like-*HERK!*-that,” Aasif told her. A hard “*HUCK!*” interrupted his groan.

“Look on the bright side,” Sita pointed out. “I know this turned out worse than you bargained for, but the next time you get them from Tariq’s curse, they won’t be nearly as bad as this.”

Aasif sighed. “*HUP!*--*HERK!* I suppo-*ulk!*-pose,” he agreed. “That’s s-*HUCK!*-something.” He glanced at Sita. “I’d pl-*HMMK!*-planned on-*HMMP!*--*huck!*-walking aroun-*HUP!*-the palace-*HERK!*-so I c-*HMMP!*-could prac-*HUCK!*-tice letting-*HUCK!*--*HUP!*-other p-*HMMK!*-people see-*hup!*-me with them, *HMMP!* but there’s-*HERK!*-no way in-*hmmk!*-in hell-*HUCK!*-I’m doin-*ULK!*-that with th-*HMMP!*-these.”

Sita nodded her understanding. “I think you’ve done more than enough ‘practicing’ for today,” she said. Patting his shoulder, she added, “Try to relax if you can. Is there anything else I can bring you?”

With a shake of his head, Aasif replied, “Thanks, Sita-*HUP!*” He rubbed his chest with his knuckles. “I’m ok-*HUCK!*--HERK!*-okay.”

“All right then.” Sita headed for the day. “I’ll leave you be. I hope you don’t have them long!”

“Me-*hup!*-too!” Aasif called after her.