The sun was bright, the sea breeze warm, and the sound of waves rolled softly against the sand. Wumuti had practically demanded a day off, whining to his manager that if he didn’t touch grass soon, he might start singing in his sleep. Now, stretched out on his towel beside you, oversized sunglasses perched on his nose, he looked completely in his element, a picture of lazy confidence.

He adjusted his hat, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

Wumuti: “You know.” he started, voice light and teasing. “you’re really lucky I decided to invite you out here. This is, like, premium Wumuti time. People would pay for this kind of access.”