Like he was surrounded by cicadas or singing crickets, Bryce observed, only entering the conversation when Zef would switch to English and introduce him.
“This is my dear friend, Bryce,” they’d say, and heck, if that didn’t make his chest swell.
A few months ago, he’d been Zef’s roommate. Now, he was their dear friend. He had to fight the insane urge to fist-pump the air in victory.
Instead, he bowed, deeper than what was probably necessary, but since he didn’t know anyone’s social status or age, he wanted to err on the side of caution. Then he’d say, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Hello,” some said.
“Welcome,” others said.
“How nice that you are here,” one Mantodea said in an airy voice similar to Zef’s.
Not to sound speciesist, but they all sounded similar to Zef in that regard. Stiff and proper, voices high and little reedy. Their accents were thicker than Zef’s though, their speech cadence more choppy, like they were unaccustomed to speaking English. Or perhaps Zef was simply more traveled than they were, having accepted colloquial influence from their friends at work.
As they neared the center, the residential homes melted into small businesses, like their own little town. Bodegas and eateries, an ice cream shopand a hairdresser. At the end of the street rose a large A-frame building with many windows. The town hall, if Bryce had to guess.
Flags and streamers stretched over the grounds, tied off at light posts and trees. Rows and rows of folding tables flanked by chairs filled the pavement in front of the A-frame, like the biggest family picnic Bryce had ever seen. A band played wooden string and wind instruments as several members sang, Hellian words mixed with those chirps and clicks.
And there were people everywhere. Mantodeas of all different sizes and shades of green. Children dressed in colorful tunic-like clothing. Even some of the adults were dressed that way, though not all.
“Traditional Mantodean garments,” Zef explained when Bryce asked.
A particularly tall Mantodea with peridot skin and white hair, just like Zef, strode toward them, gently reprimanding a gaggle of kids who were getting too rowdy near the tables. They wore the traditional Mantodean garments in royal purple, and their hair was braided intricately, styled in a half-up-do.
They stretched out their top hands, and Zef chirped deep in their throat as they walked to meet them. The two Mantodeas met in the middle, hands resting on shoulders and waists and necks. They didn’t embrace, but their foreheads met, eyes closing as their wings hummed back and forth to each other, their antennas tangling. No words were exchanged at first, not even in their insectoid language.
Then they parted, and the Mantodea said, “Zefryn. How are you, koa?”
“I am well, Toa. And you?” Zef said.
“Happier than a few minutes ago, now that I see you.”
Okay, Bryce recognized the title,Toa. It meant parent, though it was used when addressing any adult of a similar age or standing as a birth parent. Because Mantodeas were community-oriented and child-rearingwas a shared responsibility. So all hatchlings were koa—or child—and all adults were Toa.
But judging from their similar appearance and the intimacy in which they touched each other, Bryce was pretty sure this was Zef’s progenitor.
“Come,” Zef said, tugging gently on the other Mantodea’s wrist. “This is my dear friend, Bryce.”
Another fist-pump moment, but Bryce locked that down.
“Bryce, this is Toa Sian, my progenitor.”
Toa Sian folded their lower arms behind their back, leaving one of their top hands in Zef’s grasp as they placed the other over their heart. Then they inclined their head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bryce. Welcome to the Pentagram Mantodea Colony.”
Bryce bowed deeply, not only because they were older and Zef’s progenitor, but because they were an honored member of the community. From his understanding, they ranked somewhere around mayoral-status, highly respected and important. So he bowed until he was nearly at a right angle.
“Toa Sian, it’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for extending me an invitation to your festival.”
“It is notmyfestival,” they said, sounding slightly amused. “It is a festival for all of our community.”
Okay, apparently taking things literally was a Mantodean thing, not just a Zef thing.
“Right.” He straightened and copied their stance, hands behind his back like he was a soldier standing at ease. “Still, I’m very grateful to be here and experience this with my”—he smiled at Zef—“dear friend, Zef.”
With a sharp inhale, Zef fluttered their wings, and their antennas danced. Toa Sian glanced between them briefly before settling their opaquestare on him. It wasn’t judgmental, but it was measuring. Bryce held his head high, refusing to wither, even if he wanted to. Just a little.
Their expression barely changed, but there was a slight uptick to their mouth Bryce took to mean that he had passed the test. A cock to their head, Zef looked between him and their progenitor, thin brows furrowed in confusion.
