The bell above the Hearth Tavern kitchen door jingled once.
Mira didn’t look up.
“Closed,” she said. “Unless you're dying.”
No answer.
She sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, then turned.
The Slimus was halfway through the doorway.
Soft blue. About the size of a barrel.
Holding the door open with what could generously be called an arm.
“…oh,” she said.
It wobbled. Like it had forgotten gravity for a second.
“You’re not dying,” she added.
A pause.
Then a small, wet sound.
“Okay,” she said, pointing at a flour sack. “You can sit there. Don’t… absorb anything.”
The Slimus moved. Slowly. Carefully. Like it was trying not to be rude to the floor.
It settled beside the sack.
They stayed like that for a bit.
Mira went back to kneading dough.
“You’re new,” she said after a minute.
A wobble.
“Right. That checks out.”
Another minute.
“You from the Academy tower?” she asked. “Or Guild brought you in?”
No response.
“Do you talk?”
The Slimus pulsed.
Then a small, warbly:
“…t…alk.”
Mira froze.
“You do talk.”
“…s…slow.”
“That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I talk too fast anyway.”
The dough squelched under her hands.
“You got a name?”
The Slimus went still.
“…no.”
She nodded like that made sense.
“Well,” she said, “that’s not gonna work.”
It watched her.
Or at least. She thought it did.
She pointed at the blue sheen across its surface.
“You look like jelly.”
A long pause.
“…j…elly?”
“No, wait. That’s mean.”
She leaned back against the counter.
“…Slim?”
The Slimus pulsed.
“…S…lim.”
“You like that?”
Another pulse.
“…y…es.”
Mira smiled before she could stop herself.
“Alright then. Slim it is.”

“You shouldn’t be back here,” said Tomas.
Mira didn’t turn.
“He’s not doing anything.”
“He’s in the kitchen.”
“He’s sitting.”
Tomas stared at the Slimus. The Slimus stared at the wall.
“He’s absorbing the humidity.”
“So are you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Slim made a soft noise.
“…s…orry.”
Tomas blinked.
Mira grinned.
“See? Polite.”
“That’s worse,” Tomas said.

“You come here a lot?” she asked later.
Slim pulsed.
“…y…ou… are… w…arm.”
Mira laughed.
“That’s the oven.”
“…y…ou… too.”
She stopped laughing.
“Oh.”
Slim wobbled, like it realized it had said something wrong.
“…s…orry.”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s fine.”
A beat.
“…c…an… I… come… back?”
Mira turned back to the dough.
“Yeah,” she said.
“You can come back.”