“My story… Well, I’ve taken to calling myself a slidded slaad. I didn’t “ascend” to Goodness, nor “Fall” into evil… I slid a little bit off my natural racial kilter. Guess you boxes are slidded cubes, now ain’tcha?” Yarrdulence laughed jovially at this revelation.
And then he leaned over, quite conspiratorially, and whispered quite loudly, “And when you’re done speakin’ with the laughin’ ‘loth I’ve got a great tailor and hatter for ya’ to meet.”
Modrons should not bounce. Modron's are not programmed to bounce. Law abiding creatures would have been abhored to *see* a modron bounce. Nevertheless the little 'hop' on his toes that Sidrem produced upon being promised a good tailor could be described as nothing less than... a bounce.
"This unit is much pleased with this suggestion." He paused, then confirmed Yarrdulence's other statement, "Confirmed - we are... seperated from the Source."
The slaad smiled a weird slaad grin. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Box – In – Bloom.” The slaad stood up, brushing the brim of its hat and gazing out across the modron assemblage. “I can probably getcha to ol’ A’kins before the hour’s ticked, if yer in a hurry. It’ll be five jink per rider, though, I’ll give you a discount,” Yarrdulence looked at Boxy with this statement, a froggy wink in his eye, “To counteract the inconvenience of sitting up top in the smog with lil ol’ me.”
The slaad chuckled at Sidrem, one of its arms patting its gut jovially. “Well met, Sidrem, I am pleased to meet you. You modrons are a curious lot, ain’tcha?”
“My story… Well, I’ve taken to calling myself a slidded slaad. I didn’t “ascend” to Goodness, nor “Fall” into evil… I slid a little bit off my natural racial kilter. Guess you boxes are slidded cubes, now ain’tcha?” Yarrdulence laughed jovially at this revelation.
And then he leaned over, quite conspiratorially, and whispered quite loudly, “And when you’re done speakin’ with the laughin’ ‘loth I’ve got a great tailor and hatter for ya’ to meet.”
“And hello to you, Ki, no questions, then? Ha, always a quiet one in every crowd! Or two, or maybe three…,” the slaad allowed his mismatched eyes to glance over Kilojoule and Nordom. “And who would you two, be?”