It was a clear-skied, moon-filled night. A full moon, actually, yellowish and a lot closer to Earth than usual. Landon was sat next to its dad on the front porch, him in an outdoor rocking chair and it on a swinging bench for two hanging from the porch ceiling. There were three types of creaks that reached Landon's ears right now: the rhythmic wooden creak of Dad’s chair; the off-kilter, creak-like chirp of the crickets in the bushes nearby; the rusted squeak of the swinging bench’s old metal chain. Three very different sounds, but it was a creaky sort of night, so Landon counted them all as creaks. It echoed each sound, alternating between them and then mimicking each at once.
Over the sound of its own mock-creaking it asked, “D’you ever feel like the moon’s watching you?” The question was kind of in English, kind of in sound effects that Dad had gotten good at understanding. Words like “watching” were often represented by the sound of an owl’s hoot.
Dad had his snake tongue wrapped around his cigar, letting it hang in front of his lips as he contemplated the scenery. He held the cigar between his fingers and shot Landon a look. His scent, a savory dish that Landon didn't have a name for, was a little shocked, a little curious. Like the chef had added a spice that was unconventional, yet welcome. “Whaddya mean?”
“Sometimes when the moon is really full, it looks like it's staring at me. I feel if I concentrated…” Landon stood up, closed its eyes and sniffed the air. If the moon was watching it then it was a person, and people had scents. The air didn't not smell like the moon. There were a lot of other aromas in the way, like Dad’s mystery dish and the burning cigar and the buffet’s worth of scents wafting from the neighbor’s open window. But if Landon managed to tune all of that out, it could just pick out something unique, not quite of this world, a little dusty in a good way. Like powdered sugar, but not from any plant you could get on Earth. “Yeah, I smell it right now. The moon is sugary.”
“That's mighty ironic,” Dad chuckled, taking a drag of his cigar.
Landon whipped its head towards Dad and sniffed the air around him, leaning in close to make sure it got his emotions right. He smelled like smartass. “You know something! I can smell it!”
“Space, kiddo.” Dad gently motioned for Landon to take a step back. “Yeah, I do know somethin’. The moon ain't never zeroed on me specifically, far as I can recall, but she peers at everyone. Ain't sure why she'd be focused on you.”
Landon cocked its head. “She? Wait, is she from the same place that you are?”
“Nah, she's from a different island. C’mon, gimme your ear so I can tell ya.” Dad beckoned Landon closer, rested the hand holding his cigar on his thigh and cupped the other around Landon’s ear. “Her home island’s called Nunya.” Dad’s emotions were oddly amused, but he sounded serious enough.
“Nunya? Where is that?”
“It's Nunya business!” Dad playfully punched Landon on the shoulder and wheezed out a raucous laugh.
In response, it jokingly screeched in his face, although it was a little disappointed at his answer. “You always hide the truth from me! Why's it such a big secret?”
Dad took another drag and calmed down. “I don't wanna get you wrapped up in all that crap.”
“Why's it crap, though?”
Dad's expression didn't change but his mood tanked, hard. Sadness and yearning with a side dish of regret. “You wouldn't like the answer.”
Landon squeaked sympathetically and gave Dad a tight hug. “Can you at least tell me what food you are? Like, your emotions’ scent?”
“It ain't cherry pie?” Dad smelled genuinely shocked.
“Nope.”
“But I eat cherry pie every damn day. I just bought one from the bakery yesterday. You sure you didn't get it mixed up?”
“Yep. You smell super meaty. It's not beef, though.” Landon sniffed Dad again. “I think there's some vegetables too.”
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose as realization draped itself over his mystery dish scent. “Oh, it's seHut. I’m forgettin’ myself. The meat you're smelling is goat.”
“What's seHut?” That name didn't sound like an English word.
“The best dish on the planet, ‘sides cherry pie. Might make you some if I can get my hands on the right ingredients.”
“I'm not gonna like it,” Landon reminded him. “Wait, is there jello in it?” They perked up at the idea of eating goat meat encased in cherry-flavored jello.
“Hell nah. It ain't about whether you'll like it, you just gotta see what it tastes like.”
Landon grumbled in annoyance, but it couldn't deny it was curious about what seHut tasted like. Maybe it'd try human food this one time.
The conversation fell into a natural silence after that — rather, Dad went quiet while Landon continued to mimic the sounds it heard alongside noises of its own creation. There were moments when Dad was talkative, but ultimately he was an introvert and sometimes he didn't have much to say.
A few minutes later, Landon entered its smallest form, a mass of liquid static with white dots for eyes. It crawled up Dad’s arm and extended a pseudopod towards his cowboy hat. Landon wasn't allowed to sit on top of the hat, but poking it signified a request to huddle up under it. Dad lifted his hat, picked Landon up and set the viya on his head, giving it a few scritches before replacing his hat. Landon shut its eyes and purred, taking in the texture of his thick, dark hair.
After what felt like forever, Dad said, “I might show ya how to pray. If I can remember.”
Landon snaked a pseudopod under the hat’s wide brim and tapped out a response in Morse code on Dad's forehead. “Pray to what?”
“The moon. I ain't the religious sort, but you might get somethin’ out of it. A conversation with her if you're real lucky.”
Landon all but vibrated with excitement. “Can you show me right now?”
“No. It's only a quarter past three, slug. Ain't done enjoying the night yet.”
Landon let out a sound that was something like a deflated trombone.
Dad gently wriggled Landon’s pseudopod. In this form it felt equivalent to being pet on the shoulder. “I'll get around to it.”