Grossly Repellent

 Emu Bay is the best beach on the island, says Angelina. You'll love it.

I won't love it, says Terence.

Lovely white sand, says Angelina. And we can drive onto it.

Woop, says Terence.

He's sulking, says Kierkegaard. 

I know, says Angelina. Because of the turnips.

So would you, if they were your turnips, says Terence.

No doubt there will be other peelings, says Kierkegaard.

(He is unsympathetic, being not in a good mood himself).

Angelina speeds up. 

We'll be there in ten minutes, she says.

They are not the only ones heading to Emu Bay at the moment.

Saint Roley, tired of waiting for Porntip, is now on his way.

....

Arthur has finished his orange. 

Louisa is composing a poem in her head.

She hopes thereby to impress him.

It's about the orange he was eating and how the juice ran down his chin.

And how a tiny juice vesicle stuck to his bottom lip.

And how it's still there, like a small orange whisker....

Saint Roley drops down beside them.

Hello, says Saint Roley. I got tired of waiting. Where's Porntip?

Over there with Gaius, says Louisa. They've discovered a common interest.

Then where is Terence? asks Saint Roley. I may as well ask him directly.

Not here yet, says Arthur.  

You've got something on your lower lip, says Saint Roley.

Arthur sticks out his tongue and rolls it across his lower lip.

Gone! says Saint Roley. Was it part of an orange?

Yes, says Arthur.

It was part of a poem, says Louisa.

Was it? says Arthur. Shall I put it back?

You've probably swallowed it, says Louisa.

Not yet, says Arthur.

My problem is this, says Saint Roley. Should I ditch my title?

Yes, says Arthur. You didn't earn it.

Saint Roley is ruffled. It had not occurred to him that he didn't earn it.

You were named after a saint, says Arthur. And not even a real one.

What do you mean? asks Louisa.

Terence named him, says Arthur. It's complicated.

I'd better wait for Terence, says Saint Roley. This needs clearing up.

Yes, says Louisa. Don't ditch your title for nothing. It might not even matter.

It's all right for them, thinks Saint Roley. But this goes to the heart of who I am.

He flutters over to see what Gaius and Porntip are looking at so closely.

Arthur takes the tiny juice vesicle out of his mouth.

Sticks it back on his lower lip, where it came from.

Louisa finds this grossly repellent.