Mahui sat in slience, sipping her hazelnut tea while watching Bob string another bead on his fob. Like Benjamin had shown him, after securing it with a bit of leather lace, he turned it sideways in the hole to make it stay in place.

"Do those things really work?" Mahui asked. She picked up a pre-made fob that lay on the table, idly running her thumb and fingers over the beads.

"I don't know," Bob said, fumbling a bit with his.

He grew vexed as his bead fell out of its hole, requiring another knot in the lace to make it stay. Putting it down with mild frustration, he turned his head to look his assailant in the face.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" he asked.

Mahui met his stare. "Don't you already know?" She glanced at other partygoers. "I'm the only person who looks this way."

Bob resumed work on his fob. "You mean with yellow legs and bare feet?"

Mahui snorted a laugh into her tea. To hide her embarrassment, she fiddled with the chawan full of beads.

"I'm the only one who's Māori," she said.

"Māori? You're Polynesian? A Pacific Islander?"

Mahui bared her teeth and hissed. Having grown used to it, Bob only blinked.

"My people are from Hawaiki, fished from the sea by Māui for our great chief, Te Kupe."

Bob blinked again. "Okay," he said slowly. "You sound American."

Mahui resumed fiddling with the beads. "I'm from Somoa," she said to them.

"Great!" Bob said, enthused. "I know Samoa. That's really interesting."

"Uh-huh," she said, merely shrugging.

"But you're not telling me your name," he said as a matter of fact.

Mahui picked out a flat red bead from the bowl. Unlike most of the others, it didn't have a hole through its center. Instead, it could only be mounted by using some glue.

She held it to Bob's bombasted hose. They appeared to be the same color.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Give me your foot," she ordered.

"I don't know. You're kind of dangerous."

She giggled sweet and bent low, tugging at his ankle. "Please," she said to his resistance. "I promise to be kind."

He let her place his foot on the bench between them. After examining his brocaded shoe, she fished through the bowl of beads with a smile, finding other flat red ones of various size. She placed them one by one in the splotches of yellow paint on the shoe, matching the size of the bead to the size of each splotch. Satisfied with her choices, she retrieved a bottle of glue from the table and secured a bead to each splotch.

She turned her smile toward Bob. "I think that looks pretty good," she remarked.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Bob gave her his other foot. "Only if you do both," he demanded.

Mahui fished through the bowl to find more red beads. "What do you think Ché will say?" she asked.

"Well, you know the answer to that," Bob said, as both he and Mahui laughed.

Benjamin came barrelling up as Mahui finished her artwork. "Bob! Mahui! You're getting along!" he shouted as encouragement.

Bob continued grinning as Mahui rolled her eyes. "Are you okay?" Benjamin asked, concerned about her trip down the stairs.

Bob spoke for Mahui, as all she did was grunt. "We're doing fine," he said. "But I can't say the same for your stairs."

Benjamin looked confused for a moment, then continued acting garrulous. "Hey! And you're drinking tea," she said to Mahui. "That's good. I knew it would calm you down."

Bob took up on the teasing. "I don't think the lack of tea on her part was the problem."

Benjamin had to agree. "She might have had a little Chianti."

"I sober up fast," Mahui said in her defense, her eyes fixed on the bowl of beads.

With her percentage of body fat equal to that of a fruit fly, Bob had to agree. "So," he drawled, still teasing. "Mahui the Māori."

She bared her teeth and stuck out her tongue, but produced no sound. "Yeah! That's her!" Benjamin concurred. "She and her husband are big philanthropists."

Bob turned his teasing to praise. "Oh. So they support the arts?"

Benjamin squeezed his beefy body onto the bench between them. "They're great," he said while jostling Mahui with his shoulder to get her to smile. "I think they've given millions."

"Wow," Bob said still praising. "How so?"

"My husband is Makani Tuigamala."

"The football player?" Bob asked, impressed.

Mahui turned her smile to Bob, having to lean behind Benjamin in order to show it. "You know him?"

Bob searched his mind for football facts. "Ahm… Defensive back for the Orlando Raptors."

Benjamin put a big hand on Bob, patting him as a reward. "Voted Defensive Player of the Month last year," Benjamin said. "Twice!"

"Twice?" Bob asked Mahui.

"They're for different seasons," she explained.

Benjamin's knowledge of sports was far less than Bob's or Mahui's "Yeah! So anyways, that's great!"

"Where is your husband?" Bob asked, interested in meeting him.

"He's not with us," she said, turning gloomy. "During the season, we're rarely together."

"Mak has to travel a lot when the game is on," Benjamin began.

"Makani," Mahui corrected.

"Yeah, Makani. So when he's on the road, Mahui spends her time with others." Benjamin put his other big hand on her, engulfing her tiny shoulder. "And today, she's with us!"

Bob leaned forward to look around Benjamin. "I'm glad we have the pleasure," he offered as a compliment.

Benjamin squeezed both their shoulders. "Me too!" He released them and rubbed his hands on his knees. "So. You're getting along," he confirmed while nodding.

"Yes," Bob said. "And she's drinking tea."

"That's good," Benjamin said. "And no one got hurt."

"I can't say the same for the stairs, though."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

Bob showed Benjamin one of his now beaded and brocaded shoes, using it to point at Mahui's yellow knees. "We may have had an accident," Bob said as an apology.

Benjamin became confused. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"I may have spilled paint," Mahui sort of confessed.

Bob offered clarification to Benjamin's continued confusion. He drew attention to one of Mahui's yellow footprints on the portico, indicating how they lead back to the manor.

"She may have thrown it at me," Bob said of the paint.

"You pissed me off," Mahui said.

"I did nothing of the sort. You were being mean."

Mahui bared her teeth in a silent hiss, as Benjamin rubbed his knees. He re-examined Bob's shoe and Mahui's knee. "There's yellow paint on the stairs?"

"Yeah," Bob said, feeling sorry. "And on Ché's shoes. We glued red beads on the spots of paint to make them match the pants."

Benjamin scrunched down as low as he could go, to touch a finger to one of the beads. "Oh, this is great story!" he enthused. "Scylla's husband, the Barefoot Model, got paint thrown on his shoes."

"By fiery Mahui," Bob added.

Benjamin grew animated. He stood up and looked around. "This is great, this is great," he repeated. "Oh, this must be preserved."

"Preserved?" both Bob and Mahui asked.

"Yes! Oh, no one must muss up these prints! I have to save them somehow!" He carried on, distracted. "I'll cover them with boxes, I think. Or maybe build wooden frames. Yes!" He turned to face Bob with glee. "Then we'll get paint that matches your pants, and create a red path around the prints."

He set off to take on the project. "Oh! People will talk of this story forever!"

Bob smiled deep into Mahui's worried look. "Well. Now you'll be as famous as my wife, the naked sea monster model."

Mahui hissed to herself, showing dread.