“Eggshell Island, but I agree, that was a very bad way to put it,” said Riski.
Riski decided a cloud would be the only thing that could disguise his bulk, so he winged his way up until he was just a ghost against the sky high above Eggshell island. Not invisible, but it was impossible to determine who or what he was, other than the obvious white, long-winged seabird.
“Who are you?” one of Vaatras’ island guards grunted in Ritz’s direction. Fortunately, it was a friendly grunt.
“…Errr…” said Ritz, realizing the flaw in his plan. His previous alter ego had already been used when they chased him away from the island, so he’d have to come up with a new one on the spot. What had that rude human called him the time he sprayed powder on him? The good smelling powder, not the stuff he had on now. “…Errr… Johnson.” He waved with an outrageously orange webbed foot.
“Hey, …Johnson. Never heard that name before.” He narrowed at the mud-encrusted Fish Sticks. “And what am I supposed to be looking at here? Is that even a gull?”
Ritz clamped Fish Stick’s bill shut before something stupid could come out of it.
“And Johnson. Hehe. He spends a lot of time in the dump. Have you been there before?”
“No,” the guard admitted, which was very lucky, since most of Vaatras’ synchophants did. “Both of you are named Johnson? But it’s such a rare name for a gull.”
“It’s very common at the dump. Johnson here is definitely a gull and not a stormy petrel.”
“Well, ok. Enjoy Eggshell Island,” said the guard like an amusement park ride attendant.
