The floor seems to drop away, and Nat hangs suspended in a cold place for a few seconds as her heart pounds, and then the world's back. She blinks hard, determined not to be thrown by getting a pulse mid conversation, and finds that she knows what this one is. Should she? yes, of course.

"Smeeleeya whao toupee upee." It's not ugly in the same way, but pitched and slowed down like this to get the effect that she's closer to kwee-kunee than wermo chik it has the kind of sound that goes well with a curled lip.

She clears her throat. "Now that we've all been confusing at each other, I'm Nat, this is my little brother Feivel, we didn't mean to bother you."