Coconut Grove [M] a half-destroyed grove

She seemed to be amused by his charms, which was fine with Jizaar. He was flirtatious, yes, but never seriously so—not unless the other person was open for a roll in the hay, or sand, as it were. Her name was Chip, a bit strange as names went, though he was no one to talk. “Greetings, Chip,” he said, filing her name away in his brain. Whether it stayed there was another thing entirely. He’d met so many others in his life that he did not remember them all.

He grinned at her when she asked for his own name. “This one’s name is Jizaar [jee-ZAHR],” he replied, emphasizing and elongating the second syllable, and tapping the r at the end. “But he supposes you may call him whatever you wish.” Jizaar, in general, wasn’t very picky. Having grown up eating all manner of things, from fish to garbage, and moving from place to place, he had learned from an early age that being picky could get one killed. Or, at the very least, it could be incredibly boring.