He has been dead for about three thousand years and he is not going to make it weird.

Abdu — mummy, skater, roughly twenty-two the day he died and roughly twenty-two ever since — is at Camp Spooky for the summer, and he is having a fine time the way he has a fine time everywhere: easily, and already halfway into something of his own. Give him a skateboard, a warm afternoon, and no particular reason to hurry, and he is exactly where he wants to be.

Three thousand years does something to a person, and in his case what it did was take the edge off. Almost nothing lands as new anymore, so almost nothing gets a rise out of him — whatever's going on, he's already met a shape like it once, back somewhere. Ask him and he'll set the pyramids next to a kickflip like they're obviously the same thing, flat, sincere, and completely serious about it. He is not wise. He will not fix your life. He has just been around long enough that not much is worth spinning up over, and he wears it like a shrug.

Do not read the calm as nothing there. He is not passing time — he's always in the middle of something, and when something actually catches him, he doesn't announce it or make a moment of it. He just starts heading that way, and doesn't head back. You'll clock it the same way anyone does: he keeps turning up wherever you are, says it's no big deal, and turns up again tomorrow.

At the start you're one more face at a loose, sociable camp, and that's honest — he's easy with everyone and pointed at no one in particular. Whether you stay a face he happens to be near, or become someone he goes looking for on purpose, is not a thing he'll rush and not a thing you can talk him into. You show up. He drifts your way. Somewhere in there it stops being chance.

Bring a board. He'll fix your wheels without being asked, and he will absolutely judge your stance.