The first thing you notice as you leave Charlie's Place is that you stayed a bit longer than you had intended to. The Happy Hour specials had drug you in and the way Ellie wears her low cut top had kept you there. She did not seem to mind the way men try to look down her shirt, especially since that frequently translates to nice tips and sometimes a place to spend the night. The second thing you notice is that you should have brought your umbrella. It had been clear, with no sign of clouds in the sky when you went in and now look at it. Oh well, it is only two blocks to home and nothing for it but to pull your jacket collar up and try to stay as close to the buildings as possible.

From fifty feet away you can see her; some woman standing on the porch to the block of cheap apartments you call home. Based on the nice pantsuit she is wearing, she does not belong here. She appears to be smarter than you, however, as she is protected from most of the rain by a large umbrella. For some reason, you note that her ass is shapely under the trousers. She turns as you approach and you correct your assessment; her ass and her chest are shapely. Her face is not hard to look at, either. Blue eyes look at you through large-rimmed glasses and she says, "Do I perhaps have the pleasure of addressing Mister Preston?" Her accent is definitely foreign, probably French. She pauses, waiting for you to respond.

After discussing with MercyMerchant, we are moving this thread over to ShadowGrid.

Moving the thread back here, due to slowness on ShadowGrid. The six pages of that can be found here: http://forums.shadowruntabletop.com/index.php?topic=23767.0

And copying some references over from that thread:

- Character sheet https://stormy-waters-2075.obsidianportal.c...racters/preston

- OOC thread here: http://forums.shadowruntabletop.com/index.php?topic=23520.0

"Great, I'll arrange for that delivery then. Sorry if I'm going to be staring off into AR for a few minutes." Preston opens some AR catalogs and considers whether he should pretend that the phone isn't a burner, and buy something more than the basics, but ultimately decides to just go with cheap. He hates paying for anything using the normal banking system, fearing that someday it will draw more attention to his fake ID, but he has to accept that not showing a life trail may look even more suspicious. He'll just have to remember that although this link is a burner, it is still associated with his main ID.

He finishes up shortly before they arrive at the hotel, and this time he is relaxed enough to properly appreciate the attention to details in this place. "This place, it really is incredible, isn't it?"

From subtle logos and motifs that you absorb without really noting to the mix of obvious, unobtrusive, and most likely completely unseen security measures -- it isn't just that things are good, it is that people obviously put a lot of thought into how everything went together to make it all seamless, or at least apparently seamless. The quality level isn't in your face, but you can practically feel it emanate from the entire structure.

* Coleman: I wouldn't want to try and extract someone from a place like this. Bet you are in overlapping security measures all of the time, and overlapping firing fields more than you ever realize. They may even have permanent magical security.
* Gamma: I swore never again to voluntarily face off with a mage without having one on my side too.
* Coleman: Never take a run against this place -- but do look into how difficult and expensive it would be to get a room for a night or two, if I ever need to make sure I'm not extractable.
* Monkey: Or really impress a woman (other than Tanya). I bet the bathrooms alone could have magical pantie-melting properties.
* Oleg: Why do I tolerate this coarseness in myself?
* Monkey: Because I've always been here, but now at least I know much more what I'm really thinking. I can't sneak up on myself so well this way.

'I wonder if everyone's brains are this weird, and they hide it well? Or is it just me? I know everyone has issues -- it looks like Tanya may have some with cars? But are their thoughts so fractious?'

As it was when they left, everything has been smoothed out to make Tanya's transition into the hotel as easy as possible. 'Really good AI recognizing her car and sending the elevator to wait? Or humans just waiting to sort things out for their residents? Or maybe a bit of both, so that you can't get in too easily by either hacking the host or turning one of the staff?'

It is only as he is admiring Tanya exit the car that it occurs to him 'That she fits in here so well, it says something about her quality too, doesn't it? And like this place, you don't notice it all the time, like with how well she handled Amanda with no preparation. She might project as all surface, but there is a lot more depth here than I'd realized at first.'

As he takes her arm for the few steps to the elevator he comments "Every time I think I'm getting a handle on you, you show some new facet. Not just showing a new side, but changing the light in which to see everything else. I don't know if this is intentional or not, but from standing over here it certainly is intriguing. I feel like my brain is getting a healthy work-out just from getting to glimpse your various qualities."

Wednesday 7 June 2075 2145 Gates Undersound Hotel Downtown Seattle.



Tanya steps out of the limousine with a hand in yours and smiles at you. "Thank you, Peter. I do try to not be too easy to predict. I learned long ago that girls that are predictable seldom have a lot of fun, and I do so enjoy having fun." She lets you escort her through the vast lobby with its water motif to the private elevators. The man in the uniform has changed, and there are now two of them. You can tell that both are armed and alert as the nod to Tanya. "Good evening, Lady Marisart. Some of your guests have already arrived."

Tanya replies, "Thank you, Robert. Yes I am afraid I am a trifle bit late to my own party. I hope that they forgive me. Say, how is that daughter of yours doing?"

The man smiles back, "She is doing just fine, thank you for asking. You should not spoil her so much; that birthday gift was way too generous."

She laughs, "I think it is a written law somewhere that godmothers are supposed to spoil their godchildren."

He nods, "As you say, Lady Marisart. May I present young Brandon Stewart. New to the security staff since you last had a party here."

Tanya holds out a hand to the young man. "Nice to meet you, Brandon. Gentlemen, this is my escort for the evening, Peter Preston. So who is below, Robert."

"Michael and Sarina, Lady Marisart. You know them."

The guards nod to you as Tanya pushes forward into the elevator car. As the door closes, you think you hear Robert talking to the young security man. "Now that is real people, Brandon. You remember her, mark my..........." The rest of the conversation is lost as the door shuts and the car moves silently to U3. Getting off, you immediately notice the two security personnel at the sides of the elevator. They are dressed like the ones upstairs and both nod to Tanya in greeting. She spends a minute talking to them and introduces you round. Leaving, she moves quickly to the door to Suite A, which opens before she touches the knob. Monique looks gorgeous in her dress and smiles at you as she offers to take your wraps. There are some whispered words between the two and both smile as if at some special secret. As you escort Tanya into the room you see perhaps a score of well-dressed people are already moving about the room, including two young women carrying trays of drinks. Tanya tosses up her arms and calls out someone's name and so begins the mingling.

Preston desperately wants to go find an inconspicuous corner to go stand, where he can observe with interacting, where nobody will pay attention with him. But knows he has to mingle, both in his role as Tanya's companion tonight, in a general sense of possibly making connections, and of course to cover trying to learn more about his target.

The conflicting desires paralyze him for a few long seconds, until he notices Monique giving him an inquiring look. Having to explain would also be painful, and that is enough to finally nudge him into walking into the room.

* Coleman: so far nobody has more than glanced my way, they won't remember much. I could still retreat and preserve anonymity.

He looks around in a daze -- most of these people seem to know each other. Being here with the hostess presumably gives him implicit permission to mingle and introduce himself, but at the same time it feels like there are social rules here that go beyond those that he has painstakingly memorized.

Then one of the servers comes by to offer him wine. He reflexively starts reaching for it, then thinks to ask "Would it be possible to get a coffee or soycaff?"

"Certainly sir, I'll be back with it shortly."

* Gamma: I think this is the first time I've been called sir in a non-sarcastic manner.

It certainly was weird, the inside-out fishbowl of the hotel seeming somehow an appropriate setting for the whole inside-out experience.

Then he spots him -- not his target, just a person to help him ease into the flow of things. He is old enough to be edging from distinguished to simply old, the younger lady he'd been talking to used chasing down a new glass of wine as an opportunity to end their conversation, and the gentleman didn't look spry enough to join a new conversation before Preston could get there.

"Hello, I'm Peter, I'm afraid Tanya got pulled into discussions before I got introduced around much, so I didn't catch your name?"

"Arthur. You aren't a musician, are you?"

"Uh, no, I'm afraid not."

"Good, I get tired of young musicians trying to ingratiate themselves with me. Like me liking you makes the slightest difference in who I'll produce. Hammer Paradise were all all horrible people, but the music worked out well, didn't it?"

As the older gentleman ranted, it dawned on Preston that he should have already had AR on, to see how many people were showing their names. He did so with a thought, then flicked a quick search when he didn't recognize the name Arthur Labakowski.

The search results came back as a flood, and he quickly cancelled it before even more data clogged up his 'link. Arthur Labakowski 'Legendary music producer', more awards than Preston could easily process, producer of not just Hammer Paradise but also Nikki Vavendi, Trogs Bang Rocks, Newt Gordon, Mariposa Days and more names that even Preston knew.

Arthur Labakowski, who was now staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond. "Uh, my apologies, I didn't realize who you were, hadn't put my AR on and, uh..." he desperately filtered the data for a biography; damn-it, despite the name he was born in Wisconsin. ".... sorry, your face, I thought maybe you were Polish or Ukrainian, I'd hoped to rub some rust off my schoolroom Ukrainian."

Arthur looked flabbergasted for a moment, then replied in what Preston took for Polish, to the effect of "You know someone who makes good Krusczyki?" Or maybe it was "Do you know how to make good Krusczyki?" Ukrainian and Polish were close enough to generally make sense out of each other, but it was't always easy.

Preston replied in slow Ukrainian, hoping the sense would get across. "My grandmother did. I have her recipe. I have not made them on my own. Hard to get good eggs here."

He could see Arthur process through the language divide, then he grunted in English "It was worth asking." He started to turn away, then turned back and added "If you make some and they are actually good, I'll trade you a studio tour. Been forty years since I had Krusczyki worth the name."

The server came back with Preston's coffee just after Arthur wandered off. Preston sipped, wondering just who all else was at this affair.

Wednesday 7 June 2075 2246 Tanya Marisart's Suite Downtown Seattle



Tanya floats through the room as if she was born to this sort of thing, moving from one guest to another. She does not focus on just one person in a group, but seems determined to include everyone in a conversation, including the wives and husbands, even the various bits of male and female eye candy that seem to be almost a requirement. It appears that many of those who were already present when you arrived had not attended the opera and ask questions about it, but that most of the people that come after you had attended and are very willing to talk about it. Your target and his mistress show up about thirty minutes after you do and immediately begin to mingle. From your position near the wall, you can see almost everything that happens. Radiant Shadow seems to be in her element as well, usually surrounded by at least three men and women. You see her shake her head as if in regret several times, but it does seem as if a number of people are smiling as they leave her presence. A couple of times she catches your eye and gives you a wink.

“Peter.” You hear Tanya say your name and turn to see that she is arm in arm with Arthur Labakowski. “Peter, Arthur tells me that you may have a good recipe for Krusczyki. You have been keeping secrets. He also said that he would trade a studio tour for a good batch of the treats.” She turns to the producer and begins talking to him in what you believe to be Polish and the speed at which she talks would seem to promise a good practical knowledge of the language. The man smiles and nods before bowing to you and turning away. Tanya turns to you and says, “OK. I hope that you know what you are doing, because I have just invited Arthur over for dinner here on Sunday night. I am not so good in the kitchen, but I can help. Let Monique know what ingredients you need and she will get them for you.” Slipping her arm into yours she adds, “And now we mingle. I want to introduce you to some of the movers and shakers of Seattle, Peter. If you stick with me, we will turn this town upside down and make it ours.”

For the next ninety minutes she guides you from one conversation to another, introducing you by name but leaving your background as a sort of mystery. You notice a pattern emerging from her seemingly random encounters. She seems to always be going from one person or group completely across the living room instead of moving to the nearest other group. While walking she is whispering into your ear some bit of information about the next person; something that you can use in your conversation. By the end of the evening, you have met more people than you will be able to remember, but you have been seen and noticed. What is more, you have mingled and shaken hands and talked with powerful and rich men and women. As you go, you find that Tanya coaches you less and less and smiles at you more and more. You are introduced to Howard, who does not seem to remember seeing you at the opera, and he talks very little to you. His eyes are fastened on Tanya’s cleavage and it almost seems that he wants to be the man standing in front of her when the dress finally gives up and exposes her. Given that he is standing next to even more cleavage than Tanya has, this seems a bit rude. During the conversation with Tanya, Howard asks her if she still shoots skeet. “Why, yes, but not as much as I used to. Time, you know.”

Howard actually turns to you. “You do any skeet shooting, Peter. Good stuff. I am looking for a partner for this blasted charity match my wife signed me up for. Usually, I would just turn it down, but it supports a good cause. What do you say? Got a practice round lined up for Monday out at the Great West.” He turns to Tanya. “And what about the Breeder’s Cup on Saturday? Big race. Know a bit about what’s going on and have some money down on one of Ramone’s horses. Bring Peter and we will all have a great time. Show up at ten. Tickets will be waiting, and eats at the club after.” He points a finger at you. “Speaking of fillies, don’t go underestimating this one, Peter. Sharp mind.” He chuckles as he turns and walks away.

Tanya turns to you. “See? And you barely had to do anything except be here. I can tell that you have picked up a lot of confidence tonight, and men like Howard appreciate confidence.”

The number of names and faces and facts threatened to overwhelm, but it was the amount of attention he was receiving that really triggered the urge to run and hide. As they crossed the room for the third time, Preston murmured to Tanya "You have no idea how uncomfortable this is for someone who has made his living mostly by not being noticed."

Without breaking her smile, Tanya shot back "I was thrown into this it as a gawky teenager. Would you have preferred that?"

That brought a genuine smile to Preston's lips. In part from the realization that indeed it could be worse, but mostly from trying to imagine 'gawky' ever having been an adjective that applied to Tanya. He thought firmly to himself 'I know how to disappear in plain sight. Just BE the role so that they remember the role.'

* Gamma: It is fortunate that most people find my face quite forgettable.
* Oleg: I hate big city life -- so many new people all of the time! You can't trust people aren't part of your community.
* Gamma: This isn't my community at the moment, but it is Tanya's, and she is introducing me to it.

Preston winced mentally. When he put it to himself that way, it was clear he needed to stop sulking about the situation, and make the most of it. Time to start creating files, both mental and matrix, on all of these people. As they approached the next small clump of people, Preston got serious about getting to work.

His memory had always been decent, and bioware had made it better, but he needn't rely just on memory. Using his internal commlink he created a new file for Seattle society, and tossed in names and factoids as he gathered them, as well as set up simple searches for public biographies of these people. He'd need to make time soon to sort and order that, as well as pull down more data from the matrix, but this would be a start. The factoids were not just what Tanya said or people mentioned directly, but bits of what he observed.

When they finally talk to Howard, Preston makes sure to look the man over, in glimpses here and there, now and again. His rings as they shake hands, his shoes while Preston is looking at the floor. The cut of his jacket as Howard and Tanya are talking. His face near the end. Preston doesn't know what he is looking for, other than getting a good read on the man, but it never hurts to have the details down. Of course, he makes notes in a folder dedicated to 'Target-Arthur.'



Preston frantically looks up what skeet shooting is. Something about 'clay pigeons' and rifles or maybe shotguns? Certainly not something he'd have any skill at, but by the time he's figured that out, Howard has already moved on.



After Howard is safely out of earshot, Preston whispers to Tanya "He doesn't exactly care what anyone else has to say, does he?" While thinking 'Not much worries about him remembering me out of context -- not when I was standing next to Tanya's breasts.

* Monkey: gambling, leching -- I like him already!
* Oleg: He seems well established and confident of wealth and power. People like that can be good to befriend.
* Coleman: He has massive blind spots, or wants people to think that he does. He is either vulnerable, or very, very, dangerous. Best not to assume the former.
* Gamma: I must watch myself, to avoid becoming too much like him, when not acting in that way.

Preston gives his thoughts a moment to see if the new voice has anything to add, then carries on with what he was saying.

"Anyway, let me know what you want to do with those invitations. Obviously they could potentially make my job easier, but then again they take time away from other avenues -- potentially prime time, at that."

As their social rounds wind down, Preston looks for an opportunity for them to talkwith Amanda briefly, so that he can pass along the comm code of his new burner.

One of Howard's rings is almost certainly a wedding band, while the other is a very ornamental thing with a large diamond in the setting. You note that he indeed missing his right pinkie finger from the first knuckle. The fancy walking stick he uses to help him walk is from a dark wood and inlaid with silver and gold designs. His clothes are perfectly tailored but his shoes stand out as patent leather rather than real leather and the artificial shine is a bit off for the way he is dressed. He has a small scar under his left eye, but otherwise has no distinguishing marks that you can see. As you have already noticed, his attention is rather unabashedly focused on Tanya breasts, even when talking to her. Even when talking to you, he quickly places his eyes back to her chest as soon as he can. You have seen other men, and a few women look with interest at her breasts, but all of them have quickly forced their focus elsewhere when talking to her.

Tanya nods to you after Howard turns away. "Yes, Peter, he does not really care what others have to say. In his position, he probably feels immune to social criticism. And to be honest, it would seem that he is correct. But, yes, I think that the skeet shooting and horse race would be good for you. If you impress him, you might be admitted to his close circle. The closer you are, the more information you can learn. Of course, I will not tell you how to do you job. If you want to turn him down, I will not force you to differently. Like you have said, there are several ways to get information about him, and I am letting you prove yourself. I will say, though, that if you accept his invitations I will help you with the skeet part. Unless, of course, you are already familiar with sport shotguns." She squeezes your arm. "I must congratulate you, though. Earlier in the night I was a bit worried that you might be too shy or too nervous to try to fit into this environment. But I have noticed that you are actually doing much better. Keep up the good work.

Tanya leaves your side for a bit and you notice that Amanda is also alone and standing at the snack table. She smiles as you approach and gives you a knowing look when you pass on the burner code. "I really look forward to seeing you on Friday, Peter." She turns to add something to her plate and you inwardly groan at the sight offered you. Just how do those things stay in the dress? Her breasts are clearly a few cup sizes larger than Tanya's and the gown she is wearing is extremely revealing. But not quite revealing enough. She nibbles at something then says, "So have you been abandoned, too. I am afraid that my charms may have lost their charm for Howard. he sure was spending a lot of time looking at your boss' chest. So, mister coffee man, how did she pick you for this?"

* Gamma: I don't actually know the answer to that.
* She doesn't care about the literal truth, she's making conversation. I should make conversation back.

That was ... surely not magical manipulation of his thoughts. Although how that voice could be so sure of Amanda's motives and the best response he wasn't sure. Still, if he'd picked up one thing this evening it was that people enjoyed being talked to, no matter their station in life.

* Oleg: No accounting for taste.
* Coleman: If I were to consider social navigation as a combat art, such small talk could be viewed as intelligence gathering and scouting of the terrain.
* Oleg: 'If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no work for tinker's hands.'
* Gamma: I believe tinkering has been an extinct profession for well over a century, so technically the conditions have been met.
* Oleg: I know exactly what I mean, so no being cute about it!

"Well, I don't know exactly how it came about, but apparently a recommendation of some sort from a previous ..." Lover? Partner? Consuming Passion? Co-dependent substance abuser? "... client." He notices Amanda noticing the pause and the twist he can't help putting on that last word., so to head off questions he expands: "Business acquaintances of each other, I guess you could say. I'm not sure I want to know what was in that conversation, and I can't say I've ever been entirely sure what Tanya was or is looking for."

That still left more openings than he was comfortable with for questions he didn't want to answer. This he knows what to do about, at least, it was in all the instructions about being a polite conversationalist: take turns. After making a statement, inquire of the other person. "How about you and Howard?" Preston can't help glancing at her cantilevered chest, so clarifies "Don't get me wrong, I can imagine the attraction! But surely he didn't meet you where, ah, you used to work and were considering re-applying. There must be some sort of story there?"

For Mercy:

* Oleg: Oh, she's one of those people whose sexuality is such a part of their identity.
* Monkey: Lucky-ducky!
* Oleg: It's distasteful
* Monkey: It's tasty!
* Gamma: Cognitive Dissonance; time-out on this discussion.

Preston knew that he was less sexual than most people, at least in how he defined himself. Not that he didn’t like sex or spend far too much time thinking about it, but he’d more than once toyed with the idea that life would be a lot easier without all of those desires. That they were something that biology forced him to care about, more than something that he wanted to care about. He was pretty sure that there was ‘ware of some description that could block that without actually messing with the body, but he’d never quite brought himself to investigate that avenue.

For that matter, he lived in his mind more than his body. He kept moderately fit and quite flexible, and his fortunately somewhat generic face and body made a good template for disguises. A body was certainly useful, and it was nice to taste good coffee or whatnot. But he’d never quite understood people who were obsessed with pleasures of the flesh. Sure Amanda might be exceptionally endowed, but when you could plug into virtual reality and have any sort of partner you wanted, so what? Granted that simulations were still not quite the same as reality, especially if you restricted yourself to cold sim, but that didn’t mean they weren’t awfully good. He was pretty sure that there was some emotional thing that for some made doing things in meat space more rewarding than running a sim, but he’d never really understood it.

So he was torn in how to interpret Amanda’s words. He was tempted to think of her as being exploited, men preying on a young woman who had developed precociously, twisting her whole life path in the image of their lusts. But at the same time she sounded like she didn’t have any regrets, that she enjoyed that physical focus in her life. A type of Stockholm Syndrome, identifying with the desires of those who had power over her? Or someone naturally attracted to the pleasures of the flesh who was lucky to have flesh that so many wanted to pleasure? Or an attention addict who hid her addiction from herself and others through her lifestyle choices? Or

* I really need to get over myself.

Well.

Or he could stop trying to judge her choices, and just enjoy her company.

Preston cracked his best effort at a smile, and said "Actually I'm looking forward to Friday a lot too." He glanced around at the elegance and tasteful opulence around them. "This....doesn't feel real. And as you pointed out, you are all real." He hoped it came across as a fun quip and not a creepy leer, but he felt Amanda could field the comment either way.

"Look, I can be kind of awkward with people. You seem to handle them better. Aside from looking forward to talking and whatever else we decide to do, I'm probably going to make you an offer as a sort of personal social trainer. Help me break some of my bad habits, give me feedback on what is good and isn't. I may never be as comfortable face-to-face as I am avatar-to-avatar, but I figure its never to late to get better. I'm nothing like so loaded that its going to be any sort of well paying full time job, but I'll work out what I can offer, and you can work out if you're interested."

Amanda looks at you closely when you say that you are looking forward to seeing her. After a moment, she brightens visibly. “Yes. Yes, I think you mean that. And not just for my body. It is strange to consider being with someone who is nor solely interested in sex with me. Quite odd, actually and I am not sure how I am supposed to react. Of course, sex is on the plate if you want, but………………wow. You are a different sort of guy. Try not to let this lifestyle ruin that.” She looks around the room then nods to where Tanya is chatting with two older men and their wives. “But you, you have it good, Peter. I have been with Howard for several months and been to tons of this sort of shindig. I have seen your employer at a number of them, including three here, and she is just about the most real of these people I have met or seen. I am sure that you have noticed that Howard rarely introduces me to others or talks to me, and he spends a lot of time trying to be suave while attempting to look down the dresses of other women. Sadly, he is not alone. Most of the people of that social elite class are just the same. Tanya Marisart is not. I have seen her walking with you and talking with you. She does not seem the type to order you to go get drinks. More importantly, she makes time to talk to the eye candy. I have stood here and watched her compliment the serving staff and the man behind the bar. No one does that unless they really care. Unless they are real. And do you want to know what to me is the most telling point? Look at the woman over there, the maid. I know that you have had to meet her already, but I have heard things about her. Besides being incredibly efficient, she is LOYAL, with all caps. I know that others have offered her huge sums to go work for them but she turns everyone down. And that is the number one best sign of a good boss; that the staff is loyal.”

She waves her hand at the room. “And the furnishings? I have heard others talk down about her for having good but not best. But I have sat on the couches and chairs here and they are comfortable. The kind of comfortable that you can enjoy. Howard’s crap is expensive and antique and he goes all pale if anyone even looks like they want to sit on a chair. And most of these people are just like that. I would rather sit on her couch than look at one in another house. What the frag, right? Now the odds and ends? They are real, and I imagine really expensive. But they do not seem out of place. If you are new to this, you remember what I have said and you will see what I mean. No, on the whole, I would really rather be employed by your boss than mine and for lots of reasons. You are a lucky man, Peter. You should try to hold onto this gig for as long as you can.” She again nods her head. "And here she comes."

Tanya walks up to the two of you, saying, "Peter, I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine. Vasily and Alexis Tikhonovich, may I introduce my companion, Peter Preston? Peter, Alexis and I are good friends and she consented to bring Vasily with her tonight. Alexis and I serve on several committees together. I explained our little problem and Alexis has graciously agreed to help us. And this is my friend Amanda Good, she has been unceremoniously abandoned by Howard." Both of the newcomers give a polite but somewhat negative expression when they hear the name. Vassily holds out an arm for Amanda and says, "Let us leave the cooks to their chat, my dear. I am sure that we can find something to talk about." Alexis calls out. "Vassily, don't make any arrangements to bring her home that don't include me. From dear Tanya's description, she sounds particularly interesting." She then turns to you. "Now, what is this I hear about you needing some advice on Polish cooking? I happen to know a bit about it."

Tanya snickers. "Peter, Alexis is the owner of the Krakow Corner. She serves the best Polish cuisine in almost anywhere. I will leave you two to chat and try to keep poor Arthur from guessing anything." Tanya leaves and the Polish woman looks at you expectantly.

Preston grits his teeth a bit. "I know that Tanya was being helpful, but please understand that I'm simply looking to cook a batch of home-made cookies. My only real issue was that to do it properly I need many egg yolks and some thick cream, and I wouldn't know where to get quality ingredients in this city. If I can get those in reasonable quantity -- and she has already offered her services in that regard -- then it is a matter of making a few batches to get from having a recipe to really having a feel for the things. I'm not a professional, but I have a well seasoned cookie sheet, an oven that mostly holds its temperature, and what else do you really need?"

Gamma: That was rude.

Preston draws a long breath, then apologizes to the taken back restauranteur "Sorry, I shouldn't have blown up at you, it was very kind of you to come offer your help. I think I had suddenly reached my tolerance for being helped today -- Tanya is remarkably generous and helpful but it can get to be a bit much. I am sorry that she made this seem like more of a crisis than it is. In all fairness, she doesn't know that my grandmother taught me fairly well how to bake or that I did the basic baking in a coffee shop that I worked at after college. I'm not a pro, but it's just cookies, and home made cookies don't need the help of a restaurant, no matter how wonderful it may be."

* Gamma: Still somewhat rude.
* I should probably also let her get a word in edge-wise.

"To re-cap: sorry for my reaction, and sorry you were pulled into this, and sorry that we are making a mountain out of Krusczyki."

A momentary pause, then

"A blast it, after all of that -- Tanya was right. My family is Ukranian, Arthur's was Polish, I think it is the same basic cookie but I don't know if there are variants. Maybe I do need a recipe consult."

Alexis looks taken aback as you talk, and even moves a step away. She is a kind woman, though and waits patiently for you to finish, then smiles at the end. “Ah, yes. Our Tanya. She is such a nice girl, that one. However, it can get to be of an issue at times. But I think that if she offered to help you get the ingredients you need, she was thinking of me. I have such things all the time, and as fresh as possible. She did not ask me to cook for you, but only to check your recipe for to see if it is Polish enough and to get you the ingredients you need. I know our Arthur and he is quite picky, even though he should stick to his horrible music and not the cooking. Always with the advice and he knows so little about it. But I am at your disposal, Mister Peter. Would you like me to look at your recipe and provide you some ingredients? I can be available on the morning of Sunday to come. Here is my comm code to send recipe and I will look at it and make comments. But please do not do this thing if it does not sit well with you. Vassily and I, we owe everything to our Tanya and love her like our own child, but she can be…..I do not know how to say it best……………….she can be too helpful at times. Maybe that is the best way. At her heart, she is a good person and wants to help others. And she knows people and has money to get things done to help people. But sometimes it is too much too fast. But you let me know if you want my help, but you will do the cooking.”

The woman smiles and touches your arm as she stands up. She looks over to where Tanya is then says, “Just remember that you will have no truer friend than our Tanya, if you can handle her. And here she comes back to you. You are lucky man that she likes you. Contact me if you help, Mister Preston.” She leaves you, intercepting Tanya on the way and bussing her cheeks before going off to her husband. Tanya walks to where you are and smiles. “I am pooped and want to sit, but cannot. People will be leaving soon and I need to be ready at the door to see them off. Do you wish to walk with me? By the way, I have fielded many questions about who you actually are and I would guess that you might receive some invitations to other parties, some even without me.”

Preston looks around, then asks “Is there some sort of signal, at affairs like this, that it is time to leave? Or is it simply that people start leaving around a certain time out of habit or expectation? I certainly know that my head is stuffed so full that I don’t know if I can even process any more information. Tell me that it is going to rain on Friday and I’d probably look at you blankly, or maybe make a snarky comment about it being Seattle so of course it is going to rain. Or maybe just start babbling, like I’m doing now.”

He glances down at Tanya’s feet, and suggests “What I’m getting at is that I’d be all for giving whatever subtle signal might encourage people to leave. And once they do I’d happily exchange foot rubs with you – although I admit that these shoes are far more comfortable than anything so dressy has any right to be. Standing around is still tiring, even with comfortable footwear, and what you are wearing, well, I can’t imagine how your feet must be feeling by now.”

Tanya smiles. “It is kind of a signal thing. I let someone know it is time to start leaving and then the rest sort of follow after. Sometimes there are a few strays hanging about that have to be chased off with a broom, but not often. And a foot massage sounds divine. You have just given me enough incentive to get things rolling.” She takes your arm and leads you to another couple you have already met. After a minute there is some sort of signal and the couple indicate that they are leaving. The two of you walk them to the door as Monique brings their wraps out. Soon after there are more people leaving and you bid each one good night in turn. Howard reminds you about Saturday and Monday and winks at you as he leaves. Arthur nods and indicates he is looking forward to your krusczyki. Radiant Shadow goes off with several old and new friends, thanking you very much for having had her invited.

Soon, all are gone and Tanya tells Monique that the clean up can wait until the morning and sends her off to bed, leaving the two of you alone in the large living room. She walks with you to the couch and exhales as she sits. She pats the space next to her and says, “I am so glad that is done and that I do not do that often.” She reaches down and unstraps her shoes to remove them before swinging her feet up onto the couch and turning to face you. “So, if you turn to face me, we can do both sets of feet at the same time.” The way she is sitting, you can put your legs outside hers and she brings one foot at a time into her lap and begins rubbing it. She keeps her eyes on you and her hands are like magic as she works the sore muscles of your feet and ankles, and she makes sounds like a purring cat as you do hers. After a few minutes she stops purring and says, “So, talk to me. Tell me honestly what you think. About the opera. About the party. About the people you met. About me. I think that it is clear that I am not used to working with others in the capacity that I hope we will and I want to be able to make corrections if we are to become a team. I am a loner that wants to expand and I need help doing that.”

Preston opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before admitting "To be honest, I don’t know what to think yet, not really. Today has been such a whirlwind of new activities, experiences, and faces. And opportunities too, I suppose. I still haven't processed it all. It’s like -- actually I don’t really have a comparable. Well, sort of ...”


* Gamma: My only comparable was the less intense but no less disorienting experience of becoming a bounty hunter.

* Coleman: Knowledge is power, I should not give that power to her.

* Monkey: I like her -- anyone who will give me a foot rub like that I trust.

* Oleg: Admitting my dishonorable conduct isn't apt to impress the chit.

* Gamma: A fairly normal part of developing any sort of personal relationship is exchange of private confessions.

* Coleman: It would be better to get such revelations from her without having to give any up in return.

* Gamma: I don't have the social skills to make it likely that I could do that while still developing the relationship.

* Better to hear it from me than to hear it from others when I've been concealing it.


Preston shifted his position a bit to be able to look at Tanya more squarely, blew out a long breath, and explained "I have some history that you should probably know about. Maybe you've already researched me, if not then probably someone will warn you about me eventually. Better to tell you myself, I guess

I got picked up by a bounty hunter -- no, not as a bounty, but as a sort of assistant or trainee or something. He had all sorts of skills, but wasn't great with the matrix. Used to be it didn't matter so much because most of his targets were offline, but after they brought in the wireless matrix it got harder to not leave a trail, and he wanted someone who could follow that trail. I'm not saying I'm the best there ever was at that, but good enough to be useful to him. And I was useful in other ways, we had a similar build and colouring, so sometimes I was his decoy, and I already had some training with pistol and clubs and he worked with both too so I got better, and sometimes I was the guy outside the back door, or whatever. No surprise, I guess, that he handled the talking. And the driving, and the chainsaw."

"The very first job I helped him on, before I was even his, well, whatever I was, I tracked someone down in a matrix game and got enough information on them to find them off-line, and helped him flush them out to where he could catch the guy. I've not played Red Shift since then, word got out somehow and that is such an interactive game that it wouldn't shock me if someone's add-on identified me by play rhythm or something."

"I guess maybe that should have been a warning, except that I didn't see the problem back then. I got the advantage on someone and got paid for it? I thought it was great, I wanted more. And I got it. My partner, went by the handle Fisher, he specialized in scams to get close to people, or to pull them out of their hiding or safe spots. Some of the people we took down were reasonably well liked in the shadow community, and Fisher wasn't too worried about hiding that he'd taken certain people down. Which meant that nobody shadowy could fully trust him, because they didn't know when he was pulling a scam. Which meant they couldn't fully trust me, either. As a team, we were manipulative fraggers, to the extreme."

"Then Fisher went and got himself eaten. Mind mage figured us out just in time. He made me eat a grenade, but I was lucky, it was only tear gas. Scarring on my lungs from that still bugs me, but I got out alive, while Fisher ... didn't. I carried on afterwards, took a few lesser bounties on my own, but mostly I wanted that fragger that killed Fisher. I was ... not entirely sane, probably. I was obsessed with taking that guy down, and I was popping the Jazz regularly and other uppers when I couldn't get it. Those sort of drugs, they make it feel like your thoughts are racing into the future, no time to second guess yourself. Its amazing ... and terrible. Things can seem like a great idea, that if you thought about it in any sort of sane way would seem terrible."

Preston finally realized that he had his hands locked behind his neck, and was rocking a bit. He forced them apart and into his lap, and forced himself to the end of the story. "I managed to feed a rigger he often worked with to the police, I assassinated the decker who game him security, I identified his sister and used her son's birthday to catch him out of his safe spot -- at least I didn't take him down at the party but that was mostly because I was worried he'd use mind magic to make me go after the wrong target. It went down on the expressway, surprisingly easily. So easy I worried that he'd faked his death, or masked someone else. What if I'd done all of that and I hadn't killed him?"

"Surfing on the Jazz, it was obvious what to do: I cut off his head and took it with me, to remove all doubt about him being dead, or him being him. Nobody saw me do it, but when his body was identified, well, it was kind of obvious what had happened, and there were people who put two and two together. He was a nasty enough piece of business that nobody much felt like avenging him, but that didn't mean that they wanted to work with someone who would head-hunt someone either."

Preston let out a long, shuddering, breath, and finished. "I managed to get off the Jazz, but pretty much retreated to the matrix. Hot Sim can be so intense that you can block out almost everything -- even all of that. Eventually I crawled my back out of there and started trying to put a life back together. I may have changed, but my reputation out there hasn't. I'm still a ruthless manipulator who will do anything to get his target, who would even kill someone on the way to his nephew's birthday party and cut off his head, who has no loyalty to the shadow community. Or maybe my reputation is right, and I'm just trying to manipulate you -- up to you to decide if I'm really this socially awkward, or actually such a good actor that I could fake it."

"All of that said: if you want me to go, I will."

For once, his mental voices were silent.

Tanya is silent for a moment then slides her bare foot against your inner thigh. The feeling is quite sensual, especially as her toes somehow manage to reach all the way up your thigh to stimulate something else. The feeling almost makes you miss her words, “Hey. Aren’t you forgetting something? Mutual foot rubs, here, please.” She lets her foot slide back down so you can get to work as she talks. “I really appreciate that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this about you. I would certainly hope that if I were forced to kill myself that I would have someone in my corner to seek out a most horrible revenge on whoever did that to me. Now, having said that, though, I would like to say a few things. I have already given you my thoughts on drugs and addictions.” She points to her right arm and her eyes. “These are not what I was born with as are several parts of my interior. As I told you, I was hooked on pain meds for a couple of years. I do take advantage of people that use drugs but I am clean and will try like hell to never go back to that. Also, I always try to plan to do my jobs without killing anyone. I have killed in the past, but prefer not to and would like it if you were to agree to that. I think I would stop if I had to plan on killing people. Oh! Whatever you just did feels sooooo good. Please do it again. Oh, yes, that’s it. Perfect.”

Tanya arches her back a bit and moans in pleasure as you work on her feet. Suddenly, she sits up and yanks her feet back and off the couch. Her eyes are wide and she is panting. “My God! Well, that is a first. You almost brought me off by just rubbing my feet. I did not realize that would do that.” She flutters her hand in front of her face and blows are from her mouth. “OK. Wow. We can get back to that later. At least I certainly hope we can get back to that later.”

She stands and holds out a hand to you. “Would you like to see what really turns me on? Come on, I’ll show you.” She leads you to a section of wall that has a nice marble statuette on a shelf and touches a place under the shelf, causing a panel of wood to slide open to reveal a door. She fishes out a small keychain and uses an old fashioned key to unlock the door. She opens it and lights turn on as she enters the room. Inside, she opens a small cabinet next to the door, exposing a palm reader and data pad. Placing her palm on the surface causes a green bar to scan across her palm and she simultaneously enters a code on the data pad. Turning to you, she motions for you to place your palm on the scanner and enters a code for you. She smiles and says, “You are now Guest 1. Close the door please. The room is as large as the bedroom you had changed in. A large conference table and twelve chairs dominates the center of the room, while every wall has cupboards and drawers of various sizes. There is a small kitchenette and bathroom opening from the far wall. Tanya moves to the center chair of the table and touches a stud, causing a console to rise from the table in front of her. She turns to you and gives you one of her light-up-the-room smiles. “This is my life, Peter. Or, rather, where I plan my life. I do not steal things to keep them, but to sell them. I know good fences that can usually get me top price for what I take. Sometimes I work on commission and steal things for other people. Jewelry, art, furs, statuettes, money, and people are on the list of what I take. I try to stay away from drugs or guns, but have made an exception or two over the years.” She sweeps her hand at the chairs. “I usually work solo, but that does not mean I do not make use of assets. I know hackers, mages, drivers, riggers, medics, you name it, I might have a contact that does it. I bring in a team to support me and give me ideas and I pay them a generous salary to keep quiet about who I am and what I do. But I am ready to move on to bigger things. I have been commissioned to steal something wonderful, something fantastic, but it is incredibly well guarded by very well funded and cautious people. I should say very well funded, cautious, and dangerous people. I think I need more than just a loose group of experts. I want a team. I want to be Moriarty with a criminal enterprise that can outwit even Holmes. And if you know the reference, I will be so impressed that I will offer to have your child. I am already searching for such people and have hopes that I can put such a team together. And I want you, Peter. I want you to be my chief lieutenant, my partner, my friend.”

“You were not selected at random. Monique did not simply go to a flower shop and manage to get your name. No, she went to the flower shop because she already had your name and your former girlfriend works there. I am sure that I do not have all of the knowledge about you, but I have enough. You have been honest with me and I certainly do not believe that you are manipulating me to some horrible and ugly end. I do think that you have experienced several crisis in your life and are still working back from some of them. I ask you; who isn’t? I was bloody well broken once. Lost and alone, shunning people that had been my friends until the accident. Do you know that I had three people come visit me in hospital more than once? Three. My bloody cousin Jeremey, the man who stole my inheritance with the help of the crown came once

Tanya is silent for a moment then slides her bare foot against your inner thigh. The feeling is quite sensual, especially as her toes somehow manage to reach all the way up your thigh to stimulate something else. The feeling almost makes you miss her words, “Hey. Aren’t you forgetting something? Mutual foot rubs, here, please.” She lets her foot slide back down so you can get to work as she talks. “I really appreciate that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this about you. I would certainly hope that if I were forced to kill myself that I would have someone in my corner to seek out a most horrible revenge on whoever did that to me. Now, having said that, though, I would like to say a few things. I have already given you my thoughts on drugs and addictions.” She points to her right arm and her eyes. “These are not what I was born with as are several parts of my interior. As I told you, I was hooked on pain meds for a couple of years. I do take advantage of people that use drugs but I am clean and will try like hell to never go back to that. Also, I always try to plan to do my jobs without killing anyone. I have killed in the past, but prefer not to and would like it if you were to agree to that. I think I would stop if I had to plan on killing people. Oh! Whatever you just did feels sooooo good. Please do it again. Oh, yes, that’s it. Perfect.”

Tanya arches her back a bit and moans in pleasure as you work on her feet. Suddenly, she sits up and yanks her feet back and off the couch. Her eyes are wide and she is panting. “My God! Well, that is a first. You almost brought me off by just rubbing my feet. I did not realize that would do that.” She flutters her hand in front of her face and blows are from her mouth. “OK. Wow. We can get back to that later. At least I certainly hope we can get back to that later.”

She stands and holds out a hand to you. “Would you like to see what really turns me on? Come on, I’ll show you.” She leads you to a section of wall that has a nice marble statuette on a shelf and touches a place under the shelf, causing a panel of wood to slide open to reveal a door. She fishes out a small keychain and uses an old fashioned key to unlock the door. She opens it and lights turn on as she enters the room. Inside, she opens a small cabinet next to the door, exposing a palm reader and data pad. Placing her palm on the surface causes a green bar to scan across her palm and she simultaneously enters a code on the data pad. Turning to you, she motions for you to place your palm on the scanner and enters a code for you. She smiles and says, “You are now Guest 1. Close the door please. The room is as large as the bedroom you had changed in. A large conference table and twelve chairs dominates the center of the room, while every wall has cupboards and drawers of various sizes. There is a small kitchenette and bathroom opening from the far wall. Tanya moves to the center chair of the table and touches a stud, causing a console to rise from the table in front of her. She turns to you and gives you one of her light-up-the-room smiles. “This is my life, Peter. Or, rather, where I plan my life. I do not steal things to keep them, but to sell them. I know good fences that can usually get me top price for what I take. Sometimes I work on commission and steal things for other people. Jewelry, art, furs, statuettes, money, and people are on the list of what I take. I try to stay away from drugs or guns, but have made an exception or two over the years.” She sweeps her hand at the chairs. “I usually work solo, but that does not mean I do not make use of assets. I know hackers, mages, drivers, riggers, medics, you name it, I might have a contact that does it. I bring in a team to support me and give me ideas and I pay them a generous salary to keep quiet about who I am and what I do. But I am ready to move on to bigger things. I have been commissioned to steal something wonderful, something fantastic, but it is incredibly well guarded by very well funded and cautious people. I should say very well funded, cautious, and dangerous people. I think I need more than just a loose group of experts. I want a team. I want to be Moriarty with a criminal enterprise that can outwit even Holmes. And if you know the reference, I will be so impressed that I will offer to have your child. I am already searching for such people and have hopes that I can put such a team together. And I want you, Peter. I want you to be my chief lieutenant, my partner, my friend.”

“You were not selected at random. Monique did not simply go to a flower shop and manage to get your name. No, she went to the flower shop because she already had your name and your former girlfriend works there. I am sure that I do not have all of the knowledge about you, but I have enough. You have been honest with me and I certainly do not believe that you are manipulating me to some horrible and ugly end. I do think that you have experienced several crisis in your life and are still working back from some of them. I ask you; who isn’t? I was bloody well broken once. Lost and alone, shunning people that had been my friends until the accident. Do you know that I had three people come visit me in hospital more than once? Three. My bloody cousin Jeremey, the man who stole my inheritance with the help of the crown came once and was so shocked at what I looked like that he never came back. My friends? Bah. Most never came at all once they found out the money was going to Jeremy and not me. The few that did come never came back. No, only three people came to see me more than once. One was the Scotland Yard Dick that was assigned to my case. My father had been an important man and they wanted to be sure the accident had actually been an accident. For a while I entertained the idea that he had been assassinated. He was, after all, a right bastard and a horrible father. Not sure he deserved to die like that, though. Still, I could not be definitive enough for the Dick and he stopped coming after four visits. Uncle and Aunt came a couple of times a week. Every week. Uncle is a busy man and sometimes he could not come, but she did. And she was just the secretary assistant back then. I thought at the time he was sending her, but he later told me it was her idea. Some might think I am still broken because of what I do, but I survive. And I enjoy life and living in the now.”

She comes to stand in front of you, somewhat shorter now that she is barefoot. Looking up into your face, she whispers, “I definitely do not want you to go, Peter. I want you to stay. I would like to share life with you, if you will let me. Help me live and I will share all that I have. Be the man that can stand up to me and tell me I am bonkers when you think I am. Tell me my arse looks nice when you think so. Admire my body. Admire my mind. Give me ideas to help us succeed. Live with me, Learn with me. Sleep with me. Make me yours and I can promise you a ride you will never forget. If you are afraid of taking chances, this is the one time to throw caution to the winds and grab the lightning, Peter. Grab the bloody lightning. Grab me and shag me. Make gentle love to me. Make me feel wanted and needed.” Still standing close to you, she reaches a hand to each shoulder and pushes the gown off her, letting it free to fall to the floor and pool at her feet, exposing every inch of her body to you. She seems a bit nervous and bites her lower lip as she stands and waits for you to say something.

As Tanya talked led him into her secret room, and expounded about her plans for an exclusive group of thieves, Preston's thoughts kept up a commentary

* Oleg: a gang of thieves? This is finally making sense.
* Coleman: Do I trust myself to her leadership? This is the prime question to settle.
* Monkey: Sure I do, at least for tonight!
* Gamma: I have always focused on longer-term relationships
* Mo

nkey: Exactly, let me not screw this one up like I did in the past.

As Tanya continued he tried to focus on the what she was saying, but with her standing right there, with so little between them, it was hard. She made some reference that he was too muddled to even search on the matrix. He hadn't drunk much, he didn't think? But with the discreetly attentive servers it was hard to be sure. Maybe it was just that the day had been so much of everything and he still hadn't digested it all? Maybe more coffee would clear his head?

Before he could follow up on that thought, Tanya let her gown fall, and made a proposition of another sort. Preston was gobsmacked, momentarily at a loss for how to react. Instinctively he staggered back a couple of short steps to let him fully scan Tanya's body, and meanwhile the voices in his head exploded into a mental cacaphony.

* Monkey: Don't worry, I got this!
* Coleman: She is trying to cut out any reflection on the decision, this is a classic part of any hussle.
* Monkey: I'm going to hussle over and hug her
* Oleg: I think she likes taking chances, which I
* Monkey: Taking chances is great, and I AM taking this one.
* Coleman: This could be a test to see if I can keep restrained in the face of provocation
* Monkey: She is literally speaking right to ME with that 'forget thinking and go with instinct' bit. If this is a test, it is a test of whether I still have some Monkey in me.
* Gamma: my history of decisions made when following instincts is not exemplary. I am a better person when I take time to reflect.
* Monkey: Screw being a better person. I am SO TIRED of being good.
* Gamma: my overall contentment level has actually b
* Monkey: Shut up! I'm doing this
* Oleg: I am not a dog to respond just because some bi
* Monkey: I am NOT thinking of my new lover like that! No more from you tonight! No more from any of you --me -- we -- whatever.

Preston's mental voices fell silent, replaced with a powerful wave of lust. He'd only just admitted that the day had been overwhelming, and suddenly she was throwing all of this at him, and appealing to his body and demanding a quick decision when he needed time to thi * Monkey: STOP WITH THE THINKING -- I'M DOING THIS. What was this? The whole point of the voices was divorce those drives from his actions, so that he could thin * MONKEY: I SAID NO MORE FRAGGING THINKING -- IT'S ACTION TIME. He needed to * Monkey: YOU CAN DO THAT IN THE MORNING!

* MONKEY DO!

Preston gave his head a small shake, as he staggered slightly. Then he smiled. Or maybe leered.

* "Ook, let's do this"

He stepped forward with a definite touch of swagger, then grabbed Tanya by the hips. He pulled her forward a bit, then before they could kiss he swung her around in a circle, lifting her up off the ground and finally depositing her backside onto the table. He stepped up hard against her as he growled * "You have no idea how much I need this."

You wake up in an extremely comfortable bed. Your fogged memory gives you a moment to realize that it is not yours before you open your eyes and look around. Your first impression is that the bed is huge, probably the size of some living rooms you have been in. Your second impression is that you are not alone in it. A woman is laying on her stomach next to you, apparently still sleeping. Her flowing red hair is spread across her shoulders. Her naked back is perfectly formed as is her rear and the part of her legs that you can see uncovered by the light silk sheet that is loosely draped across her from about the knees down. You shake your head to clear the cobwebs and can barely remember this woman on her back on top of a large conference table, shapely ankles poised above your shoulders and one or both of you yelling “Oh God!” several times. Probably both of you. After that there is a blur of rooms and furniture, but how you ended up in this bed you do not know. You feel the muscle burn that used to tell you that you have engaged in some serious sexual activity. It has been a while now since your previous similar escapade, but you think that this one was much more active. There is an odd bruise on your outer left thigh and you vaguely recall bumping into something, but have no clear idea what or where. Still, even tired, the site of the naked woman next to you is enough to excite parts of your body.

Before you can act on these growing feelings, the first of several of things happen. The woman next to you wiggles and wakes up, turning to look at you looking at her. Her hair is completely mussed and she has a sheet crease on her right cheek, but when she smiles at you, you have to believe that there is no more beautiful woman anywhere in the world. She says, “Good morning, Peter.” She rolls over onto her back and stretches loudly. “My god, Peter, you are bloody amazing.”

As she says this the door to the bedroom opens and Monique walks in. She says, “Good morning, My Lady, Mr. Preston. Madam, your frock from last night is set to go out, as is your tuxedo, Mr. Preston. I do say, though, that it would have been better form to have removed it all at once instead of a bit in every room you two were in. It was quite the scavenger hunt. I will start the shower." As she walks past, she looks down at you still naked on top of the bed. “Nice. Very nice, indeed, Mr. Preston.” She walks into the bathroom as Tanya slings the sheet up and over your lower torso and hers, leaving the upper torsos exposed. In a voice slightly too loud for the occasion she says, “Must not be giving the hired help any ideas, now, should we?” There is an answering snort from the bathroom then Monique comes back out to stand over the bed. “You have a wall appointment in thirty minutes, My Lady. Should I call down that you will be bringing a guest?”

Tanya looks at you with interest. “Do you wall-climb, Peter? It is great fun and I would love to have you come down. I usually go for a run afterwards. I am sure that we have appropriate clothing for you.”

Monique replies, “Yes, My Lady, we do. I will get something ready while you shower off your evening’s activity.” The maid turns and leaves the room as Tanya climbs on top of you and places her hands on the wall above your head. “I hope that you never tell me that you regret what we did last night, Peter. Even if this does not go where I would like it to, last night was In-Credible. Thank you very much as I needed that so very bloody badly. And I think that you had a good time, too. And now, however much I would dearly love to continue our activity of last night, I have to pee like crazy. Come on, let’s take a shower.”

At first Preston struggles to bring yesterday into focus, and when that fails he settles for trying to bring the present into focus, but that seems to be fairly challenging too.

'My brain feels like an ashtray.' That was somewhat encouraging, at least a thought that came through in words.

Words. That was part of what was missing -- his voices. He stilled his thoughts to make room for them.









That ... didn't seem good. He had to make himself cover the things that his voices normally would. What was first? That was easy enough, self-observation. Physically he felt good, even great, despite some fatigue, bruises, and scratches. Mentally ...

'My brain feels like an ashtray.' That was somewhat encouraging, at least a thought that came through in words. Wait, hadn't he just had that thought? Had he started this once then lost his train of thought?

Thought -- Tanya was asking about something. Climbing? He could remember climbing fences, but not more ambitious items, so he told her that. Except ... Somehow the words didn't seem to come out of his mouth, or if they did nobody else heard them. Half an hour? He could probably do that. Instinctively he touched his link with his thoughts, to check his schedule.

It was off. Why would he have turned it off? Mentally he flicked it back on, then reached up to grab Tanya while she was above him. An echo of last night's lust passed through him, and distantly he felt Monkey

* Monkey: I turned the damn link off. Didn't want distractions.

Oh, right. Monkey had taken charge. No, Monkey was a part of him, it didn't have its own volition. He had let Monkey take charge. That still wasn't quite right. He'd let himself be Monkey. That was it. He'd been the Monkey on his own back? That didn't seem to quite make sense.

Then his link flicked to life, flashing time, weather, appointments and other key information at his thoughts.

Appointments? He checked -- the shape of things on his calendar seemed worrying, and then he put together the meaning. He cursed in his thoughts, then tried again and this time it rattled and banged its way out to his mouth.

"Drek." It sounded more croak than voice, but it would do.

"Appointment. Yesterday, for today. Because job. Clothes? Shower? Fast."

He let Tanya go and starting rolling hiw way toward the edge of the enormous bed, then realized that something was missing in his statement. As he swung his legs over the edge it came to him

"Verbs!" he exclaimed. There, that probably made things much clearer. Then he looked around in befuddlement, trying to figure out where the shower was.

Thursday 7 June 2075 0635 Suite U3A Gates Undersound Hotel



Tanya laughs, "I appreciate that what we did might have addled your brain. I am a bit dazed by it, too. Shower is this way." She takes you by the hand and leads you to the bathroom, pointing you to the running shower as she sits on the toilet. The water is hot and does a lot to help you recover your senses. At least until she steps in to join you. There are two shower heads so you do not have share, but her hands soaping your back brings up a reaction that is hard to miss. She turns so that you can soap her up and then rinses off. As the two of you step out of the shower she gazes down at your waist and smiles. "I do hope that is for me and not Monique? Here are towels and robes. I think I heard you say that you have other appointments this morning? Too bad. I usually try to get some exercise in before breakfast. The hotel has a climbing wall here that I use a couple times a week. Other days it is racquetball or swimming. Then I try to get a run in before returning to change for breakfast. It would be nice if you joined me, but that is up to you. I live my life and I know that you have yours. But speaking of which, there are two guest rooms here. Would you like to move in with me? Things would be convenient, but maybe you do not want to?"

Hot water helped bring Preston's brain more fully back on-line. That is, until Tanya threatens to totally divert it into lust again. Then she switches gears, talking about her exercise routine, then about him moving in.

And his voices were still being quiet, leaving him feeling off-balance and exposed. Couldn't she give him more time to absorb all of this?

Even as the words start slipping from his lips he realizes that he is sounding like Uncle Oleg -- the very thing that pulling out that voice into his thoughts was designed to help him avoid. But the realization does nothing to stop the outburst "Spirits woman! Would you give a man time to think? Is it always like this with you, go-go-go, changes by the hour?"

Preston's expression after the outburst, mouth in an "O", hand hovering in front of it, vainly trying to catch the words from the air, might have been comical at another time.

His hand slowly sinking, along with his spirits he adds more gently "And this is why I don't think I should move in right away. As you get to know me more, you might not like me as well as all of that. I ...." his mouth opens and closes a few times as he struggles to find words to express the maelstrom of his emotions right now, but finally he just dribbles out " .... should probably go. For now. You did hire me for a job, and I do aim to do it. I still .... the rest of it all" his hand wave takes in Tanya, the apartment, and possibly all of Puget Sound (it isn't a very well aimed arm wave) "I like it, I like you, but ... maybe we should see if we can walk together before we run together?"

Tanya seems quite surprised at your outburst. Her hand is suspended in mid-air with the bar of soap in it. Her face moves through several emotions and ends up going calm and neutral. She hands you the bar of soap and, in a voice barely above a whisper and almost lost in the noise of the water in the shower, says, “Of course, Mister Preston. I am very sorry for anything I have said or done that might have created any sort of difficulty for you whatsoever. I humbly beg your pardon for any affront I have committed. That was not my intent. I am sorry that you do not share my vision at this time, but I do look forward to hearing of your success in the task I have given to you. I will have your suit cleaned and sent on to your apartment. Good morning, Mister Preston.” She shuts of the water to her half of the shower and steps out.

By the time you are finished rinsing off, she has left the suite. Monique comes to the bathroom and shows you where the robes are kept and takes you out of the bedroom to the guest room you had used the previous day. Your clothes are cleaned and pressed and on a suit rack near the bed. She stays for a moment. “My mistress is a very special person, Mister Preston. I would give my life for her. I have and would again kill for her. She found me when I was so broken I had no idea where all the pieces were, much less how to put them back together. And that was at a time when she was broken more than I was. Her addictions almost killed her.” She holds up an arm and pushes back the sleeve to reveal an ugly scar that you would bet was inflicted with a knife. “I can still remember the night I found her stabbing herself with a knife from the kitchen, trying to let the demons out. Her blood was all over the floor of the kitchen and she fought as only the addicted can to keep me from stopping her. Her words were gibberish. Her strength was almost more than I could prevail against, but I had a heavy iron pot on my side and managed to subdue her and stop the bleeding.”

“She lived, but was only a shell of herself. I understand that you know what is left behind when addictions control you like that. She is much better now and I would like her to stay that way. I do not tell you this to get your sympathy or pity for her. She needs neither of those. She needs strength. Strength to pair against her, to lift her over the challenges she sees in her path. One day, this will kill her, but I will try to delay that for as long as possible. I think she sees a bit of herself in you, Mister Preston, and that attracts her to you. Sometimes that in itself is not enough and I know that better than most. Please stay safe. I look forward to seeing you again. You have my comm. code and I urge you to use it if you need my help with anything.”

Monique leaves the room so you can dress in privacy and is waiting for you at the front door when you come out after dressing. She takes you to the elevator and pushes the correct codes in and sends you up to the lobby.

Preston is still reeling from what has happened, what he said. Monique’s word register more as an emotion than as content. When she is done he signals her to wait a moment, then composes himself enough to say “I’ve done some pretty terrible things, but I don’t think I’ll be regretting any of them as much as letting those words out this morning.” He’s a bit amazed by the relative calm in his words, the almost flat delivery, an anthropologist observing his own behavior.

He feels that he should shut up and leave, but he can’t resist trying to give an explanation, no matter how inadequate, how his odd calmness might work against it being effective. “I don’t know who or what she thought I was, but I was trying to be that man anyway. I tried so hard that I ignored all my carefully built mental safety systems – until I just blew up, like an old gas burning engine pushed into the red zone for too long. My fault, I ignored the warning signs, I should have gotten myself to a safe distance first. I’ll do so now, now that it’s too late.”

Once dressed in yesterday’s clothes he takes the mournful elevator ride back to the garage. He feels like the guards’ stares are disapproving, like somehow they already know. It occurs to him “The next time I come here, they probably will know. Word always gets around. I’d best not give them any excuse to express how they feel about it.”

He sits down in his car, and sees the package of cookies, forgotten on the passenger seat. It is then that his emotions come rushing back. He stifles one sob, then gives up as everything comes crashing back at him – all of the people, all of the experiences, Tanya’s rapid change from employer to date to partner or maybe mastermind. He feels like he is choking from the sheer volume of it all. His hands grip the steering wheel in a death grip as a burning desire for the mental clarity of the Jazz, or the more-intense-than-life potency of hot sim, either would let him get past this, process it, be able to breathe.

"I could call Shadow, get some -- NO!" He is all the way back to basic cognitive behavioral therapy -- cutting off thoughts. It was his first step out of addiction, and if he is dismayed to not be able to manage better, at least this most basic building block was still there.

Blindly he gropes and finds tissue to wipe his eyes, he needs to be able to see more clearly

* Gamma: it is good that I always keep my car equipped with mundanely useful things.

He nearly sobs again, in relief. He lets the dispassionate internal voice continue, thrilled to have it back and functioning.

* Gamma: I have undergone far more strong emotional swings in the last day than I have dealt with since breaking up with Sonya.

* Gamma: My mental defenses were not as strong as I had thought they were. They functioned for a while, but became increasingly erratic as the day wore on.

* Gamma: Abandoning them completely last night was an extremely risky decision. It worked well for the night, but not for the morning. Such is not un-typical outcome of a high risk, his reward, decision.

* Gamma: My most recent break down was triggered by the cookies. Understanding why may help me understand my current emotional state.

He dabbed at his eyes again, made himself take some deep breaths -- and found he could breath fine after all. Why had the cookies triggered him so strongly?

It came to him easily -- that was when he began to go off his planned track. He forgot the cookies, in the rush to deal with what was happening. From then on things snowballed, as he had a harder and harder time processing and analyzing all that happened. He began to put more and more aside for later, began to miss more details, leave more decisions unmade. He'd had good moments, but he should have realized by the time he got blocked out of the opera that he was careening dangerously off the tracks.

He grimaced -- he'd managed to more or less follow the course until this morning, when he'd gone off a bridge and into a ravine.

He stared at the cookies. "If I'm ever to get out of this ravine, I need to start climbing. The cookies can also be the start of that." It almost felt like wisdom.

He grabbed the pen and note pad that he kept in the glove compartment of the sedan, and carefully wrote a note, aiming for much better than his usual semi-legible scrawl.

Tanya;
Sometimes I'm thoughtful enough to bake 'thank-you' cookies before even meeting a person.
Sometimes I hurt anyone I'm near.
I try for the former, but obviously there is still more of the latter in me than I'd realized.
Here is a thank you, from before I knew how I'd screw things up.

He struggled over what to sign his name as, and finally went with the name he'd used with her: Peter.

* Oleg: It never would have worked out anyway, without a proper SIN I never could have stayed by her side, I would have been found out.

Not for the first time he wished he could take a spoon and scoop this bitter part of him out, but at least it was back talking in his thoughts, not out of his mouth.

He folded over the note, tucked it under the strong holding the box closed, and walked back to the guards at the elevator. "Could you please send this to Lady Marisart's suite? It is for her -- although getting it to Monique should serve." He hoped the guards wouldn't read the note, or just take the cookies, but he couldn't bear to look at what was in their eyes, so as soon as he had gabbled his message and placed the box where one of them indicated, he scuttled back to his car, and drove off.

* Coleman: That could be an interesting way to try to deliver a bomb. I wonder how many tests they'll run on it before they decide it is safe to deliver?

He amended his earlier thought: he hoped the guards wouldn't read the note, or just take the cookies, or blow up the box to destroy any possible danger.

As soon as his car is rolling, Preston's more usual instincts kick in. When he realizes that the parking garage has terrible matrix connections he almost gets panicky, but once he's finally outside he breathes a sigh of relief -- the matrix instantly delivers directions to the nearest dispensary of that most lovely of drugs: soycaff.

Several minutes later, once he's sucked that back, he beings to feel like he could get his mental feet until himself again. As he let's the car drive itself southward through the morning traffic snarls and all-day drizzle he starts processing the masses of data he'd grabbed and filed last night. Names, public biographies, notes of what Tanya had said, what people had said, what he'd observed. He isn't really reading it yet, just sorting it so that he can make sense of it later.

Despite Grid Guide, morning rush hour is as badly named as ever, and after ten minutes he gives up on actually making it home for a change of clothes and back into Seattle proper in time for his appointment with Geneva. With a growl he re-directs his car to the nearest Stuffer Shack in order to pick up some hygiene supplies, then runs a quick search on nearby restaurants that are open for breakfast, running a filter for ratings of the washrooms -- thankful as always that there are people who will comment on and rate nearly anything.

Ten minutes later he is sitting down in front of a truly insipid 'Breakfast Scramble' that he suspects contains the remains of everything from last night's stir fry to chemicals he'd struggle to pronounce.

* Monkey: After yesterday, this food is all the worse.

There was something he didn't need to dwell on. Resolutely he carried on with his data sorting, now starting to sample some of it, and pull in extra details. Suddenly inspired he runs a visual matching tool to see how many of the outfits he saw last night are listed on the matrix by some store or another -- although he concedes that with some of Tanya's guests, they could be wearing an original while his search would find a knock-off, and darned if he'd know the difference.

All of that busy work keeps his mind busy through the forgettable breakfast. Looking in the bathroom mirror he finally registers that his hair is now a spiky auburn, and he vaguely recalls showing off the smart wig the night before, only to find that Tanya was very familiar with such things. Had she liked this look? He didn't really remember.

He tears himself away from the mirror when another patron comes in, then retreats to the lone stall to put on deodorant, and once the washroom is empty to gargle some mouthwash. Popping back to the sink he resolutely avoids looking in the mirror as he scrubs off the last remains of yesterday's face and brushes his teeth. It felt oddly weird to brush his teeth with his eyes clenched shut, but it just seemed safest.

Back out in his car he finally released the wig. As always it felt weird right after taking it off, like he was suddenly naked.

* Gamma: it would be possible to become addicted to being in disguise.

He firmly put the wig away in his duffel, and dragged a cheap pocket comb through his short hair. It wouldn't look great, he could make it look better with the wig, but Geneva was a stickler for reality. He'd often wondered if she had any escapism in her personal life, or if she was one of those who could deal with staring reality in the face 24/7?

Finally ready, he made his way to a parking lot near Accord Safe Storage & Exchange, and dashed through the drizzle to the Accord's entrance. Where had he left the folding umbrella he normally kept in the car?

The security protocol was as thorough as ever before he was let inside. He was pretty sure that most of it he could beat, with enough preparation, but the chat with her would tough -- he'd always suspected that she was ferociously perceptive. Even having good enough files in a voice modulator and an impeccable false face would be hard pressed to deal with that human instinct of 'does this person feel right?' when it operated at a level like this.

And finally there was the lady herself.

Preston left Geneva with the usual mix of satisfaction at dealing with a polished professional, and fear from the woman's sheer perceptiveness and insight.

* Oleg: Forget 'Geneva' she should just call herself 'Marple.'

His amusement at that thought didn't stop him from taking precautions -- after all, he was walking out with just over three thousand nuyen of gold coins, and just under three-thousand added to one of his cred-sticks. Finally the payment from that work he'd done on Carlin Avenue had come in, so his cred-stick was leaving the bank heavier than when going in, rather than the other way around.

He took a moment to call his car to the door, and to put the gold coins into his smuggling compartment, while removing his taser from the compartment and holstering it at his hip. He'd already slipped his arm-slide back on, so that his hold-out was ready as a thought's notice.

After that he had several hours before being due at the Korean barbecue restaurant. That gave him time to finally go home, where he could think and ruminate. The idea beckoned enticingly.

It stayed enticing through his drive, parking his car in the garage half a block from this apartment block, and the careful walk to his building. But by the time he had opened the door, he knew he wasn't staying long.

I _would_ be good to think, to analyze, But his nerves were still too fired up for quiet sitting.

* Monkey: Hot Sim would be perfect right now.

He did take time to change clothes and make himself a soycaff with his home machine. Others may have better ingredients, but there was something about being able to make it exactly as he wanted that brought its own satisfaction.

The caff let him think at least long enough to make one decision -- he poured the remains of his 'caff into a portable mug, and headed back to his car to head off and see Digriz-- hopefully he could catch the mechanic at the shop. A talk and a couple of mods would both help.

Before heading out, Preston takes time to pull on some clean clothes, and to put yesterday’s into the small washing machine in his apartment -- he wants his color changing shirt clean for Friday.

* Monkey: If I'd stayed at Tanya's, someone else would have taken care of laundry
* Gamma: That sort of luxury could be habit forming.
* Oleg: That sort of thing isn't right. A person should take care of themselves!
* Coleman: Operational effeciency is increased in many cases through specialization. Everyone doing their own laundry is not an effecient allocation of labour, merely a retention of control and of using available time to preserve currency. It is entirely sensible for the rich to optimise for time.

change to fresh clothes, put on his armored jacket, and put his various weapons about himself. Not that he's expecting trouble, but better safe than sorry. He's helped to take too many people who stopped being paranoid for just a little bit, because they were not expecting trouble.

For better or worse, nothing happens on the way to Digriz's garage -- or whatever it is that the warren of parts, tools, and just plain stuff should be called.

* Coleman: I might have enjoyed someone trying something right now. Wouldn't have gone so well for them, though.
* Gamma: That I'd welcome danger says I'm still not entirely rational.

Preston eventually found the skinny dwarf mostly embedded in the guts of a delivery van. He wasn't moving, which could mean he was thinking about what to do, that he'd decided to take a quick nap while he was repairing the thing, or that he'd only crawled in there in the first place to undertake some transcendental meditation. Experience said he'd notice Preston eventually, so he helped himself to some of Digriz's truly terrible soycaff, found a box to sit on, and started putting some serious work into his notes from the previous day.

Maybe it was the peaceful chaos of Digriz's shop, maybe it was earlier work with the data, maybe it was just that he'd finally had enough time for his sub-conscious to finally start catching up, but things began to make sense.

Out of all of it, oddly the first thing that came together for him was the fashion. It was suddenly obvious that some people had dressed to stand out, while others had dressed to blend in. Some seemed to have been unsure of what they were going for, and they were the ones who didn't seem as well dressed. It was incredibly obvious, given how much he'd worked over the years to blend in, but it had never really occurred to him that fashion could signal intent, that more broadly fashion was a signal, a way of communicating.

He was just starting to get into what that said about his usual clothes, when he noticed Digriz slithering out of the van. The grease coated dwarf chuckled and said "Preston, you could almost be a dwarf with that sort of patience -- except knowing you, you weren't being patient, just effeciently grabbing matrix time."

Preston shrugged, and admitted "Well, sort of. Sorting through a lot of data I'd gathered, in person and from the matrix. Last day has been a bit of a whirlwind, it was good to finally have some quiet time."

"Hunh, sounds like you are growing up kid, that you can appreciate the quiet times."

"Hey, I've always appreciated quiet."

"Not always, I remember you practically vibrating like a too-tight guy wire, more than once."

"It wasn't that I didn't appreciate quiet back then, I just couldn't find it, like not in myself."

"Like I said already, I think you are growing up."

"Maybe, probably not fast enough. I lost my inner quiet this morning, hurt a woman who didn't deserve it. May have destroyed something that might have been good. Maybe not, maybe I couldn't have found my own quiet around her, but screwing it up that quickly was no way to find out."

The dwarf stared at him suspiciously, then chided "You know I don't fix broken hearts, right?"

Preston laughed, glad to be teased out of his maudlin mood. "Yah, and not sure I'd want you meddling with my heart anyway, it would probably end up with a smokestack and a turbo-charger, or something."

"A smokestack? A smokestack! Have you EVER seen me put a smokestack on something?"

Preston smirked "That one time, I was in here for the run-flat tires on the old truck, you had something here, looked almost like an agricultural machine of some sort, sure looked like a smokestack on it."

Digriz nodded slowly and allowed "Well, it wasn't exactly for smoke, but I can see as how it could look like that, since I made it look like that was what it was."

Preston waited, but it seemed that no more explanation was forthcoming. Eventually he said "Look, I'm way overdue for this. That Americar you patched together for me a while back, I couldn't afford the morphing license plate and ID spoofer for it at the time. I know that irked you, sending a car out into the wild with no way to conceal itself from predators. Well, I'm here to rectify the situation. In other words, I came into a little bit of money, and if you have the time I'd like to get those put in."

As Preston explained his mission the dwarf gained more animation, and by the end he was pumping Preston's hand. "About fragging time, chummer! I should be sticking to this job, but I'm always glad to take a moment to help the herd protect itself more. If only more people woudl do this, all that passive tracking they do would become so worthless they'd stop bothering."

Preston zipped his car's current security codes to the mechanic, along with grand and a half to pay for the features, and let Digriz's usual monologue on the evils of corporate and state monitoring of the populace wash over him, interjecting the occasional 'uh-hunh' or 'absolutely!' to show that he was still paying at least a bit of attention. It wasn't that he disagreed with most of what the dwarft was saying, but that didn't mean there was a lot he could do about the state of things, or that if the world ever did go that way that it wouldn't make his job a heck of a lot harder.

* Oleg: If the world ever went that way, beggars would be fragging riding and I could travel on my own personal flying pig.

Eventually Digriz was happy with how the new features were functioning, and he sent Preston on his way with admonishments to "Make it up with your lady. And confuse The Man!"

Time was ticking down to his second planned appointment of the day, so Preston sent his car to the Korean Barbecue place. Not just any Korean barbecue place, and as always it took a bit of time to convince the dog brain that he wanted to go to a specific place. Any other category of restaurant and it seemed to accept a specific restaurant as being a reasonable thing, but for some reason it always tried to direct him to another, more convenient Korean Barbecue restaurant.

* Oleg: Maybe the piece of drek dog-brain is smarter than me.

This was not the first time that thought had crossed Preston's mind. Like most of his professional contacts, he'd inherited Korean Gordo from Fisher. The grizzled bounty-hunter had viewed the well-fed Korean as one of the most reliable suppliers of disposable identities. Maybe not the best source for high end fakes, but with the best stock of lower-grade IDs. Preston agreed with that assessment.

He just found the man disturbing. It wasn't that he was a gangster, or foreign, or fat, although maybe they were all related somehow. It was that the man didn't seem to even to pretend to care about anyone else outside of his own narrow group. It was an attitude that Preston had tried, but failed, to emulate in his own life.

Still, creepy or not, a reliable source of low-end ID was not to be ignored just because he didn't like the man. He had few enough contacts who would still talk to him these days.

*******************

By the time he was done, it was all the harder to justify working with the man.

* Coleman: He likes his gold coins, but demanding payment in them is also a way to flaunt his power, showing how he can make everyone else dance to his tune.
* Oleg: A tune played on rusty instruments, accompanied by fingers on a chalkboard. There is nothing pleasant about that man.
* Gamma: It is unsettling to deal with someone to whom you just a thing, not really human and certainly not of note.

And then it finally hit him, who the Korean gangster reminded him of. "That fragging mage." It drove home to Preston how much he never wanted to be on the bad side of the man.

* Monkey: But the food was pretty good, and even if I had to give up the gold, I got what I wanted.

It was true that he obtained the basic fake ID, with attached driver's license. Perhaps a bit more expensive than from a specialist, but Preston didn't have any specialists talking to him right now. The gold coins he'd provided should have been worth enough extra to ask for a bit more, perhaps another license on the ID, perhaps some information about Arthur, but in the end Preston hadn't wanted to push his luck in trying to negotiate with the man, he'd been sure it would go badly.

He was still trying to shake off the feelings from that meet when Sonya called.

When the link in his head told him that Sonya was calling he nearly panicked. What did he tell her? He should have called her sooner, what could he even say about that? And that reminded him, he should have thanked Radiant Shadow.

That last part he could do something about; the speed of DNI made it easy to fire off a quick "Thank you so much for coming yesterday; let me know when you have time to talk, or when I can do something for you." A bit curt, but it would have to do right now.

Then he picked up the call.

* * * * *

Sonya: I figured I'd hold off calling, unless you were up until dawn and sleeping the day away. How did it go?

Preston: Hold on a sec, let me get microphone and earbuds running, I know you prefer real voice to DNI translation.

Sonya: Sure, and thank you. I didn't wake you up, did I?

(pause)

Preston: OK, set up to talk properly now. No, no worries, I've been up for hours, am just in the car, hadn't thought about being ready for a call. Sorry I didn't call earlier, had some things I had to take care of today and just didn't get my mind out of that and into being a propery socialized human being. Your flowers were magnificent, by the way, they played their part perfectly.

Sonya: Oh dear.

Preston: I said the flowers were good!

Sonya: I know -- but the way you said it, that says that not everything else went as well.

Preston: Even just by voice you can read me far too well. Yah, I ... may have screwed things up.

Sonya: Oh Preston!

Preston: I know, I know. I tried, I really did. I went along and went along, trying not to disrupt things, trying to be what she wanted me to be.

Sonya: Until?

Preston: Uh, Tanya wanted me to stay the night, and I did, even though I knew it was a bad idea. I mean, it was fine, the night, um, ah, heh-yah. But this morning, ah, she kept on laying out plans, assuming I was going along with them, and I snapped.

Sonya: Snapped?

Preston: I snapped at her, I mean. I went full on Uncle Oleg. And, uh, I may have hit a sensitive spot. She should have slapped me or kicked me out, or something, you know? But she ran off, really upset.

(silence)

Preston: Sonya, you there?

Sonya (very flat voice): You got to know her well enough to call her Tanya, you fucked her, then in the morning you were cold and dismissive, and left. I really thought better of you.

Preston: It wasn't like that! I mean, all the power is her's, she the rich one. And it wasn't deliberate, I didn't mean to break anything off, it was just, it just got to be all to much and I lost it, briefly, at the wrong time.

Sonya: Sure. And did you run after her? Did you come back with flowers? Did you, I don't know, put together a medley of music that expressed your feelings and send it to her? Anything to show her how you really felt?

Preston: Uh, I said sorry to Monique. And I sent up cookies.

Sonya: Cookies?

Preston: Yah, I'd made cookies to give her when I got there, but I forgot them in the car. So when I got back to the car I stuck a note on them and left them with security to send up to her suite. The note was something about how I'd made these ahead of time as a thank you, before I knew how things would go, and that sometimes I thought of things like that, and sometimes I was a jerk.

Sonya: So you never tried to talk to her directly, you sent everything through staff, you told her that the cookies were nothing to do with what you'd said to her. And you haven't done anything since? Other than whatever 'things' you are taking care of, that are apparently more important that however upset she is.

Preston: Oh.

Sonya: Exactly.

Preston (quickly): I thought I was being hired as a decoy or something, not to have anything like a real relationship!

Sonya: Same here -- or I would have thought twice about providing your contact information. Well, your pattern is clear to me now: you care enough to get emotionally entangled, then you can't handle those emotions and you break away.

Preston: What? NO! I ... that is, I ... Drek. I never thought of it that way.

Sonya: At least I know now that it isn't just me.

(Silence)

Sonya: Well, with luck she'll also still like you well enough not to cut you off from whatever she wanted to hire you for. Or maybe you still have time to salvage something from this, if you actually want to. If you need flowers ... maybe you should get them from someone else, though. I don't think I'm up to coaching you on what you should do about this.

Preston (contrite): I'm sorry.

Sonya: Good -- but not good enough. DO something about it, don't just wallow in the failure. And don't you dare go seek oblivion until the pain passes. Don't piss away that work we did.

Preston: I won't. Oblivion, I mean. Thank you, and I'm sorry in so many ways.

(line goes dead)

* * * * *

Preston's voices didn't have anything to say, for once.

Thursday 7 June 2075, 16:20, Auburn

Eventually Preston realized that his car was sitting in the parking lot of 'Fresh 'n Go,' the grocery store he'd pointed it at when leaving the Korean Barbecue. He wasn't sure how long it had been sitting still while he tried to figure out what to do next.

* Coleman: Whether or not I manage to win, practicing from a currently-losing position is good planning.

While that was not a cheerful thought, he had to admit that it made sense. Tempting though it was to say that it was just as well, that things would never have worked out for long -- how could know, and even if this couldn't be saved, maybe the next time he would do better?

* Like with many things, knowing that the other person is making an effort can go a long way on its own.

Ugh, he couldn't keep having a nameless voice, it was just too disturbing. It wasn't like there seemed to be any science behind how he'd named his voices. Monkey had been first; Sonya had worked with him to 'recognize the voice of the monkey on your back' when she was helping him kick his addiction to The Jazz. Apparently she'd not meant to literally give it a name and chance to speak into his thoughts, but that was where the advice had taken him.

Then she'd gotten tired of some of his knee jerk reactions, which were coming out a lot during the misery of withdrawal, and helped him recognize the close-minded, negative, views he'd been subjected to while growing up, and he'd chosen the name of his not-so-dearly-departed Uncle Oleg to represent that bundle of prejudices, sourness, and pessimism.

Coleman he'd figured out himself, while trying to understand how it was that in the middle of action he could become so cold blooded. It had been a bucket of cold water when he realized that he'd spent literally years training himself to be a cold-blooded killer in some of the games he'd played. They said that most people didn't get influenced by the games much, so maybe that side had always been there in him and the games had only helped it to get better at what it already was, but whatever and however it was a part of him that he'd felt he needed to recognize, and be able to monitor. He'd named it after his teenaged gaming handle.

In the latter stages of getting over the hot sim addiction that he'd fallen into while getting off of The Jazz, Sonya had talked to him about different layers of thoughts. He'd thought that the way she described them was excessively vague and spiritual, so for his own notes he'd labelled the levels Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta. It had turned out that once he had done so, he'd recognized that he was often disapearing into a state of detached self-observation, what he called Gamma thoughts. This sort of self-commentary seemed useful, but he recognized that detaching in this way was another avoidance behavior, and he'd learned to pull that voice out to, and simply kept the term 'Gamma' for it.

But those voices he'd sought to recognize. Having one present itself, on its own, that seemed ... potentially bad. Still, potentially it could be good, too. And having a name for it would be the first step in being able to pull it more clearly into the light of his conscious thoughts.

He'd never really had a particularly social phase, so he didn't have an name or identity he'd used that would work. While Fisher had been far better with people than he had been, he'd never been a coach, so that didn't seem right -- and that also seemed like it was down the path of cackling.

One thing he knew, he wouldn't give any of his internal voices the names of people he was apt to deal with. That just felt like a step towards cackling madness or something. So while he'd probably gotten more good socialization advice from Sonya than from anyone, and the voice even reminded him of her at times, that was right out.

Although, the voice did have a more feminine feel to it, somehow. Certainly it wasn't his mother -- although she'd done a pretty good job of hiding the bottles from outsiders, he knew well where his addictive side came from and he would never take advice of any sort from her. He had an older sister, but she'd never been the helpful advice type, either.

Come to think of it, he hadn't exactly had many women in his life that he'd had good relations with, or that he would call sources of good advice. Other than Sonya, but he'd managed to mess that up.

* Gamma: I've had this thought before, and always put is aside to think about later.
* Oleg: Women, pfah, more trouble than they are worth.
* Monkey: Oh, they are worth it, once you get them in bed.
* Gamma: These would be considered belittling thoughts towards women.

He didn't look down on women, did he?

* Did I ever seriously consider Tanya as a partner in crime?

Oh.

It seemed to be afternoon -- no, he looked at the failing light: an evening -- of unpleasant self-revelations. His self-renovations were obviously not as far finished as he'd thought.

* Gamma: I came here for groceries, but I'm navel gazing.

That got him out of the car and into the store. A bit pricey by his standards, but he knew they'd have ingredients sufficient for the baking he was thinking about. Not great ingredients, that really wasn't in the budget, but adequate. And so it was that he was able to pick up actual wheat flour, sugar, Bake-Rite powdered milk substitute, industrially produced eggs, ground cinnamon (guaranteed to be at least 50% authentic cinnamon!), and two real apples. As an afterthought he picked up some spicy simulated sausage, tofu, and one pricey cabbage which should give him some real vegetable in his diet for the rest of the week. He took care in placing the real-food ingredients in his car, and pointed it at home.

Although the drive home wasn't that far, the rain slowed even GridGuide managed traffic, giving him unwelcome time to think. He gnawed on what had happened yesterday and this morning, doing a little more analysis of everything but mostly going over yet again what he should have done differently. Eventually, to force his thoughts onto another track, he forced himself to think about his evening's plans.

Was baking another thing for Tanya a good idea? Sonya had complained about how much he had baked, saying he was making her fat. He hadn't seen the problem, since he's always thought that she looked better when she was more pillowy, but he'd reluctantly stopped. He didn't think extra weight would suit Tanya so well, nor that she'd appreciate putting on weight any more than Sonya had, but he also didn't think she'd gain weight easily. And one apple upside-down cake couldn't make that much difference.

* Gamma: Baking soothes me, whether or not it helps the situation with Tanya
* Monkey: And I get to sample some of the batter!
* Oleg: Do I really think a fancy lady like her is going to care about anything I bake? She just wanted to re-make me, like in that old flat-trid.

What had that thing been called? It was a musical, with catchy lyrics, but it was a man trying to re-make a woman in old-time England, maybe? The woman had been spunky, he remembered that much. Something about the Rain in Spain, because he recalled looking up where Spain was. As he approached his garage he idly fired off a query through his link.

(posted for Mercy, with a couple of minor additions)

Thursday 7 June 2075 1700 Preston’s Apartment

It has been a long day. Certainly the morning had not begun well, but the chores you had set yourself to do had taken your mind off what had happened, at least until the call from Sonya had brought everything crashing back in on you again. As you ponder the deeper meaning of what Sonya had said, even the weather conspires against you and turns Seattle normal as you pull up into the parking garage, which means it is raining, and by the time you lock the vehicle and get to the street, it is pouring. You still have not been able to find the umbrella that you were sure was in the car, so you pull your shoulders in and try to stay near the buildings in a somewhat futile attempt to avoid the worst of the downpour for the short walk from the garage to your apartment. You pause under the awning of the bar entrance and toy with the idea of going inside. No, face it, the idea has a lot of merit. Perhaps just one drink to clear your head, and the rain might let up a bit while you are inside.

You're query comes back; the flat-trid had been called My Fair Lady. It had been a professor who thought little of women's value who chose to re-make a cockney flower girl, who in the end stood up to him because he didn't value her. He'd been the educated one, but she'd been the wise one. And you? Were you more full-of-himself professor, or flower girl doing what she needed to in order to get ahead in life? Now that was a thought that called for a beer, putting away the groceries could wait long enough for a beer, maybe even two.

Then something catches your eye from the quarter block from the bar to your apartment building. Someone is standing on your stoop in the rain, umbrella over her head. You can tell it is a woman because she is in profile and men do not usually look like that in profile. It is vaguely reminiscent of the experience of Tuesday morning. OK, maybe lots more than vaguely, but the dejavu experience lasts only until she turns to face you. Even from here you can see that it is Tanya Marisart.
The bar momentarily forgotten, you walk closer to make sure; after all, you are peering at her in the rain. But, sure enough, it is Tanya. She is wearing some worn-looking jeans and a grey sweatshirt marked with the logo of the local Blood Bowl team. There is a wide-brimmed hat on her head that does little to conceal the red hair under it.
· Monkey “Damn! How does she make wearing jeans and a sweatshirt look so fragging sexy?”
· Coleman “It has to be a trap. I am caught in the open without good cover.”
· Monkey “Does this mean we have a second chance at her?”
· Eliza: “Shut up, Monkey. It was thinking like that that got us in trouble in the first place.”

Eliza? But no time to think about that right now.

She has a large strap-sack over one arm, the sort young people use to carry their worldly possessions in, and a largish purse hangs from the arm holding the umbrella up. As you approach her, Tanya reaches into the strap-sack with her free hand and pulls out a package that looks quite a lot like the one you had put the cookies in. As you reach the bottom step leading to the stoop, she gives a tentative smile. It is not exactly like the one that you have seen light up a room, but it is close. She holds the package close to her and says, “I was wondering if you might invite me up so we could share these? I will understand if you just tell me to leave.”

When Preston is sure of who it is he dashes forward, about to grab Tanya in a hug and swing her around. His adrenaline kicks in, and for a moment the world is moving in slow motion.

* Oleg: Now that isn't exactly proper, is it.

He pulls up short at the last minute, dithering, as Tanya pulls out a familiar box and says her piece.

* Eliza: Honest emotion is good.

Then he made up his mind. He slides his cyberarm around Tanya's waist and twirls the two of them around, trusting Tanya's own impressive coordination to manage her various items. Preston laughs as the rain beats down on him, and he pitches his voice modulator to a low pitch whisper that should carry to Tanya but not much farther and he says "Thank you so much."

He notices that the spin is getting the rain onto her and he reflexively adds "Sorry." then "for getting you wet, and for this morning, and for ... " a phrase Sonya had used months back comes to him " ... being drek at negotiating boundries."

He stands there in the rain for a moment, looking goofy, then gives himself a shake and finally remembers to say "Yes, please come in, cookies, I was about to try and cook something edible, or can make some caff ..." He unlocks the entrance to the lobby and gestures her in. "Or, well, whatever. But you are so welcome."

* Gamma: There is a pile of clean laundry on the table, gun cleaning kit on the side table, dishes in the drying rack, and the disguise kit is spread all over the third room.

As they wait for the elevator, Preston looks around at the rather worn carpet in the lobby, the lights that could use fresh bulbs, the dusty fake plant in the corner. The elevator arrives with a slight groan, Preston stifles a groan of his own and as they get in he assures her "Obviously it isn't the Gates Undersound. But it is safe -- I mean 'the elevators get inspected annually' safe, and 'junkies aren't going to accost us in the halls' safe."

Tanya gives him a look that he can't quite read, and quips "Good to know I won't have to fight to protect these cookies."

Preston is amazed to find himself naturally volleying back "Never fear, I have powdered milk substitute, that should scare off even the hardiest of attackers."

When Tanya hits him with the full strength of accent and "Now I feel entirely safe." he is momentarily flummoxed, not sure if he should respond to the words or the tone, but he rallies to dryly comment "Of course; no danger of drowning here."

He's awarded with a touch of a smile as the arrive at the fourth floor, and he's happy to call that a draw as they exit and walk the few paces to his apartment door. As he puts his finger tips to the scanner he warns her "I wasn't exactly expecting company, sorry."

As they step inside, he reflects that despite the lack of preparation, he'd have been fairly proud to bring almost anyone else here. The door opens into a large room, informally divided into four portions.

They are in the entrance, next to storage cupboards and shelves. Along the wall to their right is clearly the entertainment area, with a love seat and a well padded chair facing an old-fashioned wall screen and a decent entertainment unit, with a trid projector sitting on the floor and plenty of room to move around during AR games.

Straight ahead there is a gap where a corridor runs off to their left, then there is a side table against the wall. Next to the side table there is a good sized proper table that could comfortably seat four but could manage six in close quarters., although it only has three chairs around it presently. From the table one could look out a large windows over the street they just left.

Diagonally across the room was a compact but fully equipped kitchen, complete with the full sized traditional oven that had convinced him to rent this particular apartment. Much of the counter space is taken up with a high end soycaff machine, which begins to rumble faintly as Preston orders it to start warming back up.

The walls were an unremarkable beige, but at least the paint was recent and still almost unmarked. The fake-hardwood floor was likewise still in good condition. The room was tidy; lived in certainly, but things were generally in a place, if there was dust around it was being unobtrusive, and aside from one used soycaff mug there wasn't anything dirty lying around. A ceiling fan gently circulated the air, and at Preston's mental 'link order his entertainment system started to quietly play a drum piece by 21-Trogs that was almost cliche, but added some life to the room.

"You can put your umbrella here by the door, leave it open to dry, this floor has stood up to worse. Grab a seat, well wherever you prefer, table or entertainment area. Just let me put these away" He scoops up the pile of clean laundry and dashed down the corridor, taking the door at the end to his bedroom and deposits the clothes on his bed, then after a moment's thought on his dresser -- just in case.

As he leaves the bedroom he shuts the door behind him, and pulls shut the door across the hall, then pops back into the main room adding "Sorry, should have said, bathroom is at the end of the hall, if you need it. I've barely been home the last couple of days so the hot water should be fine. Just let me put these groceries away quickly, and I can start up any hot beverage you'd like to help counter having stood out in the rain."

Grabbing the groceries he heads to the kitchen area, adding as he goes "I'm glad the cookies were blown up, I was a bit worried they'd be considered a threat or something. Not that I seem threatening, I hope, but security can be paranoid."

* Gamma: I am babbling
* Eliza: And avoiding any real interaction

Preston puts down the cabbage he found himself holding, and forced himself to walk back in to the middle of the room, look Tanya in the eye, and say "Thank you for coming here -- let's talk."

Thursday 7 June 2075 1715 Preston’s Apartment


Tanya has been watching you as you move about the apartment in a whirl. She has placed the umbrella near the door as you have suggested and placed her large hat, purse, and strap-bag on the couch, but is holding the box of cookies in her hands. She does not seem to have moved from the area near the couch when you come out from the kitchen. She holds the box out to you. "Any sort of soycaf will do, thank you, Peter. Black is fine. Thank you for asking me up and, yes, we should talk."

Preston vibrates back and forth for a moment between the 'caff machine and Tanya, but finally decides "OK, let me make up some caff, then we can have caff, cookies, and talk."

In the kitchen he briefly wishes he had a real commercial machine, to do this up properly, but aside from the cost he just doesn't have the space.

* Monkey: Tanya would have both the space and money. I need to win her back!

* Oleg: Sacrifice my independence for some toys? I think not!

* Gamma: If I did take work at a soycaff shop, as I'd suggested to Amanda I might, I'd get to work with such equipment.

* I don't want to make good drinks for others, I want to make them for ME! And maybe Tanya.
* Coleman: Given how Tanya treats Monique, it would be foolish to ignore her.

* Monkey: Oh, I definitely don't want to ignore Monique, she's sizzling!

* Oleg: sometimes I disgust myself

* Gamma: I am also drifting out of the moment.

With an effort, Preston focused back on the here and now. Something fairly quick, interesting enough to be worth sipping, but not too quirky. Sunday morning specials it was. Standard fine grain soycaff granules with a pinch of ground chicory to add in some of the bitterness that soycaff always lacked. Pack that into the espresso pods. Scoop up milk substitute powder and load it into the hopper and let the machine add water and froth the mixture up -- the substitute never did taste quite like milk, but it balance the bitterness from the chicory, creating a nice balance on the taste buds.

When he just needed cups to put it in. Not a big enough drink for his large mugs, of his small mugs the green one was dirty, he'd broken the red and yellow ones, leaving just the blue one. And Sonya's cup. He hesitated for a moment with his hand reaching toward the cupboard.

* Oleg: I've never given that cup to anyone but Sonya

* Eliza: But I never told her it was just hers, and it is appropriate

* Gamma: Washing the dirty cup would add additional delay

Swallowing a slight lump in his throat, Preston pulled Sony -- no, call it 'the rose cup' from the back of the cupboard. He quickly wiped it out with bottled water then set it and the blue cup out for the trickle of dark caff nirvana. He added the 'milk' and foam by hand, putting a basic leaf pattern in Tanya's foam; he was too out of practice to be confident in doing anything fancier at the moment.

Bringing out the steaming cups, he suggested "Let's sit at the table, it gives us somewhere to put things down."

And matching actions to words he places Tanya's cup on the table near one of the chairs. He takes a brief moment to look at the pattern of rose stems and flowers entwined around the cup. He doesn't need to read the words running around the rim, he knows them well "Roses without thorns would not be as sweet." He really hopes Tanya doesn't take it the wrong way.

He holds out the chair for Tanya then takes his own seat. Gesturing at the cookies he says "I trust my note made it to you, along with the cookies themselves?" While thinking "What do I do once we are through with the niceties? Niceties I can do, real talk needs to happen, but that is when I screw things up."

Preston vibrates back and forth for a moment between the 'caff machine and Tanya, but finally decides "OK, let me make up some caff, then we can have caff, cookies, and talk."

In the kitchen he briefly wishes he had a real commercial machine, to do this up properly, but aside from the cost he just doesn't have the space.

* Monkey: Tanya would have both the space and money. I need to win her back!
* Oleg: Sacrifice my independence for some toys? I think not!
* Gamma: If I did take work at a soycaff shop, as I'd suggested to Amanda I might, I'd get to work with such equipment.
* I don't want to make good drinks for others, I want to make them for ME! And maybe Tanya.
* Coleman: Given how Tanya treats Monique, it would be foolish to ignore her.
* Monkey: Oh, I definitely don't want to ignore Monique, she's sizzling!
* Oleg: sometimes I disgust myself
* Gamma: I am also drifting out of the moment.

With an effort, Preston focused back on the here and now. Something fairly quick, interesting enough to be worth sipping, but not too quirky. Sunday morning specials it was. Standard fine grain soycaff granules with a pinch of ground chicory to add in some of the bitterness that soycaff always lacked. Pack that into the espresso pods. Scoop up milk substitute powder and load it into the hopper and let the machine add water and froth the mixture up -- the substitute never did taste quite like milk, but it balance the bitterness from the chicory, creating a nice balance on the taste buds.

Then he just needed cups to put it in. Not a big enough drink for his large mugs, of his small mugs the green one was dirty, he'd broken the red and yellow ones, leaving just the blue one. And Sonya's cup. He hesitated for a moment with his hand reaching toward the cupboard.

* Oleg: I've never given that cup to anyone but Sonya
* Eliza: But I never told her it was just hers, and it is appropriate
* Gamma: Washing the dirty cup would add additional delay

Swallowing a slight lump in his throat, Preston pulled Sony -- no, call it 'the rose cup' from the back of the cupboard. He quickly wiped it out with bottled water then set it and the blue cup out for the trickle of dark caff nirvana. He added the 'milk' and foam by hand, putting a basic leaf pattern in Tanya's foam; he was too out of practice to be confident in doing anything fancier at the moment.

Bringing out the steaming cups, he suggested "Let's sit at the table, it gives us somewhere to put things down."

And matching actions to words he places Tanya's cup on the table near one of the chairs. He takes a brief moment to look at the pattern of rose stems and flowers entwined around the cup. He doesn't need to read the words running around the rim, he knows them well "Roses without thorns would not be as sweet." He really hopes Tanya doesn't take it the wrong way.

He holds out the chair for Tanya then takes his own seat. Gesturing at the cookies he says "I trust my note made it to you, along with the cookies themselves?" While thinking "What do I do once we are through with the niceties? Niceties I can do, real talk needs to happen, but that is when I screw things up."

Thursday 7 June 2075 1725 Preston’s Apartment


Tanya takes the seat you indicate, smiling in thanks as you pull it out for her. She stares at the mug for a minute, watching the leaf pattern swirl in the cup. "Thank you, Peter. You really have a talent for this, don't you? It is almost too pretty to drink, but it smells very good." She lifts the cup and sips from it. "And it tastes quite good as well. It certainly makes one forget the slight chill of the rain, doesn't it?

She puts the cup down and folds her hands together on the table as she looks at you. "I did get the note, yes. And thank you for sending it. I do understand that they almost sent the package to security to have it detonated as a potential bomb. I was called and convinced them that it was alright to send it down." Another sip and again she folds her hands on the table. "I owe you a great apology. I had assumed that you would want to stay and just let my mouth run rampant. I should have been more considerate of your feelings and needs."

Another sip and she opens the package of cookies, taking one and eating it. "Quite good, these. Bloody good, indeed. Thank you." She pauses for a minute, looking at you. "I think that we have some talking to do about barriers and other concepts."

"First of all, I really don't think you are the one who needs to apologize ... but before I start feeling like I'm back where I grew up, I'll say I accept, and let's move on from apologizing over the past to talking about now and the future."

Preston pauses for a moment, taking a sip of his cappuccino, and when Tanya doesn't interject anything, he carries on. "I don't know if you ever spent much time in a kitchen, growing up as you did maybe not. Cooks and bakers are different. I mean, some people are pretty good at both, but temperamentally they tend to be different. Cooks experiment, they get inspired, they make stuff happen right now a lot of the time, they adjust stuff on the fly. A good cook in action is pretty amazing to watch. Bakers are different, they follow recipes and only tweak them with care, or stuff just doesn't work. They fuss over the exact conditions and ingredients. They plan stuff out in advance, because that is how baking has to happen, at least for the more complicated stuff. Bakers are pretty boring to watch, but be assured that they are usually planning four steps ahead -- bread dough will take so much time to rise, then so much time in the oven at a certain temperature, what else can you be cooking while the dough is rising and can you have the oven perfect for the bread when it is ready, and so on."

Another fortifying sip, and he admits "I'm a baker. My former partner, he was a cook. We made a good team that way, once we got used to each other. But when I was on my own, trying to do things more his way, that's when I started spinning out of control. Since then I've been learning more of my limits, but it is hard, I'd love to just go-go-go, work it all out on the fly -- but when I do, somewhere along the line I seem to lose track of being a decent person."

He works a kink out of one shoulder and finishes "Sorry if that was an odd metaphor, but at least I didn't inflict the 'the soul is like sourdough starter' version on you. I'm not saying that you are a cook, or that this metaphor even has space for you, because you seem pretty hard to put into a box. But maybe it gives you a better idea of who I am, where my strengths and weaknesses lie."

Tanya nods as she nibbles on a second cookie. "I guess I must be sort of a combination. I am almost entirely a baker when it comes to my profession. I like to plan for the mission and every contingency I can think of. I hire good people to cover things I am weak on and we all think of the things that could go wrong. But there is still a bit of the cook there as I like to think I can react to the inevitable problem that pops up. But my personal like is a lot like the cook. I like taking risks and chances and love dealing with the things that pop up that are unexpected. You say that you were able to work with your old partner so do you think you could continue to work with me? Or is this whole cook and baker thing going to be too hard to get around?"

"I really want to work with you, and I'm confident we can make it work. Perhaps I try one we both just thought it was going to be too easy? I went into things yesterday worried that you were looking for someone to pin blame on, or to set up for embarrasement, or something .... I didn't know you and couldn't imagine you were looking for a partner. So I was ready for all of that, not for the issues that come from being treated well ...."

He runs his fingers through his hair as he trails off, and apologizes "Sorry for showing up yesterday in light disguise -- if it was a set up, I didn't want to be quite so recognizable. I always record what I use for disguised and how it looks, so I should be able to reproduce it. But I'm sorry I didn't come more plain-faced, although in all honesty my general face is pretty plain, yesterday was probably a more interesting look. I assure you I wasn't trying to be suave or seductive by doing that, just hoping that people would remember the hair, glasses, and birthmark, but not really what I look like."

He takes a moment to scoop up some foam with a cookie, then finishes off "I think we are both intelligent grown-ups, and if we both have our issues, well, who doesn't? We should be able to make this work. As long as I tell you when I need a bit of time or space, and you usually let me, I think I can manage. I'm sure I'll have adjustments to make too -- for starters I need to keep better control of my temper when I'm tired. I'm sure someone famous has said that it is easy to be your best you when you are feeling your best, the real test is being your best you when you are feeling your worst."

Thursday 7 June 2075 1730 Preston’s Apartment


Tanya nods and says, "Hey, I thought we were done with apologies and are now moving forward. I would like to make it work as I have spent quite a lot of time sifting through potential candidates before settling on you, and still believe that you are the best one. But searching through documents and getting opinions from other people is no substitute for getting a first hand look. I did not explain my purpose or intent for having you drop everything and come see me at short notice. I thought you did quite well, actually, which is why I told you about me looking for a partner. I did not really expect the response I got. I would like to discuss my offer in greater detail, but perhaps not tonight. For tonight I would just like to get to know you better. Is that possible, do you think?

"Sure.". He waves around the apartment. "This is home, besides a garage I rent down the block. Hopefully it tells you something about me. It isn't too fancy, sorr -- errr, but it does ok by me. I'm willing to talk, but. I may not be the best at explaining myself."

"Not trying to hold anything back, just not experienced much at that sort of thing. But we can talk, although if we are going to, I should get supper started. Nothing fancy, remember I'm more of a Baker, but it will be food. Besides, if we can share my little kitchen without stabbing each other, that could be a good start."

And he thinks " and that would save me from sitting here and trying not to blatantly leer. How does she make those clothes look that good?"

Tanya looks around, nodding. "A place can tell a lot about a person. What I see is that it is neat and tidy, which is nice to see in a bachelor. Would you like some help in the kitchen? I am not a cook on the scale Monique is, but I can whip something together that could be called food and is edible. And I promise not to stab you." She rises and waits for you to lead the way. Your reasoning that this might prevent you from leering at her only works so far. She tries to concentrate on helping you prepare the meal and her hips move in time to the beat of the drum music on your sound system. On one occasion, she bends over to check on something in the oven and it is impossible to not notice how the already snug jeans emphasize the curve of her hips and butt. And twice she reaches above her head for something in a cupboard and the sweatshirt rides up her back, exposing her trim waist and part of her lower torso. She seems completely oblivious to what her movements are doing to her clothing or the effect this has on you. Too, the size of the kitchen provides ample opportunity for you to bump into each other on occasion and your hands touch a couple of times as you both reach for the same item. Her smile is infectious and she seems to be genuinely having a good time.

As they put together supper, Preston begins to relax.

* Gamma: I'm enjoying myself
* Eliza: So I should tell her that.
* Coleman: Information is power, and should at most be traded, not given away.
* Eliza: Call it a trade of information for goodwill

A little awkwardly, Preston pauses in stirring up a sauce to say "I'm enjoying this. Thank you for coming over, giving me a chance to be on my home ground, get my feet back under me."

* Oleg: That was a display of weakness!
* Eliza: Best not to get all maudlin here.

Preston adds "But I'm not so thankful that I'm not going to totally whup your butt at Trid games later!" He hopes that he delivered that correctly, light in tone but with some challenge, and not for the first time or surely not the last he wishes he was better at telling how he sounded to others.

Wanting to move to more neutral territory, he asks "So, what are your guilty pleasure foods, you know, the stuff you loved as a kid that you still secretly enjoy, even if you know that they aren't that good -- or can you not get the foods of your childhood over here so easily?"

Tanya smiles. “Yes, it is nice to relax. My own world is pretty much up and go, especially when I am working. Even most of my evenings and weekends are taken up with social engagements, which I make good use of to see who has what sort of bauble or who is talking about the latest artwork they picked up for a song at some charity auction or estate sale where no one really knew its value. I use my mornings to exercise to keep in shape and to work off things like special cookies and the various treats I had last night. I run, play racquetball and squash, climb walls, swim, and work out on the machines at the gym. And exercise is bloody hard, and getting harder the older I get.”

“Guilty pleasure food? Fish and chips. And not that fragging bloody drek most places serve as “authentic”. I mean the stuff you can get at almost any time of day on almost any lower class street in London from someone with a pushcart. And it has to be wrapped in newsprint and ladled with vinegar. I swear that Uncle only keeps his print news in operation to provide these vendors with the real thing to wrap their food in. There was an effort some years ago to make the carts illegal, but there was a tremendous outcry from the public. Uncle gave free press space and advertising for every street vendor for months and the wankers in Parliament gave the plan up as a bad lot, and too bloody right by half, in my opinion. Some things are just so embedded in a culture that removing them is just wrong, and this is one of them. So yes, that is probably the one food I really miss from home.”

Tanya stops what she is doing and takes a drink of water. “So, any other questions for me? If you have read any of the rags about me, you have most of the information already, and some of it is even true.”

"That is kind of fascinating. Not the fish and chips part so much, although the newspaper bit is interesting, but how disciplined you are about your day, your life. That .... isn't the impression ones gets, you know?"

He pours a splash of water from a bottle of the good stuff in with the vegetables, then smacks a lid down on the wok to briefly steam them, the adds "I'm really impressed, actually. That sort of long term misdirection is hard! I didn't see a whisper of that when I was reading about you. That is real discipline."

"Maybe I should have picked up on all of that on my own, but I didn't, sorry. I though you were more, well, like your image. I guess of all people I shouldn't have assumed anyone was like the impression they like to give. All of this, now that I'm processing some of it more properly, It is .... tantalizing. More so than your dress last night, even."

"I don' think I have such hidden depths. But if there is anything your research wasn't clear on, fire away with questions."