<<Monday Noon - 11:55 - April 10, 2079 - Printing Office - University of Washington>>

Raven might have a good point: is the absence of evidence also evidence of absence?

You're about 90 minutes into the search and... you've made a dent. The filing cabinet work is slow and tedious. Using a spirit of man does help speed things along, but it doesn't lessen the mind-numbing drudgery of opening each cabinet, examining the contents, and then assembling a map per Tamarind's request.

Honestly, things aren't much better on the data terminals. They are so slow! Tamarind remembers that these terminals used to be called, what, turtles? Tortoises? Evidently for good reason. Gone is the instantaneous zipping around that you are accustomed to in the modern Matrix. The terminals whir and clunk concerningly, as if there are physical parts moving in response to your queries. Searching is not done at the speed of thought but rather by the speed (and dexterity) of your fingers. And the terminals' organization is approximately the same as the filing cabinets: either there is no order, or it follows a madman's logic.

It's getting toward lunch and you haven't found anything to suggest that Potter graduated from, or even attended, the University of Washington. Maybe, with a concerted effort, you could be done with the search by the end of the day, but tomorrow might be more realistic. The longer you search the more tired you become, and the more prone to errors and oversights.

After a quick washroom break, Tamarind comments to the other two "If we come up with something better to do, go ahead and do it. I'm willing to keep grinding away here. But magic and modern-matrix magic and and the magic of a pretty face might make more progress on another avenue. I'm not counting on getting back in here tomorrow, so unless there is something that actually needs my attention, I want to keep grinding away. Probably won't find anything, and that won't be proof of anything, but at least we will have taken a shot at it."

"I'd be happy if I could find print files from diplomas or something, or registration from any of the years she was supposed to be here. Not finding her name wouldn't prove anything, but it would be suggestive. But so far it feels like they consolidated the files from many other machines into these ones, to the capacity of their storage. And when the memory is that full it makes everything all the slower, so no promises that I even find a strong indication that her name is missing, but I'm not ready to give up yet."

"While we are here, we might as well try. Who knows, we might get lucky," Raven suggests.

Since it is going to take a while, she wonders what happens when they close the doors here. She makes sure, her spirit is on the far end of the hall, ideally out of sight from the entrance.

She will also occasionally check on the front desk with her Clairvoyance spell (Low-Light Cryptesthesia), just to be sure.

Clairvoyance suggests that the rest of the place is busy working and not paying any attention to the ladies.

The young man before is at the front desk. He looks distracted and seems like he's perspiring. Raven often has that effect on men. Women, too.

Closing the doors makes no difference. Nobody pays any more or any less attention to you if the doors are shut. Nobody seems too concerned about your presence, although it's an open question how long that will stay true.

Raven's spirit doesn't notice anything particularly interesting. There's no magical activity in the area, nor magical security. If anything the mana is dull. The whole place feels lifeless, like a desert with no breeze.

Speaking of which, you are starting to get hungry and thirsty.

Bobby went back to the car with a noodle box, contemplating what he could do next.

Unless they went for mind reading, he doubted they would get anything out of Philips about what was going on.
He wanted to move - staying any longer wouldn't do any god for anyone.

The he had an idea: <<Going to fetch the DNA results.>>

He drove of and before he got out, he cast physical mask on himself



Wearing the form of himself in a snappy three piece suite that he had seen Mato wear on special occasions, as well as giving himself an illusionary haircut, he approached the contact with confidence - and without having to worry about fine clothes chaffing.

<<Monday Early Afternoon - 12:46 - April 10, 2079 - Doc Wagon Clinic, Bellevue>>

The Doc Wagon Clinic in Bellevue is directly south of Phillips' office in Snohomish. It should only take 30 minutes to drive between the two, but Bobby takes an extra 15 minutes to loop around to the west to avoid driving through the Barrens.

He pulls around to the back of the clinic. The clinic is busier than it was on Saturday. Just as Bobby comes around a corner, an armed-and-armored ambulance fires up its sirens and races off to retrieve a client, barely missing Bobby.

Bobby finds the bay door is still open. The skinny, androgenous technician with an asymmetric bob haircut is back there, still wearing tight black slacks, a white lab coat, and bright teal ballet flats.

"Oh!" the technician says with a little gasp, raising their hand to their heart when they see Bobby. "What's your name?" The tone is coquettish.

<<Monday Mid Afternoon - 14:24 - April 10, 2079 - Printing Office - University of Washington>>

The women arrange for some lunch to be delivered, which comes via drone. The skinny kid at the front doesn't say anything as you walk past, then come back with food and drinks. He gulps hard if Raven passes by.

A couple more hours of work have provided a bit of clarity. In the next two or three hours you'll have a pretty good understanding of what is and isn't available. However, there are additional nooks and crannies that will take hours past that to explore. Odds are that nothing's there but you won't know for sure unless you look.

"Still Bobby. Just thought I'd put something on to make you happy. You got our results?"

Bobby replied with a - what he hoped - was a winning smile.

Bobby receives a look that suggests that the technician doesn't recognize him.

"Well, Bobby," the technician says playfully, languidly lengthening Bobby's name. "Are you here for these?" The technician holds up a data chip.

When Bobby reaches out for it, it's mischievously pulled back. "Ah ah ah! You didn't say the magic words: 'Drinks on me after work.'" A spirited laugh.

As best Bobby can tell, the technician is being serious, but their demeanor is so different from what it was over the weekend that it's hard to believe its the same person. Except how many DocWagon techs are there with asymmetric bobs, tight black slacks, white lab coats, and bright teal ballet flats?

What gives? Different day? Is it just the suit? Drugs? A peek at the astral indicates that, yes, chemical influence might be at play.

Tamarind takes a moment to straighten out her back and stretch a bit. Looking at all that is still to be done, she comments to the others "You are both magicians, you must have trained to do long rituals and all that sort of thing. You up to staying here into the night, if we can convince Raven's fan club to work late so we can stay?"

Bobby groaned inwardly.
Aloud he said: "That depends entirely on what the results are - because my shift could be going for a long time if the results are inconclusive.
If you were a good boy there might be a few drinks in the immediate future for sure.

So, tell me what you've got"

"Oh, not much," the technician says coyly, offering the data chip.

"Only ancestral composition, carrier status, predispositions, and pharmacogenomics. Also, physical characteristics, sensory responses, and nutritional needs. Be sure to work with a registered dietician to come up with a meal plan." A saucy wink.

"The subject here is a fine specimen. No extra chromosomes, no Huntington's disease, no cystic fibrosis, no sickle cell disease, no phenylketonuria, no colorectal or breast cancer. I presume this is all good news, but remember that DNA is only one factor influencing health and traits, so results should be seen as informative, not definitive."

The technician gives flirtatious look. "Now I know that this is for a woman. A potential partner, perhaps? She's not so very beautiful, is she? I'm hoping she's not your type." The technician bites their lip expectantly.

"Strictly business." Bobby sighed. He much preferred the previous disgust to this... whatever this was.
"Thanks for the material. Is there any indication, that the person has magic? How about a computer approximation how she would look like?
And I assume the person was not in your databases, right?"

While he spoke, he composed a short update for the rest of the team.

"Well it can tell you what she's genetically predisposed to look like. You'll find hair color, eye color, skin color, all of that in there. Of course, it means precious little in the modern world. She might be a he by now, but her DNA would never know. Same when it comes to contacts, or cybereyes, or fiberoptic hair. So who's to say?

"As for magic, there are markers which show if someone is predisposed or not, but it's not all up to your DNA. Be grateful! Otherwise the corporations would be gengineering us all to be witches as warlocks!" A trilling laugh. "In this case, the subject has above-average potential to Awaken, but nothing is guaranteed.

"If you want to see if she's related to you, then there are any number of ancestry databases you can pay to check. If you're asking whether she's a DocWagon client or not, well... that depends on whether we're getting drinks or not." Batted eyelashes.

Bobby nodded: "Alright, drinks are on me. Meet me at 2000h down at McMurdock's. Great Guinness even better Banoffee Pie."
So far everything pointed towards the hair belonging to Potter, though nothing damning. Hopefully the others could find something at the printing office.

Again he sent the others a quick update as well as the somewhat unfortunate arrangement. He wished he had sent someone else. Now all he could do was fine tune the illusion to be just less appealing enough to get through this meeting without having to rebuff the advances of a valuable source.

<<Monday Early Afternoon - 12:50 - April 10, 2079 - Doc Wagon Clinic, Bellevue>>

"Ooo, goodie!" the technician claps. They kick up their heels in excitement.

"2000h at McMurdock's. I'll have the results for you then." Some more batted eyelashes, and then Bobby is free to escape.

~~~

<<Monday Late Afternoon - 17:02 - April 10, 2079 - Printing Office - University of Washington>>

The women keep working. The results are the same as before: there is no evidence of Potter attending the University of Washington. AM and Tamarind have done a good job combing through the old records of printed diplomas. There are a few more places to check to be 100% sure, which would take a few more hours of work.

The kid from the front desk comes around 17:00. He knocks on the door nervously. "Umm..." he says, gulping. "We're going home?" His voice breaks at an embarrassing moment, making it sound like a question.

He closes his eyes and gives himself a short mental pep talk. Opening his eyes again, he says, "We're shutting down for the day. It's time to go."

And then, after he's built up his courage a bit, he asks, "This wasn't really a scavenger hunt, was it?"

Tamarind can't but mutter "More like a wild goose chase..." but then continues, directed at the poor kid "I promise all we did was hunt and scavenge. We didn't take anything or change anything. We did figure out these old machines, and map a lot of the filing cabinets, and we're happy to pass along that information, if it is of any use to you all. And in terms of your reputation .... letting people in here on a scavenger hunt sounds reasonable enough. So personally I'd stick with knowing that."

She messages to Raven and AM <<If he pushes harder, I'd suggest trying to sell that we were doing background checks on some potential corporate hires, who conveniently had their records lost in the crash. But go with whatever feels best to you in terms of selling a story, I'm terrible once I move away from the truth.>>

I give the boy a friendly grin as he informs us they are closing. Deciding that Raven is the best person to handle the conversation. "Thanks for helping us." I say without answering questions.

Rachel grins at the young man. "Well, it kinda was... or is. Okay, maybe not quite the way I presented it to you, but that was merely to save time, really. Essentially, it is pretty much what I said. Either way, we havn't quite found what we are looking for. The organization in here is really... lacking. Is it okay, if we come back tomorrow to finish our search?"

Bobby left and got back to the car, where he dropped the disguise. He had to admit, that he smelled a bit rank after staying in the car for most of the day. He decided it was time for a shower and some real food at home. He still has some milled oats and two apples. With some soy milk this would make a delicious supper.

<<Heading back for now - anyone interested in cultivating our source at the clinic - I'm probably not the best at keeping that chummer happy.>>

<<Monday Late Afternoon - 17:05 - April 10, 2079 - Printing Office - University of Washington>>

When the kid processes the implication that Raven will be back the next day, he swallows hard. After a long moment, during which his brain appears to fritz out, he nods dumbly.

"Yeah..." he says, finally breathing. "But it would be helpful to know what you've found. You've done more work in a day than any of us have during my time here." He's so young, that can't have been long. "If you have an inventory of the filing cabinets, or the offline systems, that would be useful."

You can see him sweating a bit.

I quickly fire a text back to Bobby >> I'll probably say all the wrong things, but I don't mind knowing someone useful. I think I might have some mischief in my words recently, perhaps its bad luck but perhaps I am getting special love from my totem. Who can really tell?

Rachel nods. "Yeah, sure, we can share what we have figured out, if that is helpful. It's a start, at least, if someone actually wants to bring some order into that mess."

<<Monday Late Afternoon - 17:07 - April 10, 2079 - Printing Office - University of Washington>>

It's agreed that AM, Raven, and Tamarind can return tomorrow to finish up their work in exchange for sharing their findings.

The ladies pack up and head out.

~~~

<<Monday Evening - 18:08 - April 10, 2079 - SIS House - Bellevue>>

Weeknight traffic - plus some drizzly weather - makes the commute back to Bellevue longer. The ladies are pretty sure that they are going to be visualizing filing cabinets and ancient system folder structures in their sleep. Still, they've made good progress.

Over dinner, you have a chance to form a plan about how to handle the DocWagon technician.

Bobby was munching on his porridge, when the others arrived.

"So, we stand again before the dilemma: absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Hopefully, she has some appearance in genetic databases. I'll sent it in to a few of those find my ancestors things. If we can find some relatives of hers - even distant ones - that might give us some clue.

The tech promised to check the Doc Waggon database too. Hopefully there is something there."

Well, ancestors seem promising. You won't believe how terrible things were before the Matrix. Seriously these things were barely commlinks, most of the information was printed on actual paper. Like that Hive book the Duchess gave me.

I then add "What is the story with the technician?

"Well, you remember how badly the little twerb reacted when I appeared there in flats? I decided to put an illusion on of some quality clothes from Mato's. Turns out our cyborg friend knows a thing or two about style. The tech went sweet on me and insisted on having drinks tonight before giving me further info from their database.
And no, I'm not taking one for the team. I need all my self control to be civil towards him. So a little moral support would be appreciated."
Bobby replied, his mood already getting better for eating some real food.

"So the technician has a crush on you... I don't mind coming as your wing women." I wink, and then "I can't hold my liquor, so if we're going to drinks, I'll probably be very silly. No worries about having some fun, but I'll need you to make sure I am not having too much fun." Only Iktomi knows how many suppressed emotions and desires alcohol may bring out. I am pretty anal most of the time regarding control of my actions, time, and thoughts.

"Less crush, more lust. Even if I'd swung that way, I certainly would avoid a guy like him. And I'm not drinking anything more than one beer. We are all still on the clock."
Bobby replied.

Be nice; he did us a favor. I'll get dressed and try to enjoy myself. Clock or no clock, off-the-books gene checks are an excellent service to add to our network. I hope it won't be too awkward...

The rest is essential; I shower, wash all the dust from my clothes, and decide to go with my Mortimer of London: Berwick Dress. Figuring it would be classy since the dress shows off too much skin, I also wear my second skin, which is next to invisible but keeps me entirely covered and makes me feel less exposed. I use the makeover spell to style my nails and hair, figuring that our contact appreciates fashion, as well as the improved charisma spell to make a good impression. Clean, dolled up, and extra charming I drive us to the meetup.

Bobby nodded: "I'd prefer to pay my favors in creds, but you are right that we should keep him as a contact. Hence why I need help to navigate this situation. I'll dress well for once, but I'll go for my own style, not Mato's. That should do the trick of keeping him as our contact, without getting him too horny."

Bobby showered as well and put on his own outfit: A real leather jacket that he made himself when he first started getting interested in armor works, new jeans, a tight fitting raw silk t-shirt - that he had made himself as well. Finally, he put on some heavy black leather boots. As a final touch, he put on a bandana - head band style - of his old unit in the NAN-Defense Force. That might raise a few eyebrows with some of the more nationalistic folk in Seattle, but McMurdocs usually didn't cater to that crowd.

Well, not everyone wants your money because it is likely a pain to handle in significant quantities. You know, justifying a mysterious credstick to your significant other, or to colleagues and friends it is just evidence of bending the rules. Do it too transactional and one could lose their job.
When I see Bobby all dressed up, I give him an approving grin.Nice style, Bobby." I say and my eyes linger on the military-style bandana. It has taken me a while to make peace with being a friend with an ex-soldier but after I reached a friendly relationship with a police detective I have really changed so much that my younger self would not recognize me - and not because of the growth spell. If any, that spell helps me feel like a new person.

Tamarind gives an appreciative whistle when she sees Bobby dressed for the contact. "You clean up well. No slight to your animal forms, and I know you usually need things that allow you to change. But it is nice to see this side of you."

To AM she sends <<Thanks for taking care of this. Best to have someone Bobby has more history with. I still don't have enough of a read on him to provide support well.>>

Once they are gone she relaxes in the hot tub, while working in her headware to summarize what they had found out that day, to have ready for the kid tomorrow.

<<Monday Night - 20:02 - April 10, 2079 - McMurdock's - Bellevue>>

McMurdock's is a nice enough Irish pub that caters more to the sensibilities of corporate Bellevue than to anything authentic to Tír na nÓg. The interior is mostly dark woods and dimly lit corners for discussing dark deeds. There's the occasional sloppy drunk, but they're mostly decoration so that the owners can provide a sense of street cred to partially offset the antiseptic corp cleanliness.

Bobby looks stylish in his real leather jacket and fits right in with the upscale crowd. AM might be overdressed in a Berwick Dress but it's certainly not going to generate any disrespect with this clientele.

The technician is there, waiting for you. A series of emotions cross their face as they see AM accompanying Bobby. First there's denial, then anger, then sadness, then finally a bright look.

"You brought a friend!" the technician trills happily as you arrive at the table. "Oo, I like where this is going!" They wiggle in their seat.

The technician holds out their hand to AM, but in a somewhat limp manner like it might be kissed instead of shaken. "Dakota," the technician says to introduce themselves. "My, don't you look ravishing on a Monday night in Mortimer of London! I sense a trend! Synergist Sundays, Mortimer Mondays, Sleeping Tiger Tuesdays, Wild Hunt Wednesdays! And I see some custom tweaks here and there!" Dakota points out some of highlights that AM added when she altered the suit.

"And you!" Dakota says, turning to Bobby with a purr. "With that jacket and that headband, you're like... a caged animal! Forced to live by society's rules even though you're so much more than that! That feral energy... so animalistic! Grrr!" It's clear that Dakota is very charged up by this.

"Let's get some drinks! A round of Guinness? Draught, Bitter, Foreign Extra Stout?"

I am puzzled a bit by Dakota's response to my existence... Could they think it was a date date? I am not drunk enough to start kissing his hand, so I give him a quick shake to get it over with, uncertain if the man even wants me there. I am Em. It's lovely to meet you.

I model mischievously as he comments on my dress, turning playfully to show off my back. I wave my hand "Oh, I wish! when he suggests I'll wear high fashion all week. But I like the way your mind works." When they mention my creative work on the dress, I grin but say nothing. I approve of the round of drinks. In my humble opinion, I am too sober to enjoy this evening. I'll need a few drinks to keep it fun. "Let's start with Guinness!" I approve, but I'd want a round of Kilkenny afterward.

Bobby nodded at AM: "Well, I told my colleague about you and she decided she'd come get to know you too."
Of course he left out that he practically begged to have her at his back.

"And since I'm the one responsible for the first round, let's start this off the right way."

Bobby got up and returned with three carefully carried glasses of Stout.

"Sláinte" Bobby said, fully exhausting his Gaelic vocabulary for now.

He rose his glass and took a sip of the dark, foamy beer.

"Before we dive into drink and lose our faculties: What did you find out about our sample from your database?"

"Business before pleasure, neh?" Dakota smiles as Bobby asks for the search results.

Dakota breaks into a wide smile. "You've been naughty!" This is said in a sing-song voice as Dakota waves a data chip.

"Someone in the local news? A certain prominent candidate, hmm?"

Dakota hands the chip over. "Yes, a client of ours for the last six months or so. A super-platinum contract, paid in advance! Ooo!" Quick mental math indicates that this was before Potter's boss, Howard Cannon, was killed in December.

"So you must be, like, covert ops who have been sent to destabilize the election, right? Of course you are, dressed like that! A couple of stylish spies...

"What's the goal, to steal Seattle away from the UCAS and throw her into the arms of a new suitor who will ravish her?" Far from being an accusation, it seems like this is a thrilling prospect for Dakota, who licks their lips lasciviously. Dakota sighs dreamily, seemingly content with the story they've woven together in their own mind.

You got us... I say with a serious face and look into their eyes "We are the fashion police." I say in a makeshift whisper "and we are investigating crimes of fashion.". I say, hoping that my sense of humor can move the conversation into a fashion discussion about celebrities and politicians. I suspect that it would be fun and that I could later tease Bobby about it.

Bobby laughed at AM's joke: "Wouldn't that be funny. Nah, first of all: The Technocrats are doing the corporations' bidding. No need for anyone outside to get active. The people of Seattle are perfectly capable of their own to frag up their lives.
Our agency earns it's money with the infidelity of other people. Mainly, we just collect evidence about who slept with whom, when and where.
And let me tell you: People are disgusting. None of them can keep it in their pants.
All we are looking for now is, where else we can find her traces around town.

Speaking of which - there weren't any hits for relatives of her in the databases? Like children, cousins etc."

Dakota LAUGHS and laughs at AM's joke. The duration of the laughter is so long that it starts to seem disproportionate to the joke.

"Oh, yes, she's a disaster isn't she?" Dakota finally manages to say, wiping away a couple tears. "Nothing like that Nikola Taul! Prrr!" It's a sound that indicates some sort of approval of Ms. Taul.

"Oo, infidelity, tell me more!" Dakota insists, shifting their weight back and forth. "Disgusting, yes! Keep it in their pants, no!" Bobby realizes that he is riling up Dakota, for better or worse. "Hnnnngghhh..."

Dakota collects themselves after a moment. "But Potter isn't married - that dreadful tragedy with her family, right? - so does that mean... she's cheating with someone else's spouse?? OOooOoOo!"

This seems like an exciting prospect.

Bobby asks about Potter's relatives. Dakota shakes their head. "The database isn't organized like that. We don't cross-reference users with other users unless it's at their specific request. Organ donors or organ recipients, for example. If you have a contract and your long-lost daddy has a contract then we'd never make the connection because we're not looking."

This seems doubtful, as the corps can be trusted to squeeze the life out of any data that they have available, but it's possible Dakota doesn't have exposure to those efforts.

"But to answer your question: no. She's not an organ donor or an organ recipient, and so there are no matches for her in the system."

Bobby raised a wagging finger: "Ah, ah, ah. I never said that. You can destroy someone's life and your own career if you posit something like that without concrete proof.
Just because you find DNA somewhere, doesn't mean the person actually was there.

As for cross reference: We intend to use the commercial services for ancestry research as well. Do you have any connections there?

By the way, tell us a bit about yourself - what is it exactly what you do at Docwaggon - and has that always been your calling?"

Well, I have a good crowd today... I think to myself as I watch Dakota laugh. I enjoy the appreciation for my sense of humor until it gets a bit too much, and then I feel embarrassed, so I take a big gulp from my bear because I have nothing better to do.
When they finally speak, I put down the mug and feel relieved. I nod encouragingly at Dakota for agreeing. "Total disaster!" I say, grinning.

Then I take another large gulp from my Guinness, hoping to get some buzz going. I deserve it after a day of archeology in the archive. These primitives did not even use VR, and their odd obsession with actual paper is alien to me. I read a physical book - it was special, but none of it seemed practical. Is it a wonder the old Trix crushed? It was terrible.

When Bobby speaks, I look at him admiringly, fascinated and fully attentive to his words. Part of it is me playing my cover story as the secretary. However, I do admire how despite his claims of not being civil - Bobby does not seem to be suffering. Or at least not fighting his beastly urges to eat the man. My stance grants Bobby a sense of importance and authority - which, in the case of Dakota, may increase Bobby's desirability in their eyes. A small tribute to the Trickster, I guess.

Dakota gets a little uppity, like a mean girl. "Well I'm going to start a nasty rumor about Potter laying waste to all the married men she meets," she tells Bobby, "and maybe the Puritans will pick it up and maybe it will keep that fashion monstrosity out of the news for the next few years. Oh, I don't think I could bear it!"

This is overly dramatic, but Dakota seems to enjoy being over-the-top.

Dakota does not have any connections in the ancestry research field.

Dakota brightens up when Bobby asks about work. "Well I'm a med tech, which means I test biological samples to diagnose and treat different diseases. I work with urine, blood, tissue samples - eyelashes - you name it, then prepare and examine specimen samples and communicate test results to the doctors so they can make informed decisions about treatment plans. The role requires great organization and multitasking abilities. It's terribly important."

Dakota shakes their head to indicate that it not terribly important.

"Is that my true calling? No! My true calling is pharmacology, and DocWagon provides access to an almost unlimited variety of flavors!" A curious expression to use. "DocWagon does not notice that chemicals go missing; what they notice is a discrepancy in purchase orders and invoices. Namely, if the nuyen doesn't balance then the alarm is raised. But, if you're clever, it's possible to insert nuyen into the system and..." Dakota makes a little stick man with their fingers and mimes walking across the table to steal something with a sudden grab. "Yoink!"

The story isn't entirely coherent but seems to imply that drugs and chemicals may be readily procured as long as they are paid for. Dakota settles back in the booth with a dreamy sigh. Now that you think about it, Dakota's pupils are abnormally large right now.

"And so that's what leads me to work with people like you, and our mutual friend." Dakota must mean Razak. "It helps fund my little hobby. Better living through chemistry, that's my motto!" Dakota laughs and laughs.

But doesn't DocWagon do drug testing? "Oh, sure, but guess who conducts it?" Dakota gives two thumbs up and a cheeky smile. "And guess who has access to the system? Moi."

Dakota leans forward, hand on their cheek. "So are we friends now? I can be very friendly."

"So you like expanding your consciousness? As it happens, I'm also into that - but from the other direction. Have you ever imagined what it's like to have eight eyes? How a dog experience the world just by smell? How a shark feels it's surroundings through electro receptors? How an elephant can hear in the infrasonic spectrum? Or what it feels like to soar as a peregrine through the air and dive down on prey?

That's what I'm living for. I meditated once for a whole week atop the peaks of St.Helens until I became one with the lightning.

If you want, I can share that with you."

Bobby didn't answer the friendship question. Instead he let his true passion shine through - the intensity that a lot of people found frightening.

I grin mischievously when Dakota mentions drugs... I haven't had anything good in a while aside from the occasional stimulant when partying with black. "Any recommendations?" I ask. I'm figuring I'll keep them talking about something they like.


When Bobby speaks, I think things get even more enjoyable. The man is raising the stakes of the evening. And I hope the night will not end with Dakota changing into an animal... It sounds great when Bobby speaks about it, but turning into a cat confused me. My body was all different, and every single sense was too sharp; I couldn't imagine the feeling when my consciousness was already foggy from drugs. However, I can see how a less anal person would find it entertaining, and Dakota does not feel like the one trying very hard to be in control all the time. Well, truth be told - neither do I but I make an effort not to imagine every single possible way things can get sideways - at least for a night.

"Recommendations!" Dakota declares, eyes widening. "Honey, I could tell you about this and that all night." The med tech taps the back of AM's hand affectionately.

"It depends what you want to do, of course. If you want to study, to concentrate, to think deeply about something - new drug recipes perhaps - then my favorite is to use Genius as the foundation with Lightning and The General as your blocks. I know that may not mean anything to you, sweetie, but that's why I'm here. And if you wanted to speedball that with some Psyche to heighten the effect further? Well, I would say that you have very good taste!

"But if you want to dance dance dance the night away -" Dakota throws up their hands and mimes dancing in the booth - "then you'll want Warrior as your foundation and then Resist as your block. And, again, if you want to speedball some Psyche on top of that?"

To punctuate the point, Dakota stands up and does a tight pirouette right next to the table. Their tall frame and long limbs makes the image almost impossibly vertical. Perhaps the ballet flats have a purpose after all. Dakota sits back down.

"Well, let's just say that would be a good night."

Dakota listens closely to Bobby's description. Their eyes eventually close and when Bobby finishes the emit a small gasp.

"I've always wanted to be a butterfly," Dakota says dreamily. "Flapping my wings... causing a typhoon in Japan..." They laugh at their joke.

"Growing up, kids always compared me to a giraffe. Not very kind of them, no, but it always had me wondering what life was like for a giraffe. That long neck seems so awkward! Have you ever seen them bend down to drink? That's when they're most vulnerable to lions and crocodiles who want to eat them right up." Dakota chomps their teeth. "But still... I've always wondered.

"So how do you do it? Are these like dreamchips? Or some crazy new personafix chip?"

I feel enchanted by how Dakota feels about chemicals, and I say "Wow, you seem like THE person to call before a big party. I only know Cram for dancing. However, Boxing gives me a lot of energy. So perhaps something to relax and help me disconnect for an evening without being out of commission the next day. " I figured it may be an excellent way to win his heart, and at least Black would appreciate sharing a good blend. Even if I don't use it or cast the detox spell, it seems like a great way to build friendly relationships.


===
When Bobby speaks of the shape change spell, I am not sure that magic is a good thing to mention since not everyone is so open about it. Still, Dakota seems open-minded in general, and well, they are Bobbie's contact, and it seems like my mere presents keep Dakota from getting handsy or Bobby from punching. So, I only seek to have fun and leave a good impression on the man, preferably without discussing politics or exactly what I do for a living. I am just curious about where it leads.

Bobby grinned:
"Better than that: Magic. I can turn myself and others into any kind of animal I know. And I know a lot of animals.
A giraffe is easy - but you better losen your trousers ahead of time, because you ain't gonna take them with you.
By the way, that's why I tend to wear flats - would be expensive if I shredded anything else every time I had to hulk out."

Bobby waited to see if Dakota was still interested.

Dakota does not seem put off by the prospect of magic. "I'll try anything once," they say, raising their glass and drinking their Guinness. "Here's to friends," they toast.

Bobby nodded: "Let's finish this round up. AM, can you be our driver and keep our stuff save?"


Bobby guided the car out to the outskirts of Snohomish. Once out of sight from the population, he got out and nodded:

"Good weather for a first. We'll start with something easy to beginn with. I'll establish a mind to mind connection, so you can tell me if it's too much.

Starting out as a little primate - their senses are pretty similar to ours. From there we can escalate a bit to quadrupeds and the more exotic animals."

Bobby wasn't sure if a mind link was the right thing to do - after all Dakota could be a bit much and he needed his concentration. But he was confident enough in his abilities to handle that.

Using the katas he had learned, he established the link and said 'Range is only 3m, so stay close if you want to tell me something.'

From there it was a change to Bonobo - so they both could get out of their clothes with ease.

When that didn't trigger a mental breakdown by Dakota, he went for his favorite form: Mountain Lions. Once that hadn't triggered a catastrophe, he went through animal after animal, until he had actually gathered quite a lot of fatigue and he had to call it a night.

Back at the car, he put back on trousers and downed a bottle of water.

"Hope you had fun - I don't share that experience with many people."

I am disappointed that we only have one drink, but I happily comply. I drive the car as Bobby guides it, manually as I like, despite it having perfectly functional autopilot capabilities. To be responsible, I detox myself once I start driving. However, I must admit that my resistance to alcohol seemed to have improved along with my health, and perhaps the growth spell helps as well as it increases my body mass. So, I was less drunk than I had hoped.

When they arrive, considering my embarrassment from seeing too many people, I turn my back and look at the city lights instead. Perhaps one day I'll take a lover to a place like that... Right now, I have Dakota and Bobby getting naked and changing into animals. Who would have imagined Bobby opening up so much to someone with the hots for him? Could Bobby like them? otherwise, why try so hard? All we needed was a few more beers and listening to them talk about designer drugs. Anyhow, since I don't particularly wish to see them naked, well, perhaps part of me would appreciate it, but I am not nearly drunk enough to listen to such whims. So I turn my back.

While waiting, I took a selfie and texted Black. >> Dolled up and a bit bored - want to do something? I text, letting my friend know I am up for a meeting and even dressed like a girl for a change. I need more fun out of this night to justify the dress, but I also want her to look at the matrix security with Potter and the Lucky Duck. I do not want to leave a digital paper trail.