"Off the lap then, kiddo. I got somethin' to show you." \n\nHe directs you to a kneeling position between his massive legs. Slowly, firmly, he unzips his fly and allows something strange to flop out. You've seen cocks before. This isn't a cock. It's a mess of dark rubbery tendrils, each about the size of a finger. Thin black veins run through each, and they all pulsed in time with his heart.\n\nYou don't need to be told what to do, but he helps you anyway.\n\nOne big hand pulls your head closer. It's hard not to giggle as your face presses up against the squirming mass, and tendrils push in through your open lips. Some explore your skin outside. Some run gently over your teeth. Some wrap around your tongue. A long one extends even further, pushing back into your throat.\n\n"//God//, kid. Your fuckin' mouth."\n\nYou drool, and gurgle, and moan as he explores. Breathing through your nose works for a bit, but only until smaller tendrils start exploring there too. Each makes wet, squishing noises as they squirm in a bit of drool and secreted fluids. It overflows and drips down your chin. It pools and oozes down your throat. Something about the taste is intoxicating, even more than the pill you swallowed earlier. How could you not want more? How could you not work harder for it?\n\n[[Do your best.]]\n[[Do your best.]]

Your name is Spring. You're named after a dead season. You are normal.\n\nThat's not so strange. Lots of people are normal. Most of them, in fact. It's something you've grown accustomed to. Struggling against it was a quest of your tween years, and remembering any of those is nothing but a recipe for embarrassment. You're more mature now. You know your place. At home. At school. With your friends. You don't stand out, or make a fool of yourself, or give anyone a reason to think twice about your presence.\n\nRight now the normal you is having a normal dream.\n\n[[Normal dreams are still weird.|Start3]]

//Hey.\n\nYeah, you. The sleeping one. Got a minute? Of course you do. Just focus on me and not on the melting hellscape everywhere else. That one's on your brain.\n\nLet's see... What would help you focus? Not a shape. Not right now at least. How about a name? Call me the Demiurge. You'd have heard of me already if things ever went my way. I'm guessing you know the feeling.\n\nAnyway, you've got a real interesting bloodline. A nice congruence of divine influence, magic nonsense, and evolutionary bullshit. You do existence proud. Not that it will do you any good.\n\nNow that you're reaching maturity, that stew's going to have some lovely effects on the world around you. Too bad you won't get to hold the reins at all. I won't either though. I'm just here to watch, and maybe have some fun too. \n\nPoint is, I'll be around. We'll be real good buds, just as long as you remember not to-//\n\n[[Wake up already.|Normal.]]

You sigh and look around for the source of the strange voice. Each of its syllables sounds like a hundred ringing bell. Each oddly placed pause between noises feels like a thousand howling maws.\n\n"Don't worry about that right now," it says. "We talked in your dream, remember? Well, I talked //at// you. Same difference there. Me, the Demiurge, remember?"\n\n"Look, today was a lot." Your own tone feels flat and disinterested in comparison.\n\n"Of course it was."\n\n"I'm not going to say something like 'oh no, I'm hearing voices, I must be going crazy.'"\n\n"Great."\n\n"And I'm not going to freak out and demand that you go away."\n\n"Even better! Not that I would."\n\n"So can you just, like, tell me what's going on? You're having some fun at my expense. That's cool. I'm not gonna piss off a star wurm or whatever you are. Just be honest about it."\n\n"I //am// having fun."\n\n"Right."\n\n"And it //is// at your expense."\n\n"I thought so."\n\n"But that doesn't mean this is my doing. You're a big knot of destiny, Spring. Do you mind if I call you Spring? I'm just going to run with it. Spring, a ton of assholes thousands of years ago fucked you over real good. One decided some hero was going to come in fifty generations. Another that a great villain would rise from some bloodline under ordained stars. Or a bunch thought that one child born under the seventh grail sign would... you know, stuff. You've got too much of that bound up inside your spirit. Being a kid offers protections from the worst. But after that's gone... Well, you're really breaking the social lattices that keep life normal. Not to mention what you do to people's mental trifolds and some of reality's fundamental underpinnings. You're breaking the world here, Spring. If that means people are fucking all over the place, I think we can pin that pretty fairly on you."\n\nYou listen to it all blankly, orange eyes slowly blinking. It's absurd. Your day was absurd too. This could absolutely be some sort of stress nightmare. But it's probably not. All of this is certainly karmic punishment for when you used to scream to the sky about how special and unique you were.\n\n[["And I can't do anything about it?"]]

The family doctor actually said to cut down on these things. Something about the chemicals causing the calcification of something something something and severely shortened lifespans. Mom stopped buying them, so there wasn't much to do but cut back. The smell is pretty gross anyway, now that you think about it.\n\n''[Acquired a can of coffee!]]''\n\n[[Time to wander around.|Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

The master bathroom has always been weirdly nice. Faux-verde antique, crystal-ish light fixtures, the whole deal. It's less weirdly nice while your sister's in it. You peek in long enough to see here preening in front of a mirror, towel wrapped around her curvy body. Her horns curve out further than yours, and a hint of pitch-black nipples show over the top of her covering.\n\nShe slams the door.\n\n<<if visited("Check out Tabbie's room.")>>You checked Tabbie's room already.<<else>>[[Check out Tabbie's room.]]<<endif>>\n<<if visited("Check out Mom & Dad's room.")>>You checked Mom & Dad's room.<<else>>[[Check out Mom & Dad's room.]]<<endif>>\n\n[[Head downstairs.]]

<<set $springname to "kid">>\n\n"Yeah, that's what I figured." He guffaws deeply, big chest rumbling along with a bigger gut. "Gotta be careful around strangers, kid. Even in a town as nice as this."\n\n"Grasshaven's //nice//?"\n\n"Yeah, it probably don't seem that way if you've lived here too long, does it? I've seen plenty worse places though. Places you'd get your head blown off for those little nubs growin' there. Places we'd both get knifed and left in a gutter. This place is plenty nice."\n\n"I guess..."\n\n"Call it the perspective of old age." He gaffaws again.\n\n[[You groan.]]

I mean, you //could// just test the whims of fate. Do you really want to mess around with that on your birthday though? Biting the bullet and going to school would cause less grief in the long run.\n\n[[On second thought, head for the station.|Run for the magrail station.]]\n[[No better time for nonsense then!]]

The old market isn't //that// old. It used to be a particularly one-way street. Then the city decided to build a new civic center at the entrance. Now it's lined with stalls that come and go with the passing days, and it always seems like someone's selling something interesting. Sometimes cheap knockoffs, sometimes dangerous hacks, but always interesting. \n\nIt's rare for you to come during a weekday. The thoroughfare is definitely less crowded, and you don't recognize most of the merchants. A few familiar faces nod at you, and you mention that you'll be back later, but there's no point in skipping school just to buy second-hand clothes. You're looking for something even more interesting than usual.\n\nOne stall full of old movie discs proves fruitless. It's all stuff you've already seen, or are hideously overpriced, or have been scratched halfway to hell and back. All three, in some cases. Bargaining with the three-eyed shopkeep isn't particularly fruitful, and you get the impression that he's not really there to make a profit. Maybe just a way to meet fellow enthusiasts, though he doesn't seem particularly keen on talking either. Sometimes people are just weird.\n\nAnother stall has novelty toys. Little guns that make realistic noises. Life-sized swords with no edge. You almost consider getting one to hang above your bed, maybe swing it around your sister when she gets annoying, but no. That's something middle-school Spring would have done. As a mature adult, you certainly wouldn't do something that childish. Certainly not.\n\nThere is at least one interesting stall in the very back though.\n\n[[Another video seller, with an even older selection.]]\n[[A shrouded booth that advertises told fortunes.]]\n[[A woman who doesn't seem to be selling anything.]]

Sixty Nights Under Falling Satellites

She sticks her long tongue out you from between sharp teeth. Those came from her mother's side, but the tongue itself is from yours. Back when grandapa was still alive, he would pick things up with his. Or smack disobediant children across the face. You still shudder to think of those punishments. Spring ducks back into the stairwell.\n\n"Can I stay home again?" she asks from out of sight.\n\n"Spring, sweetie, really. You can tell me if something's wrong."\n\n"Things are just weird right now, Dad. People are being weird. And it's Friday! I feel like I deserve a four-day weekend personally. I got alllll the grades I aimed for on the midterms."\n\n"I saw those grades. Didn't you get all Bs?"\n\n"Alllll the grades I aimed for." Her smile is plain in her tone, and it's impossible to suppress your own. Well, what the hell? There's nothing wrong with spoiling your kids during your terrestrial return.\n\n"Alright, alright, your pleas have convinced me to be leniant."\n\n"Oh, your highness, how can I possibly thank you?"\n\n"I demand tribute in microwaved popcorn."\n\n"Can do! Gotta put pants on first." She thuds back upstairs, and you roll your eyes. As before, some things never change.\n\n[[Watch more cheesy movies with some cheesy popcorn.]]

Yeah, you're getting some major gross feelings all of a sudden. After pulling your phone out, you squeak something about your brother being in the hospital and run off. And there's no way you can just keep hanging around the market after that. Somewhere else will have to do.\n\n[[Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

"Spring, baby, tell the camera what you told me earlier."\n\n"You mean about how I just turned 18?" film-you says in an absurd little girl voice that's embarrassing just to hear.\n\n"Yeah, and?"\n\n"And about how I came out here to look for a daddy?" She bats her eyelashes in an absurd way you never have.\n\n"Fuck yeah, babe. And that last thing?"\n\n"Oh, you must mean how I love sucking big, //fat//, cocks...?"\n\nYou watch in amazement as screen-you begins sucking on her fingers. As if the words weren't clear enough. They're your fingers too. The scar from when you accidentally chopped off one pinky is there. She kisses one, and then slides it between her sharp teeth, and then does the same with a second. Beads of drool run down her fingers as she slurps on them, making loud, wet noises with each motion. A warm blush rises to her cheeks as she stares intently at the camera.\n\nYou feel like dying inside. Not the eroticism. That's... whatever. The fact that it's somehow you makes it a hundred times weirder though. Not just death, you feel very specifically that your heart will pop after beating a hundred times a second, and that your lungs will deflate after each shallow breath. All that, and the video plays uninterrupted. Her fingers are replaced by the camera-man's, and she sucks those with even more enthusiasm. Up and down the digits. Back and forth. Her path lips trail slowly along his pebbled skin. You couldn't possibly make that kind of expression, could you?\n\nA long zipping sounds plays, and then the movie cuts to black.\n\nYou sit in the van, staring at the black screen. As long as nothing else happens, maybe it could still be a hallucination. Maybe you accidentally drank some bad milk the night before. There's plenty of reasons you could have just entirely missed a legitimate movie. The guy behind the stall doesn't seem at all perturbed when you silently hand the movie back to him.\n\n"So, what did you think?" he asks excitedly.\n\n[["Uh... yeah. That was intense."]]\n[["Way too fucking weird."]]\n\n

"Come on! You can tell me!" You get up and move over to the seat right next to the two he occupied. "I'm just curious, honest. It's not like I'm gonna get you in trouble or anything. I don't care what people do to themselves."\n\n"Not worried about you judgin'. Worried about getting you in trouble."\n\n"Just for knowing what it is?"\n\n"Alright, alright. It's a, yannow, pinkie. Onna those descriptivist names. It's pink, so it's a pinkie."\n\n"Sure, and it's like... a drug, right?"\n\n"So's that cough drop in your mouth."\n\nYou stick your tongue out at him, flavored medicine balanced perfectly on its pink flesh. "I know what this thing does at least."\n\n"Yeah, so that pinkie... it's onna those social lubricants. Smooths things out. Takes edges off. Makes some people a bit more honest, though you're not gonna catch me saying anything I shouldn't. Not off one, at least."\n\n"Cause you're so big, right?"\n\n"Somethin' like that."\n\n"You're like, what? Six times as big as me? What would happen if I had one?"\n\n"<<$springname>>..."\n\nYou spit out your cough drop and open your maw toward him. Sharp teeth wide. Fleshy tongue extended. You've never tried anything like this before. The worst you were ever on were a few painkillers after a childhood surgery, and those just made your skin feel fuzzy afterwards. Normally, bravery of this intensity would be rare. You already committed to this though, so there's no choice but following through.\n\nYour large companion looks awfully hesitant. Fatherly, almost, though he's probably too young. You wiggle your long tongue back and forth, staring expectantly at him with your big, orange eyes. \n\n[["Pweath."]]

"Not a chance!" says the Demiurge, belled voice tolling gleefully.\n\n"Not even after I promise eternal servitude to you or whatever else you're looking for?"\n\n"I'm not fishing for anything like that right now. Hit me up in a few centuries if you make it that long though. I've got a feeling you'll ferment real nicely."\n\n"So I'm just screwed?"\n\n"Figuratively? Literally?"\n\n"Whichever."\n\n"Probably both."\n\nGreat. Just great. Even if it's not a dream, maybe sleep will somehow improve things. Uncaring about the watchful eyes of some unseen alien power, you shed your clothes into a heap on the floor. Looking down... yup. Still normal. Still as normal as your life should be, though that seems to be skidding off the rails. Crawling under the covers is the first real relief of the whole day. Cocooned in a comforter, sinking into pillows, it's shockingly easy to just not think about anything at all.\n\n"One little word of advice before you drift off," says the Demiurge. You can feel it floating overhead even if there's nothing to perceive. "You should really decide whether you're going to be riding this bull, or if it's going to ride you."\n\nYou fall asleep before thinking about it too hard.\n\n[DEMO END]

-- -- <<set $grenlastresponse to 2>>\nMessage history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0301] Gren:'' spring\n''[0302] Gren:'' babe\n''[0304] Gren:'' megababe\n''[0306] Gren:'' spring\n''[0308] Gren:'' i know you're up\n''[0308] Gren:'' spring\n''[0309] Gren:'' spring\n''[0311] Gren:'' spring\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' BITCH WHAT?\n-- --\n\n[[She'll get back to you|Look at your phone.]]

Your wife is off to work by the time you wake up. She's always made most of the money for the family, and has never once complained about it, but you feel bad for the long hours all the same. Not that there's any way to reduce the hours doing ethical oversight of a company. It's always sounded like a losing battle even with 12-hour shifts. At least you can have a nice dinner waiting for her by the time she comes home. Tabatha spends nearly an hour in the bathroom, doing all the things she had started doing right when you shipped off. Fruity smells waft out under the door, and something about it all feels lonely for some reason. It must just be how much she grew without you.\n\nAnd she did grow, looking more and more like her mother every day. She's grown old enough to do her own makeup, and pick her own dresses, and preen with her long drills of violently blonde hair. She gives you a brief hug before leaving, and you hug her back. Even as an adult, she feels small in your thick arms. Her heels click against the entrance hall's faux-wooden floor as she leaves for classes.\n\n"Is she gone?" Spring's head emerges from the stairwell up to the third floor. One of your old hats is covering her hair and nubby horns, and she very clearly hasn't put on makeup or even showered yet. You would never tell her how she should look, that's not any part of your parenting philosophy, but you can't help but be relieved that some things are still the same.\n\n"Tabatha? She just left."\n\n"Thank fuckin' god."\n\n"Too early in the morning for cursing, Spring. What's up?"\n\n"Errr," she trails off, and seems to glance unconsciously toward Tabatha's locked room. "Stuff's just weird between us right now. It's no big deal."\n\n"Sounds like it might be a big deal."\n\n"It's just..." she screws up her face and rubs her orange eyes. You've always thought they were the most striking part of her. Like small amber jewels. "No, really, it's nothing."\n\n[["You're such a terrible liar, Spring."]]\n\n

The train's fifth station is at the 20th floor of the same building your schools have always been in. There's something like ten different schools in there, though most are intended for far richer, better connected families. St. Hackett's Academy isn't the worst school in the city, not by far, but it's exceedingly average. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. \n\nA few other St. Hackett's students get off the same train, but none you're particularly close to. Everyone shuffles into the wall of gleaming elevators that distribute them to the appropriate floors. You get glimpses of the nicer institutions during the ascent. None are extravagant enough to have marble walls or gilded lockers, but the care in keeping them clean as presentable is clear. The air even smells better as it wafts out of them. Maybe it's perfumed, maybe it's just better tended to. Hard to say.\n\nThe elevator car is mostly empty by the time it reaches the 113th floor. You exit alongside a number of other glum students, all filing off to their own classrooms. Lessons won't start for a few more minutes, so you have plenty of time to check phone messages if you like.\n\n[[Check your phone.]]\n[[Just head to class.]]

Ancient VHS tapes, if you had to guess. Wide boxes full of them. None of the names are familiar to you either. There's a whole row of them from a series called Obedient, listed out 1 to 20. Next over is Willing, 1 to 20. Eager Beaver, 1 to 20. So on, and so on. Maybe 300 of the things are lined up there, and there are probably boxes past that. Collectors are like that.\n\nIt's obvious he's a collector from appearance alone. A taught t-shirt is stretched tight across a barrel chest, and his thick arms clearly have more fat than muscle. It's hard to make out much underneath his low-slung cap aside from red eyes that are very clearly glowing. That sort of thing must have made his school life a living hell, no matter if it's a mutation or some exotic inheritance. He doesn't say anything as you look through the wares.\n\n"So were these, like, on TV some time?" you ask when the silence become uncomfortable. "Tapes were used until like, what, early 2000s?"\n\n"The late 1900s, actually. These aren't late re-recordings on antique equipment either, no way. Each one is an original work of art. Priceless, honestly. They just don't make anything like they used to. Art's always been like that. No one understands. Why do you think no one does movies on classic equipment anymore? Big studio execs don't appreciate the raw energy it has. Everything they touch just dies. It fucking sucks."\n\nHis slightly-nasal voice sets your nerves at edge, and it's not like you really need to stay and listen to a lecture.\n\n[[Bail out before the rant goes any further.]]\n[[He's not wrong though.]]\n\n\n

You can hear her thin voice in every word of the messages. You've got a history with said boy, but you also really don't need her whining up a storm today. <<set $tabbietextcount to 0>>\n\n[[Placate her.]]\n[[Placate her, but with some snark.]]

<<set $springname to "kid">>\n<<set $grentextcount to 0>>\n<<set $grenlastresponse to 0>>\n<<set $tabbietextcount to 0>>\n<<set $tabbielastresponse to 0>>\n<<set $grennips to 0>>

"You should think real hard about what you're sayin' right now, <<$springname>>."\n\n"I'm not gonna feel shitty about something that was fun! Don't try to make me feel bad." You snort loudly and grin a messy grin. "You had a lot of fun in my mouth too, huh?"\n\n"God, what're they makin' kids out of these days?" \n\n"//I// think I'm pretty normal."\n\n"Sure ya are. Keep telling yourself that."\n\n"Don't be a turd after we had fun." You burp inadvertantly, immediately tasting the alien cum again. It flushes your brain with all sorts of tingling sensations and untoward urges.\n\n"Like what ya like, <<$springname>>. As long as you're honest with yourself. I'm just worried you're gonna end up in a bad spot with stuff like that."\n\n"I won't if I have a big strong guy watching over me, will I?"\n\n"Erm..." There's definitely some blushing going on beneath his beard. "Yeah. Fair enough. You gotta promise not to try this without me around though."\n\n[["I promise!"]]

Yeah, people are just going to be pains in the ass about the whole birthday thing anyway. It's a always like, 'wow, time applies to you just like everyone else! Hot damn!' Exhausting, and it draws attention too.\n\nIt's not like you've never missed classes before. A perfect student wouldn't be normal after all. The magrail station is off east down 2nd Main St., so anywhere else is wide open for you. Within walking distance, of course. Your pass won't work on autobusses off the approved tracks during school hours.\n\nThere's some places you're familiar with, and some other options too.\n\n[[The old market, where you fish for bargains.]]\n[[The older lot, where you and Gren break curfew on weekends.]]\n[[Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

"The good kind of intense though, right? That's what makes it art. You can watch another one if you want. There's twenty in the whole set."\n\n"Uh... no, I'm good for now." It's starting to feel like something ran you over, and another dose of the same certainly wouldn't help.\n\n"Well, come back any time. We can talk classics."\n\n"Yeah. Definitely." \n\n[[It's time to head home. Especially after all that.|It's time to head home.]]

The door is closed. One pink sign hanging on it sweetly informs the reader to knock first. The other one (also pink) helpfully adds that anyone who doesn't will make 'The Princess' very angry. Both have been there since she was about six, but they probably won't be going anywhere.\n\nThe family dog Gem is whimpering inside. Tabbie must have forgotten him in there while preparing for school.\n\n<<if visited("Check out Mom & Dad's room.")>>You checked Mom & Dad's room.<<else>>[[Check out Mom & Dad's room.]]<<endif>>\n<<if visited("Check out the bathroom.")>>You checked the bathroom already.<<else>>[[Check out the bathroom.]]<<endif>>\n\n[[Head downstairs.]]

His bushy eyebrows raise, but he smiles all the same. His teeth are big and flat, not at all like yours. You grin back and sit down in one of the plastic chairs. It's not winter yet, but the heated vent is wonderfully relaxing all the same.\n\n"Shouldn't you be in school?" he asks.\n\n"Shouldn't you be in a nursing home?"\n\n"Ya got me. I've been running away from one for weeks. Those sunsabitches are persistent."\n\n"Don't they chip people at those?"\n\n"Hell, they're chipping kids these days, aren't they?"\n\n"My friend hacked mine." You wave your hand ambivalently, not feeling the weight of the embedded microchip. It would be reporting her as in a signal dead zone right now, or at school, or at a doctor's office, or at plenty of other places that wouldn't set off automated warnings. It'd been reset a few times, but Gren could always get around them.\n\n"Pff, kids there days."\n\n[["So you ARE old!"]]

It's the house's converted attic. You've managed to cram plenty in the small space though. Aside from your bed and two chests of drawers, there's several large stuffed bears, one larger beanbag chair, piles of archaic books and DVDs, and a television old enough to play the latter. There's a floor-length mirror, a mini-fridge, a standing air conditioner, and barely any room left over.\n\nThe visible bits of the wall are plastered with posters for movies that came out before you were born. //Harry Potter 9: The RePottering,// //MechaGodzilla vs. MegaPutin,// and //The Guy Who Kills People//. New releases just don't have the same charm in your book.\n\n[[Look in the mirror.]]\n[[Look at your phone.]]\n\n<<if visited("Look in the mirror.") and visited("Look at your phone.")>>[[Time to get going.]]<<endif>>

"Hey, asshole," you say casually. "Don't you know there's cameras in these things?"\n\nHe grunts incoherently and pulls back a few inches. Whatever. It's not the first time it's happened, and it probably won't be the last. You can always submit a report later, not that it will do any good. Most office slaves are normal, and most normal office slaves are assholes. Not much to do about it.\n\n[[Disembark at the fifth station.]]

[//TO COME WHEN AUTHOR HAS NEAT IDEA//]\n\n[[Continue to other neat ideas|Another video seller, with an even older selection.]]

<<set $springname to "Spring">>\n\n"Spring, eh?" He grunts and seems to chew on your name, jaw working slowly. "Spring... Spring... Huh. Yeah, okay. Spring it is.\n\n"Great, so no more of this 'kid' stuff!"\n\n"Well, yannow, maybe just a bit less of it."\n\n[[You groan.]]

A retinal scan opens the door instantly. Soggy shoes go next on the mat beside the door. Soaked sweatshirt gets draped over a dining room chair. You stumble up the stairs, resisting the urge to rub your eyes. That's always a great recipe for irritation, and you've got the feeling there's going to be plenty of that tonight already.\n\nMom's not home yet, which means she won't be for another five or six hours at least. What's dinner going to be then?\n\n[[Thrice-microwaved maccaroni and cheese leftovers.|Endure the grossness]]\n[[A novelty mug full of stale Holy-O's (Jesus' favorite cereal).|Endure the grossness]]\n[[Rehydrated nutrition pellets.|Endure the grossness]]\n

You arrive in class just a few minutes before it starts. Plenty of time to slide into your uncomfortable plastic chair and boot up the tablet set into the desk. The same dinky tune plays, the same long progress bar slowly fills, and the same annoying hum comes from everyone's terminals at once. Just another day at school.\n\nThe first three periods pass quickly. Contemporary Politics' quiz passes without issue. Just more candidates promising different ways to keep out of another century-long space war. None of them really seem plausible for the hideously outgunned solar system. They'll all end up kowtowing to someone else no matter what they say now. Algebra is, well... algebra. No quiz, but only because your teacher forgot to write any this week. It's a typical and extremely welcome state of affairs. PhysEd is PhysEd too. Not much can stop your teacher from getting you all on treadmills and watching his soaps for the whole hour.\n\nLunchtime is a welcome release. Not because the school's lunch is delicious, or wholesome, or even nutritious. Nothing could be further from the truth. You finally have the chance to go bother your friends though, or at least waste time in a less excruciating manner than running in place.\n\n[[Hang out with Gren.]]\n[[Find a quiet spot to eat on your own.]]\n[[Sit around in the hopelessly underfunded library.]]

-- --\nMessage history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0301] Gren:'' spring\n''[0302] Gren:'' babe\n''[0304] Gren:'' megababe\n''[0306] Gren:'' spring\n''[0308] Gren:'' i know you're up\n''[0308] Gren:'' spring\n''[0309] Gren:'' spring\n''[0311] Gren:'' spring\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n-- --\n\nShe hasn't said anything else since.\n\n<<if visited("Respond.")>>You already responded to her.<<else>>[[Respond.]]<<endif>>\n[[Look back at your messages.|Look at your phone.]]

You take the tape titled 'Interview 1' and duck into the van's back. It's been converted into a tiny theater, complete with a few plush chairs facing a big screen. You've never played a VHS tape before, but you know the general idea. Tape goes in tape-sized slot. Movie plays. Soon enough you're sitting down to watch whatever this is.\n\nThere's no title screen, or credits, or anything like that. The scene cuts right to the porch of a beach house. The camera looks at the low waves for almost a full minute. It's a lonely sight. Then it turns away to show... you.\n\nNo, not someone who looks like you. Not a shocking resemblance. It's definitely you. Same nubby horns. Same orangish eyes. Same mess of dirty hair. She's even wearing the same sweatshirt you are now. It's you. It's absolutely today's you. Somehow.\n\nThe you on the television is lounging on one of those wicker beach chairs that are always in movies and absent entirely from life. Legs over the side, hand hanging to the sandy porch, she looks more content that you've ever felt on camera.\n\n"Look at this babe!" says a man's voice from off-screen. "We picked her up off the beach for some fun today, and she couldn't //wait// to get on camera. Tell us your name again."\n\n[["Spring," you both say at the same time.]]

The small can is plastered with the neon label SHITFACED BOOZEHOUND MOUTHCHUGGER. You smile like an idiot at its sight. What a stupid fucking thing. What an appalling product. Life won't be complete without it sitting on your shelf. Even if it's barely a mouthful, it's well worth the price.\n\n''[Acquired a can of SHITFACED BOOZEHOUND MOUTHCHUGGER!], bro.''\n\n[[Time to wander around.|Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

It starts raining again as you walk down Grasshaven's 2nd Main St. It's been a long day, and each step feels unusually heavy. Raindrops sting as they hit exposed flesh, but not enough to prod you along any faster. You're sure to tuck Dad's cap under your sweatshirt at least. Going naked in the storm would be better than letting that get damaged.\n\nThe walk takes longer than expected. Each splashing car is a new delay. Each crosswalk takes ten times longer than usual. A short trip becomes a long slow, and you're utterly drenched by the time you make it back home. \n\n[[Enter the respectable brick house.|Arrive home after a long day.]]

"Real eloquent, <<$springname>>. Thought you might need a lesson after how you were actin', but I guess not?"\n\n"Not a good lesson." You rub your jaw gingerly.\n\n"Hey, I need a reward for administratin' it. You've got a mouth made for sucking."\n\n"Fuck you too." \n\n"It ain't an insult. You should treasure what you're good at."\n\n"Whatever. Do you have a towel or something?"\n\nHe hands over a few wet-wipes, and you manage to get the worst of the oozing reminders off yourself. Everything still smells like it though, and everything surely will for a long time. Not exactly a happy topper to the day.\n\n[[And there's nothing more either of you have to say.|BadMarketExit]]

Yeah, no reason to lie about it. Not to yourself, at least. There's no reason it shouldn't be hot. They're perfectly attractive people, and they're clearly engaged in something perverse. Absolutely perverse. Just looking at it objectively, of course. Not that you're particularly interested in whatever hot stuff they're getting up to. \n\nIn fact, it's so uninteresting that you hardly notice your slow gyrations against the uncomfortable chair. That's an entirely average physiological response though. That you're nibbling on your lip goes unnoticed too. Maybe something itches there. You only keep looking up because of natural urges to keep track of motion at the edge of your vision, or something like that.\n\nWith all the glances, it's no surprise they start glancing back. It's more surprising what their stares do to you. Blushing is one thing, a perfectly normal hot feeling, but then it travels down, and down, and down. It goes past your racing heart, lower and lower until the heat comes to rest between your legs. Thighs rubbing against each other, there's clearly a wetness accompanying the heat. It's hard to believe what you're about to do in the boring library. Eyes closed, breath thin, you start rubbing your thighs together while listening to the moaning pair. A hot tension builds, and builds, and builds, and then the bell rings.\n\nYou look up, and the pair of students are gone. Enduring the rest of the day is going to be even more of a struggle now, with these thoughts lurking about.\n\n[[Back to the churn of classes.]]

jquery:off\nhash:off\nbookmark:on\nmodernizr:off\nundo:on\nobfuscate:off\nexitprompt:on\nblankcss:off\n

Yeah, this is just going to be another case of someone lecturing you about something you already know about. That's already a plentiful experience at school.\n\nHanging around the market knowing he could still be staring at you would be uncomfortable to say the least. Might as well find another way to pass the time.\n\n[[Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

Your friendship goes far enough back that you could really approach this from a few different angles without it being unsual. Which will it be today? <<set $grentextcount to 1>>\n\n[[Annoyed.]]\n[[Super annoyed.]]\n[[Curious.]]

-- -- <<set $grenlastresponse to 3>>\nMessage history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0301] Gren:'' spring\n''[0302] Gren:'' babe\n''[0304] Gren:'' megababe\n''[0306] Gren:'' spring\n''[0308] Gren:'' i know you're up\n''[0308] Gren:'' spring\n''[0309] Gren:'' spring\n''[0311] Gren:'' spring\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' Still alive over there, or did the governemnt release trained rats in your basement again?\n-- --\n\n[[She'll get back to you|Look at your phone.]]

Closer to the exit door means less struggle as you exit, at least. And who knows what the other seat is soaked with. You sit down, and the train fills, and fills, and fills. Fuller than usual, and probably fuller than whatever safety standards are regularly ignored on public transportation. \n\nEventually, it's impossible to ignore the body parts getting jammed into your personal space. Elbows, as people pass. Knees, as they get out of the way. It's a bit better after the first stop where post of the corporate peons exit, but still not great.\n\nSomething even less pleasant is pushed against your shoulder as your stop approaches. You do your best to ignore it, but yup, that's someone's crotch. Whatever. The train's like that. You go back to reading the articles that will be quizzed on in Contemporary Politics this afternoon. The crotch starts rubbing intently on your arm. Looking up at the suited man's beady eyes, you realize he knows exactly what he's doing.\n\n[[Tell him off.]]\n[[Ignore it.]]

END OF TEST\n\n[[Vignettes is a hard word to spell.]]

He leaves with that, and you're alone again. After all that time, you feel even more vulnerable in the empty shopping complex. Leaving right after him would seem too desperate, but there's nothing wrong with doing so a few minutes later.\n\n[[It's time to head home.]]

He leaves with that, and you're alone again. After all that time, you feel even more vulnerable in the empty shopping complex. Leaving right after him would seem too pathetic, but there's nothing wrong with doing so a few minutes later.\n\n[[It's time to head home.]]

You race through the narrow streets, shoes beating hard against wet concrete. It's not an easy run. Any gains from running track in middle school had been left far behind in the past four years, and your heard is beating hard by the time you reach the squat glass building. The gray clouds overhead rumble ominously as the doors slide open, and open up to release stinging rain as you step inside. Just in time.\n\nThe station is full of bleary workers, blearier students, and a scattering of robots attempting to herd them all. You shuffle into the right line, right behind a woman who keeps falling asleep on her feet. She'll be fine though. Actually collapsing to the floor in this crowd would be near impossible.\n\nThe train slides in along the rail a few minutes later. A few minutes late, though that's hardly a surprise. Late trains are preferable to broken ones. Everyone shuffles forward, pressing passes against electronic scanners. A looming robotic arm reaches down to grab one student in front of you, lifting them up and away like one of those antique arcade games. No pity there. They should know better than to stand out in such an egregious fashion.\n\nYou enter the car earlier enough to pick a seat. Between two seats at least. One soggy one near the window offers a nice view of the city, while the aisle seat near the entrance is entirely surrounded by weird strangers.\n\n[[Choose the soggy window.]]\n[[Choose the aisle seat.]]

LewdLaureate

-- --\nMessage history with Tabbie (blackholepoet@homemail.local)\n\n''[0120] Tabbie:'' Don't forget my boy's coming over tomorrow\n''[0121] Tabbie:'' So you have to at least try and act normal around him\n''[0121] Tabbie:'' For once\n-- --\n\nAbout what you would expect from her, honestly.\n\n<<if visited("RespondTabbie")>>You already responded to her.<<else>>\n[[Respond.|RespondTabbie]]<<endif>>\n[[Look back at your messages.|Look at your phone.]]\n\n

BepsoPop isn't the tastiest thing ever. In fact, it's so far beyond taste that you can't quite bring yourself to drink it right now. Maybe someone else will want it later though?\n\n''[Acquired a can of BepsoPop!]''\n\n[[Time to wander around.|Just wander around the alleyways and backstreets.]]

Sixty Nights Under Falling Satellites is an adult game, created by an adult, intended for other adults. It contains explicit sexual material, portrayals of violence, drug use, and other elements that are not suitable for minors. All characters portrayed within this game are at least 18 years old.\n\nIn order to play this game you must be at least 18 years old (or higher, depending on your relevant jurisdiction). By clicking the link below to start the game, you agree that you meet these requirements.\n\n\n[[I confirm and agree.|Start2]]

The 8/12 at one end of the parking lot is open 24/7/365, and has been for at least as long as you've been alive. It sells everything, honestly. ecigs, and caffeinated booze, and all other sorts of things you hadn't been able to legally access until today. Not that you really feel like starting an abnormal sort of habit right now.\n\nIt's real easy to waste a lot of time in that store. Aisle after aisle of tightly-packed goods form a veritable maze of bright packaging and catchy slogans. Not that most of it is affordable. You've got about ||30 to your name at the end of the day, barely enough to pay for a single drink. \n\n[[Get a softdrink.]]\n[[Get a canned coffee.]]\n[[Get something boozy as a novelty.]]

-- -- <<set $tabbietextcount to 1>>\n<<if $tabbielastresponse is 1>>Message history with Tabbie (blackholepoet@homemail.local)\n\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' Don't forget my boy's coming over tomorrow\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' So you have to at least try and act normal around him\n''[2121] Tabbie:'' For once\n''[0615] Spring:'' sure\n''[0640] Tabbie:'' Not 'sure'\n''[0640] Tabbie:'' Don't be weird around him!\n''[0641] Tabbie:'' I mean it!\n''[0720] Spring:'' sure \n<<else if $tabbielastresponse is 2>>Message history with Tabbie (blackholepoet@homemail.local)\n\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' Don't forget my boy's coming over tomorrow\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' So you have to at least try and act normal around him\n''[2121] Tabbie:'' For once\n''[0615] Spring:'' Sure\n''[0615] Spring:'' Tell him to stop trying to touch my horns\n''[0640] Tabbie:'' Don't lie about him!\n''[0640] Tabbie:'' He would never, ever, ever, ever do something like that.\n''[0641] Tabbie:'' Especially not to someone like //you//.\n''[0720] Spring:'' sure<<else>><<endif>>\n-- --\n\nShe won't like that sure either. What's the point in having a sister if you can't mess with her though? That wouldn't be normal at all.\n\n[[Back to your other messages.|Check your phone.]]

Something above that convinces him. One big, scaled hand comes to rest on the back of your head, steadying it. The gingerly removes another pink pill from his coat to balance it on one big finger. You expect him to place it just as gently on your tongue, but he pushes it into the back of your mouth instead. Most people are more hesitant around sharp teeth. He doesn't seem to care one bit.\n\nYou swallow hard, and the pill disappears down your throat. His finger pulls back, trailing long threads of saliva. Embarrassing. The whole thing is suddenly embarrassing. Heat rises in your cheeks, and you can't bring yourself to look back up at the man who just fed you a pill of questionable legality. You can't. You just can't. Until after a minute or so it suddenly seems perfectly reasonable to do so.\n\n"Wow," you say.\n\n"Yeah, it kicks in quick."\n\n"Wow."\n\n"Feelin' okay, <<$springname>>?"\n\n"Yeah. Yeah! Everything feels great." Better than great, even. Everything feels clear. Unclouded by strange emotions and stranger logic. Why worry about those things when you can just... not?\n\n"You wanna run a little test?"\n\n"Sure! Sounds fun."\n\n"Alright, come up on my lap, kiddo." <<if $springname is "Spring">>Why bother telling him off about not using your name at this point? Just like everything else, the importance fades away.<<endif>>\n\n[[Hop up.]]\n[[Hop up.]]\n[[Hop up.]]\n[[Hop up.]]\n[[Hop up.]]

You both laugh again, and you settle further into your seat. The man doesn't project any sort of hostility, even for someone his side. It's more than could be said for some of your teachers, let alone fellow students.\n\n"So what're you doing out here?" you ask, unwrapping a honey-flavored throat drop from your endless supply.\n\n"Eh, was waitin' on a deal that didn't happen last night. Figured I'd wait another hour, then another hour, then another hour..."\n\n"Then another hour."\n\n"Right, yeah, so I was just waitin' to see if they were going to show up and apologize //really// hard. Like, some full-on dogeza sorta thing."\n\n"Dogeza?"\n\n"It's a, yannow... look it up, kid."\n\n"I'll look it up and save you the embarrassment if you stop calling me kid.\n\n"What's your name then, kid?"\n\n[["You can call me Spring."]]\n[["On second thought, kid's fine.]]

-- -- <<set $grenlastresponse to 1>>\nMessage history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0301] Gren:'' spring\n''[0302] Gren:'' babe\n''[0304] Gren:'' megababe\n''[0306] Gren:'' spring\n''[0308] Gren:'' i know you're up\n''[0308] Gren:'' spring\n''[0309] Gren:'' spring\n''[0311] Gren:'' spring\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' Sorry I only answer to my full title. Try again.\n-- --\n\n[[She'll get back to you|Look at your phone.]]

Fourth period is... rough. Health class is always rough. Not because it covers sex too. Those are the least excruciating days. On this particular day, you're learning about flesh-eating fungus. Your maniac of a teacher has 100-slides of it slowly killing people, and all of them are grotesque. Someone in the back of class is crying after the third or fourth, and a few more are doing the same by the end. Your hands quiver and you hold them tightly in your lap. This is still better than when she lectured on the majesty of historical plagues, but not much.\n\nFifth period is a comparative relief. You've had Mr. Dennis for at least one class in each of your four years at the school. Modern Literature has been the best so far. It barely even feels like a class, with ten or so of you crammed into what's basically a closet. More like a book club. You read the books, and talk about the books, and your throat always hurts from all the laughing by the end of it. It's going to be a bummer when you don't get a fifth year of classes with him. Not enough of a bummer to ever be held back though.\n\nYou always sleep through sixth period. \n\nEven that isn't enough to feel alive again though. The last bell rings and your eyes are still drooping.\n\n[[Time to head back home.]]

-- --\nMessage history with ANON (ANON)\n''1.pfg''. \n-- --\n\nThe image loads immediately.\n\nOh.\n\nIt's just a cock. Someone sent you a picture of a cock. There's nothing to do but stare in shock for a few seconds, then close it. There's not much else that could ruin a perfectly acceptable reputation faster than staring at this in the middle of the hallway. Looking to either side, it doesn't seem like anyone saw you see it.\n\nYou're not an expert on genitalia or anything, but this seemed like a pretty impressive example. Long, at least in terms of the frame. Thick, at least in proportion to its length. Veiny and dripping just a bit from the tip.\n\nAnd just like that, you've been contemplating cock in the middle of the hallway. Nice.\n\n[[Back to your other messages.|Check your phone.]]

You sit sideways on his big legs. It feels far more sturdy than any of the seats you have at school. His face is so much closer to you now. His eyes, and mouth, and nostrils, and everything so much bigger as you look up. Cool! Neat!\n\n"You a virgin, kid?" he asks gently.\n\n"Yup!"\n\n"All over?"\n\n"Mhm!"\n\n"You ever kiss anyone? Pretty thing like you must've."\n\n"Not like a kiss kiss."\n\n"What kind of kiss is that?"\n\n"You know, a kiss kiss is like... more than a not kiss kiss."\n\n"You wanna take care of that with me?"\n\n[[Kiss kiss.]]\n[[Kiss kiss.]]\n[[Kiss kiss.]]\n[[Kiss kiss.]]

Spring helps cook dinner. It ends up being an elaborate series of side-dishes that have little connection with a pork-and-peppers stirfry, but there was plenty of it. When your wife comes home to see the set table and ready meal, she gives you a deep kiss right in front of the kids. Deeper than she meant, maybe, and sloppy too. Spring gives you that 'oh my god, //dad//' look, while Tabatha's is closer to 'I thought you two were supposed to be the adults here.' Your cock is at full mast after just a few seconds, pressing up against your wife's firm midriff. It's been far, far too long. She laughs sweetly, and her eyes promise plenty of excitement once you get some private time.\n\nDinner is delicious, but you both fall asleep the moment you get back to bed again. It's restless sleep, but it's something at least. Something, until consciousness returns around 3 AM. You stare at the dark ceiling, still unsettled by the house's silence. Silence should be the sign of things going wrong. Air filters failing. Electrical systems losing power. Readjusting is going to take time. \n\nAnd then, a few noises break the silence. Quiet creaking. Repeated clinking. Not sounds you should be hearing this time of night, but the alarm wasn't going off desite that.\n\n"House, volume 1," you whisper. "Who's down on the first floor?"\n\n"Your youngest daughter is in the kitchen," the integrated assistant replies.\n\n"How long as she been there?"\n\n"She entered the kitchen 49 minutes and 12 seconds ago."\n\n[[You sigh and slide out of bed as gently as possible.]]

You get food pouches from the giant dispenser and retreat to a classroom that's only ever used to house clubs once the day's done. No one comes in otherwise unless they're making out, and you made sure to knock first this time. Walking in on that is always deeply embarrassing for everyone involved, with only a few exceptions.\n\nNone of that this time. You sit with your legs up over the desk and slurp bland-tasting paste from the lunch pouches. Once upon a time they were supposed to have all the nutrients a person needed to make it through the day, but that long since passed. These days, they were mostly just there to fill the stomach and provide a few essential things. The rest came from fancier pouches, and pills, and meals people actually bothered bringing from home. You'd make some yourself, if it didn't mean getting up early to do it.\n\nYou watch the last video Dad sent from his deployment again. It's the third or fourth time probably, but your asshole robot therapist keeps saying it's important to remind yourself that he's still alive even if your messages take ages to reach him. It's always good to see his face regardless. You two were always closer than you are with Mom or Tabbie is with him too. \n\n"Can't wait to be home with you all," his recording says. You fiddle with the brim of his old cap while the movie plays. Even with a quickly approaching return, it's hard not to worry about something going wrong and delaying things even further. After all, it's been an entire year since he was supposed to be home in 'just a few weeks.' At least he still seems like the same dad you remember. Not that it would be possible for him to change. He's too dadly to ever be anything other than your dad. The recording plays, and he makes promises, and you don't really listen to most of them. As long as he gets home safe and soon, anything else is fine.\n\nLunch ends soon enough, and you've hardly eaten half the pouches.\n\n[[Back to the churn of classes.]]

"Alright then. I'm holdin' you to that." He rummages in his jacket for a moment, then pulls out a phone with a pink, sequined case. "Contacts?"\n\nYou fumble with your phone as you pull it from your hoodie's deep pockets, holding it out to automatically swap info with the big man. His name appears in your phone as 'Dreary.' Probably not real, but amusing if true.\n\nHe uses a few wetwipes to clean the worst of the mess off your face and sits with you as you recover from your ordeal. Fun or not, hot or otherwise, there isn't any other word for it. You keep catching him stealing glances at your lips the whole time.\n\n"I've gotta get back to work, but remember that promise. If you even so much as think about somethin' like a pill, I better be there. Hell, if you think about using that mouth, I'd love to be there."\n\n[[You stick out your tongue at him.|"Yeah, um, thanks! Same to you."]]

Your self-imposed school uniform is as unremarkable as possible. Dirty gray sneakers. A knee-length gray skirt. An oversized gray hoodie. A tan baseball cap from a long-defunct team that your father once played for.\n\nSmiling at the mirror, you look... fine. Just fine. Perfect.\n\n[[Go downstairs.]]

"So why're you skippin' school, <<$springname>>? Wanna talk about it? Tell a wise old man your problems?"\n\n"I get it, I get it, I won't call you old anymore."\n\n"Hey, still. Everything alright?"\n\n"Just not really feeling it today, you know? My mom doesn't put up with that though, so... you know."\n\n"Aren't they gonna call her later?"\n\n"That's a problem for later-me to deal with!"\n\n"Ha! Good idea. Maybe I'll take your advice on that one." He reaches into one of his big coat's pockets and pulls out a small pink pill. It disappears into his maw like a single plankton into a whale's gullet. "Woof. That's gonna be a nice one."\n\nYou unwrap another cough drop out of some sense of kinship and pop it between your sharp teeth. "What's that?"\n\n"Ah, yannow. Adult stuff. Don't worry about it."\n\n[[Leave it at that.]]\n[[Press the issue.]]

"I always thought the same thing," you say. "Ten-million Avengers movies and people are still watching them all. Like they somehow decide to drop ||60 on something they've seen fifty times before. It's kinda insane if you think about it. Even my family loves that garbage."\n\n"Exactly! Exactly. Finally, someone who knows what she's talking about. New shit won't ever stand up to the classics. You wouldn't believe how much time and money I put into finding and fixing these babies. Letting them rot just wouldn't be right!"\n\nYou find yourself nodding enthusiastically. Tinkering with your antique disc player consumes an inordinate amount of free time, especially when it's in a temperamental mood. "Why are you selling them though? I mean, this isn't exactly..." You look over your shoulder before continuing in a hushed tone. "People here have kind of shitty taste. You wouldn't believe how many of them actually liked the Pride and Prejudice 2270 trilogy."\n\nHe makes a gagging sound so realistic that vomit might as well have spewed forth. "Too true, too true. As for my babies... It's really more of a library than anything else. I'm probably the one one in the city with a machine that'll do them justice."\n\n"Cool."\n\n"Yeah, I know."\n\n"But like, what's on them? I never heard of anything called 'Eager Beaver.'"\n\n"Oh, you wouldn't have. They're very obscure."\n\n"So can I watch?" It's hard to think of a better way to pass the time, honestly. Especially since he doesn't seem particularly up his own ass about you skipping school. \n\nYou can see his red eyes narrow in the shadow of his hat, though not in an entirely unkind way. "Might be a little too intense for you."\n\n"My dad let me watch Gore-Circus the Rebutchering when I was 13."\n\n"Oh, hell, that's a good one. Fair enough, we'll start you off at the start if you want it that bad. Machine's back there."\n\nHe holds out a VHS and glances back to the open van parked in an alley behind him. You're suddenly reminded that while Grasshaven is not the worst place ever to live, there's still plenty of bad stuff that could happen to a person. \n\n[[Good point, self. Bail out for real this time.]]\n[[He seems legit enough, and you're curious as hell.]]

Well, why not? It may all be bullshit, but at least it's an entertaining sort. Usually. \n\nThis time, it's just a laptop sitting on a table. There's all the usual trappings: an ornately embroidered cloth, mysterious fog, and otherworldly humming. But it's still a laptop prompting you to 'PRESS ENTER FOR FORTUNE.'\n\nYou press enter. Three lines of text appear.\n\n''EMOTIONS ONLY FESTER WHEN BROUGHT TO THE STARS''\n\n''ALL ENDINGS ARE HAPPY WITH THE PROPER PERSPECTIVE''\n\n''YOU WILL NOT DIE WITHIN ONE-HUNDRED DAYS. AFTERWARDS, MURKY.''\n\nGreat. What a waste of five minutes.\n\n[[Go out to look at the other video stall.|Another video seller, with an even older selection.]]\n[[Go look at that woman's empty stall.|A woman who doesn't seem to be selling anything.]]\n\n

It's easy to get lost in the maze of passageways, and service tunnels, and enclosed yards, and narrow streets, and everything else in Grasshaven's nooks. That that you're truly lost. The GPS on your phone still has a general idea of where you are. It's entirely unhelpful telling you how to unwind the knot you find yourself in though. Every path seems to lead to where it started. Every exist is only an entrance. No one answers on knocked doors, and every window is locked and curtained.\n\nYou spend a few hours wandering around like this. It shouldn't really be possible. There are only so many possible ways in and out of the massive city blocks, and it seems like you've tried them all at least twice. Then three times, then four. A few hours turns into six, and your phone runs out of power. You're old enough to know that the shadows aren't really moving, but damn do they look like it. They shift, and elongate, and squirm, and writhe. You sit on a bench in one tiny path of sunlight. Then a corporate satellite passes overhead and that light disappears to. Breaths come ragged and quick for no good reason, but it happens all the same. Your body feels heavy. The air feels heavy. Everything's pressing down on you, and you try to curl up inside your hoodie.\n\nHeavy footsteps sound behind you. Not heavy like an overweight cop looking for an apparently lost teenager. Heavy like some great beast with an appetite for tender flesh. You turn around and see six orange eyes glowing in the deepest shadow. Not orange like yours. Orange like the burning heart of a sun. Orange like fury, and hunger, and everything else that shouldn't be let out on you.\n\nYou run, and run, and run. The heavy footsteps thump behind. Running anywhere is better than staying put. You run, and gasp for breath, and blink away tears, and keep running.\n\nAnd running.\n\nAnd running.\n\nAnd eventually you emerge back onto a normal street where nothing is trying to eat you. Somewhow. There was some crying after that, no shame there. Some heaving breaths and some strange looks from strangers. You're still alive though.\n\n[[It's time to head home.]]

-- -- <<set $tabbielastresponse to 2>>\nMessage history with Tabbie (blackholepoet@homemail.local)\n\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' Don't forget my boy's coming over tomorrow\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' So you have to at least try and act normal around him\n''[2121] Tabbie:'' For once\n''[0615] Spring:'' Sure\n''[0615] Spring:'' Tell him to stop trying to touch my horns\n-- --\n\n[[What's a relationship without a little drama?|Look at your phone.]]

You blearily rub your eyes and stare at your reflection. Still normal, in all the normal ways.\n\nYour skin is still pale and thoroughly blemished. Neither condition seems likely to change any time soon, despite ungodly efforts.\n\nYour hair is still dirty-blonde. Much further on the dirty side too. An inheritance from your father's side of the family.\n\nYour eyes are still a few shades closer to orange than brown. Some of your classmates have had theirs changed to reds, pinks, and purples, but you like the subdued hue.\n\nYour teeth are all still razor sharp and perfectly orderly. They better be, for all the orthodontist's work.\n\nYour forehead is still punctured by stubby protrusions of bone on either side. A sign of alien heritage shared by plenty of people, though many of them have more impressive results. \n\nYup. Still you.\n\n[[Look at your room.]]\n[[Look at your phone.]]\n\n<<if visited("Look at your room.") and visited("Look at your phone.")>>[[Time to get going.]]<<endif>>\n

-- --\nMessage history with Mom (addparel@homemail.local)\n\n''[0701] Mom:'' Happy birthday, honey. You always sneak out on important days! I'll try to get off work early tonight so we can celebrate. Have a wonderful day!\n-- --\n\nShe probably won't be able to, but it's the thought that counts. You definitely aren't going to be the one to throw a fit over things like this. That's Tabbie's place in the family.\n\n[[Back to your other messages.|Check your phone.]]

It's not an easy feat with how big you are. 7 feet and 200 pounds are just... a lot. It's a lot of space to take up. Your wife only murmurs a few sleepy words before falling silence again though, and makes no indication that it was anything but a momentary interruption. The stairs creak under your feet, louder than they would under anyone else's in the family, as do the floorboards. Spring looks surprised when you enter the kitchen all the same.\n\nYour youngest daughter is sitting on the kitchen's tiled floor, dressed in a loose t-shirt and shorts, drinking beer. Two empty bottles sit next to her, and a third is clasped between her hands. A flush rises in her pale cheeks. "Hi, Dad," she says, hiccuping loudly.\n\n"Don't tell me nothing's wrong again," you say, taking the bottle from her. It's still mostly full, but she doesn't exactly have the body weight to handle much alcohol. The first time you supervised her drinking, a single bottle had been enough to put her out of condition.\n\n"'couple things might be wrong."\n\nYou squat down, then thump to the floor next to her. The beer's stale, but you take a swig anyway. "Wanna talk about it? Anything I can do? Drinking alone's good for forgetting, but it's not going to fix much."\n\n"I know. I'm not a kid anymore."\n\n"So let's talk."\n\n"You're gonna think I'm crazy."\n\n"You know I won't."\n\n"You're gonna think everyone else is crazy."\n\n"Who says I don't already?"\n\nShe glumly pulls out her phone and flicks through a few folders before showing what's on the screen. A saved image of messages from that Gren girl.\n\n[[Message history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)]]

It's the normal morning of your normal birthday in your normal bedroom. You blearily punch your passcode into your phone so it will stop telling the entire house about the weather on Venus.\n\n[[Look at your room.]]\n[[Look in the mirror.]]\n[[Look at your phone.]]

The seat squelches under you as you sit down, but it's probably just rainwater from a previous rider. Probably. Another student flops down in the aisle seat next to you and immediately goes back to sleep.\n\nYou stare out the window as the train silently zips down the track. The acidic clouds have already swept away in the distance, revealing the polluted purple sunrise. Up above, you see the trailing edge of one of the heavy corporate satellites flying low over the world in permanently decaying orbits. Even from your seat, the fuzzy outlines of communication bristles and orbital bays are clearly visible along its personal horizon. \n\nOnce that drifts by, all you can look at is the city's swiftly approaching skyline. Your school is located at a middling floor of one of the city's taller skypiercers. You pick out its spire from the rest just before the train drifts into the concrete forest.\n\n[[Disembark at the fifth station.]]

-- -- <<set $grentextcount to 2>>\n<<if $grenlastresponse is 3>>Message history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' Still alive over there, or did the governemnt release trained rats in your basement again?\n''[0711] Gren:'' i already put out a bunch of traps for them\n''[0711] Gren:'' so dont you worry your pretty little head about killer rats\n''[0711] Gren:'' anyway\n''[0712] Gren:'' oh happy birthday too i guess\n''[0720] Spring:'' You guess?\n''[0721] Gren:'' birthdays are just part of the big game to keep us all tracked and accounted for\n''[0721] Gren:'' ANYWAY\n''[0722] Gren:'' fuck, what was it<<elseif $grenlastresponse is 2>>Message history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' BITCH WHAT?\n''[0711] Gren:'' BITCH\n''[0711] Gren:'' I FORGET\n''[0711] Gren:'' SORRY ABOUT THAT ONE<<else>>Message history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0313] Gren:'' spring it's super important\n''[0320] Gren:'' SPRING\n''[0615] Spring:'' Sorry I only answer to my full title. Try again.\n''[0711] Gren:'' imperial titles harken back to a darker era of mankind's history\n''[0712] Gren:'' to refer one's self as empress only reminds us that for centuries there wasn't even a veneer of democracy over life\n''[0713] Gren:'' which while covering modern illigitmate governments still reminds us of mankind's aspirations\n''[0713] Gren:'' anyway I forgot what I was saying<<endif>>\n-- -- \n\nHow entirely like her. She'll probably remember by the time you see her in class.\n\n[[Back to your other messages.|Check your phone.]]

You grab the crummy meal and climb the steps. Tabbie's boyfriend is already here with her. You can tell from her pleasured shrieks. One moment it's //fuck, fuck, fuck//! The next it's //yes, yes, yes//! And then she howls //daddy!// at the top of her lungs. Wails, more like. Glowering is all you can do in that situation as you stomp past her room and upstairs. Fucking weird. Everything's been so fucking weird today, and now she's calling that turd of a boyfriend that when your read dad is so close to home. \n\nYou flop down onto your bed, and you can still hear her pleasured wailing. She begs him to fuck her. She begs him to choke her. She begs him to fill her with his babies. It's so, so, so weird. You press a pillow over your head and can't help but listen as your sister is reduced to her basest components. A vapid brain, a set of holes, and a pair of oversized tits. They fuck three more times as you do your best to drown it all out. Nothing works. It's the worst, and you hate your body for reacting at all to the noises. \n\nMaybe all that porn really will mess a person up.\n\n[["Nah, it's nothing like that."]]

A few bits of your brain go off about how this is a truly stupid idea, but screw them. They're also the ones that said not to skip school in the first place. If you're anything besides normal, it's consistent. You already chose the day's path.\n\nHopping through the empty window of an old shoe store brings you to the little alcove where you and Gren usually huddle. A few squat chairs off in the corner, surrounded almost entirely by shelves. A steam vent from some deep heating system still leaks through a grate there, and the wireless reception is oddly perfect.\n\nToday, someone's already in there.\n\n[[Run for the market before they see you.|Take refuge in the one functioning store.]]\n[[Go in anyway.]]

-- --\nMessage history with Dreary (piecemealdino@throwaway.permanenttrash)\n\n''[0301] Spring:'' Help I'm trapped with an old man who's been taking peeks up my skirt all day\n-- --\n\n[[And... send.]]

A few messages arrived overnight. One from Gren, your best friend. Another from Tabbie, your sister. A third from your VI therapist, who you refuse to name. All have the decaying timer that's become standard on these apps, and you aren't about to pay premium just to get rid of that.\n\n[[Read Gren's message.]]\n[[Read Tabbie's message.]]\n[[Read your therapist's message.]]\n\n[[Look in the mirror.]]\n[[Look at your room.]]\n\n<<if visited("Look in the mirror.") and visited("Look at your room.")>>[[Time to get going.]]<<endif>>\n\n

There's only so many possibilities for pleasure with one mouth, but you try them all. Running your tongue along the thickest tendril and moaning loudly. Staring up into his black eyes. Gyrating, and whimpering, and begging silently.\n\nWhen he finishes, it's not like in porn. There's no elegantly beading fluid representing your shared passion. Each tentacle disgorges thick, pungent fluid in great amounts. It oozes down your nose, and down your cheeks, and down your throat, and down your chin. It practically drowns you before passing through, and your stomach rumbles and squirms at it all.\n\n"Yeah," the man says tenderly, pushing a sweaty bunch of hair out of your eyes. His tendrils slowly shrink and retreat. "Not so fun to take pills from strangers, is it?"\n\n[["Fuck you too, shitass."]]\n[["Uh, yeah it is?"]]

It's gross. Disgusting, actually. Shoving him back doesn't do much though, and you know from experience that no one's going to help if you make a fuss. At least there's solace in the fact that his life is probably a living nightmare of 20-hour shifts and 4-sleeps of forced REM.\n\nHe grunts even louder, and you notice a dark spot spreading on his darker pants. Gross. Super gross. He leaves as the next stop, and you notice a slightly damp patch on the arm of your sweatshirt. Unbelievably gross.\n\n[[Disembark at the fifth station.]]

"Everyone's missin' out then. Nothing like //real// teeth to spice things up." He pulls open your mouth with one hand and runs a finger along them. Still holding tight, he leans down to kiss you. Lips press against lips for a moment, and then tongue presses against tongue. Your mouth is full of his taste, and it's entirely pleasant. Warm and rich. Rich and thick. His drool pours into your mouth and down your throat in shocking quantities, all while you gently press against each other's lips. \n\nAfter a minute or two, he pulls away. You find yourself mewling somewhat pathetically, but even that doesn't matter. Why should you care about something like that?\n\n"You like that?" he asks gruffly.\n\n"Yeah!"\n\n"You wanna make me feel good too?"\n\n[[Make your new friend feel good.]]\n[[Make your new friend feel good.]]\n[[Make your new friend feel good.]]

"Sure, sure..." You roll your eyes, but don't press any further.\n\nThe two of you hang out a few hours longer. Your new friend gets awfully talkative after his pill, though not enough to say anything more about why he's still hanging around in the abandoned shop. Your phone buzzes a few times in that time. Maybe your mom. Maybe your friends. No need to check it though, not while you're already having fun.\n\nAll fun must end though. His phone eventually goes off, and he doesn't have the same kind of patience you do. Or maybe his business is just more important than yours. He grinds his flat teeth as he reads, then finally stands, head knocking against a low hanging light.\n\n"It was fun while it lasted, <<$springname>>."\n\n"Yeah, you mumble, kicking your feet. Him going means you going, which means dealing with later-you's problems.\n\n"Don't look so down, you're gonna break an old man's heart."\n\n"You're the one who said it this time!"\n\n"Y'got me." He rummages in his jacket for a moment, then pulls out a different phone from the one he used before. This one has a pink, sequined case. "Contacts?"\n\nWell, that's unexpected. You fumble with your phone as you pull it from your hoodie's deep pockets, holding it out to automatically swap info with the big man. His name appears in your phone as 'Dreary.' Probably not real, but amusing if true.\n\n"Text me if you need somethin'," he says, straghtening his clothes. "Big scary city after all."\n\n[["Yeah, um, thanks! Same to you."]]\n[[Tease him with an immediate flirty text.]]

[[Ladder of Honesty]] (Spring x Dad)

//Sinful Surfer Slaughter FROM HELL// depicts the invasion of a small Florida town by, well, zombie surfers. The zombies themselves don't surf, a missed opportunity, but their persistent cries of "brooooooo" haunt the place until a law-abiding grandfather with abs of steel cuts them apart with a machette. It's all very mid-2200s. You sit with Spring, bowl of popcorn in between on the couch, and fall asleep by the end of the first act. Every dream is tinged with the sounds of Sharp Grockson dispensing hard-won wisdom while dripping sufer guts.\n\nThe credits to the third sequel are rolling when you wake up again. Spring is staring, transfixed, tears rolling down one cheek. It's easy to get attached to the old man, and his selfless sacrifice always hits the two of you hard.\n\n"There, there," you say, lifting her cap with one hand to ruffle her already-messy hair with the other. \n\n"He's just so brave." She wipes the tears with the back of her hand, then a bead of snot dripping from her reddening nose. You pass her a tissue, and she trumpets into it.\n\n"There's always the reboot-"\n\n"The reboot's not the //same//, Dad. You know it's not."\n\n"They're perfectly fine movies!"\n\n"They're not! The new guy doesn't even have abs. The abs are a //key// plot point and they completely forgot about them."\n\nYou playfully push your reddening daughter away. She's still awfully light compared to you, especially with the residual soldier stims in your system. She flops over the arm of the couch with an exaggerated squeal, legs kicking all the way. Yup. Your kid.\n\n[[Let the day pass.]]

---\nMessage history with Gren (spacewitch@personaldomain.gov.notthatgov)\n\n''[0111] Gren:'' yooooo\n''[0111] Gren:'' check this shit out bitch\n''[0111] Gren:'' big bro's home\n''[0112] Gren:'' [img.img.jpg]\n---\n\nAttached

You've got some new messages.\n\n<<if visited("One from your mom.")>>You already responded to Mom.<<else>>[[One from your mom.]]<<endif>>\n<<if visited("One from an anonymized contact.")>>You already saw the unknown sender's text.<<else>>[[One from an anonymized contact.]]<<endif>><<if $tabbietextcount is 1>><<if visited("Tabbie's responded to your responses.")>>\nYou already responded to Tabbie.<<else>>\n[[Tabbie's responded to your responses.]]<<endif>><<endif>><<if $grentextcount is 1>><<if visited("Gren might be saying something sane.")>>\nYou already responded to Gren.<<else>>\n[[Gren might be saying something sane.]]<<endif>><<endif>>\n\n[[Or you can just head to class now.|Just head to class.]]

-- --\nMessage history with ASSHOLE ROBOT (15199192004@humcon.gov)\n\n''[0000] ASSHOLE ROBOT:'' Just a friendly reminder about what we discussed last session! Self-restraint is important, but remember that you're allowed to step outside your comfort zone sometimes. Repressing yourself is unhealthy, and it is a likely root of your less personable tendencies.\n''[0000] ASSHOLE ROBOT:'' Let's spend today trying to be our best selves!\n-- --\n\nGren's pretty sure this is the government's way of telling you to start trying their experimental medication treatments. You're not entirely sure she's wrong.\n\n[[Look back at your messages.|Look at your phone.]]

Gren's sitting in her usual spot. At the bottom of the fire escape stairwell staring intently at her phone.\n\nYour best friend, who sometimes still tries to convince you to call her Grendel instead, is somewhat mangy by your standards. Long black hair hangs in matted bunches over her face when it's not actively restrained, and her clothes are always at risk of becoming more hole than fabric. No one would believe that she consistently has the best grades in school, nor that her family is richer than half the rest combined.\n\n"Hey," you say, sitting down on the same step as her.\n\n"Hey."\n\n"Happy government-assigned tracking day."\n\n"Thanks. What crimes are our evil overlords committing today?"\n\n"Cloning people for organ transplants and then switching the bodies with comatose hospital patients so they can brainwash them into perfect assassins."\n\n"Wouldn't they just teach the clones how to be assassins then?"\n\nGren blows a bunch of her hair indignantly. It falls right back into place. "It's harder to teach a clone how to act like a person than to make a person act like an assassin."\n\n"So who'd they kill?"\n\n"No one, once the media reads my expose."\n\nYou can't even tell Gren she's being ridiculous. Half the things she says end up panning out as true one way or the other, and the other half might still turn out right in the future. Not that it would be a good thing if the government actually //was// profiling people for identity theft through dating websites, but things rarely seem good these days regardless.\n\n<<if $grentextcount is 2>><<set $grennips to 1>>"But, hey, did you remember what you were trying to tell me last night yet?\n\n"N... //yes//, I do!" She drops her phone with a clatter, turns, and immediately pulls up her shirt. There's not even time to ask what exactly she thinks she's doing before Gren is exposing her bare chest to you. It's not a new sight. She's still almost entirely flat, and there's still a thick scattering of dark freckles against her tan skin. What is new are the gleaming studs sticking out of both her pink nipples. They glisten in the stairwell's yellow light for a moment, then she pulls her shirt back down. "Cool, right?"\n\nYou blink a few times. "Cool. I thought your parents would flay you for it or something."\n\n"Pff, what can they do now? What could yours do to //you// now? You should come with me next time! We can match!"\n\n"Yeah, maybe."\n\n"Not maybe! You should definitely come."\n\n"Maybe!"\n\n<<else>>The two of you bicker for a while longer in the way you always do. Spending time with your decidedly abnormal friend always reminds you of how poorly you ever played the role. It's fun though. It's always fun. That's why you're friends. The rest of lunch passes without issue.<<else>><<endif>>\n\n[[Back to the churn of classes.]]

Why do you have to put up with this kind of thing? Really, you don't. Leaving is always a possibility. There's always the chance that just encourages them though. Once people know they can get under your skin somehow, a few of always do their best to make you itch. No point is giving them any kind of satisfaction, at least beyond what they're already receiving. \n\nTo that end, you grit your teeth and ignore the litany of squeaks, moans, and worse. Maybe a teacher would stumble in. Maybe the librarian would actually manage to record something. Neither seemed likely. Maybe something in the vast range of possible interruptions would occur. None of them do.\n\nThe bell rings eventually, but the experience has taken its toll. Feeling exhausted by fourth period is never a good sign.\n\n[[Back to the churn of classes.]]

It's the first full day you'll be facing at home after returning from orbital decon and debrief. Last night had been almost overwhelming. Your wife, feeling just as much of a rush at being in your presence as you feel in hers, and ending up just as wordless. Tabatha, your oldest, so clearly struggling between happier feelings and the same festering disappointment you have with yourself for being almost completely absent for so long. Spring, your younger, not caring about any of that and clinging to your arm. It's good to be home, even if it is overwhelming. You slept like a log, waking up at 13:00 to see that Spring skipped school to spend more time around you.\n\n"I feel sooo sick," she said when prompted, barely even making an effort to sound like it. You ruffle her dirty-blonde hair and tell her she's a terrible liar.\n\nIt's been three years since you last saw her. Back then, she was only really emerging from those difficult tween years. Not that they were that difficult on you personally. Playing along with her changing impulses to become a mad scientist, to founding a band, to all the other towering aspirations was fun. If anything, the hardest part was seeing her so distraught when those dreams dissolved. Spring's definitely more mature now, or at least does a good job acting it. Watching your daughter grow into her own person is a complicated feeling, especially when you missed so much of it.\n\nOld patterns return quickly. The two of you spend the day watching your favorite movies in the den, heavy shades closed and speakers far too loud. Heroes with chisled jaws and rippling muscles chainsawed their way through hordes of evil clowns, dog-headed cannibals, and bikers from hell. You smile, and shittalk the director's choices and the actor's bad accents. Spring howls with laughter through it all. Nothing like being home.\n\nAfter your wife comes back from work, after you've made dinner, after everyone goes to bed, you're still awake. Without the background hums and whirs of life in space, you find everying unnervingly quiet. Sleep never ends up coming.\n\n[[Tomorrow's another day.]]\n\n

There's a sign over the square that once advertised all the minimarts and micromalls that bordered the parking lot, but it's long fallen to ruin along with most of the stores. Some of the yellow lines of the asphault are still visible, and some of the concrete barriers are still standing. There are plenty of broken windows in the abandoned stores though, and plenty of old cars still sitting around. Proposals keep getting made by parents groups to clean up the whole place, but they always fall apart before reaching the city council.\n\nThis is the first time you've been here so early in the morning. None of the usual cliques are loitering about, and their absence breeds a certain sense of vulnerability. The aged security cameras certainly aren't looking out for you.\n\n[[Take refuge in the one functioning store.]]\n[[Hang out in an abandoned building.]]

What the hell? It's not like you live in Murder Central, USA. Even if there's been the occasional weirdo lurking around, they've never been anything worse than off-putting. And hey, maybe it's someone you know who had the same thought as you?\n\nPushing through the curtain that hung over the entrance, you immediately realize that it's not a usual at the place. How could he be? Big, that's the first noticeable thing. Big and more alien than most in these parts. Big scaly arms ended up blunted, metal-tipped claws, and a fleshy tale whipped out from inside his sagging pants. If you had to guess, he's probably about thirty, maybe thirty-five. The well-kept beard makes it hard to say, and his immediately attentive eyes don't seem fogged by any kind of age.\n\n"Piss off, kid," he rumbles.\n\n[[Piss off. Really, this time.|Take refuge in the one functioning store.]]\n[["You piss off first, old man."]]

-- -- <<set $tabbielastresponse to 1>>\nMessage history with Tabbie (blackholepoet@homemail.local)\n\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' Don't forget my boy's coming over tomorrow\n''[2120] Tabbie:'' So you have to at least try and act normal around him\n''[2121] Tabbie:'' For once\n''[0615] Spring:'' sure\n-- --\n\nShe's going to bug you later about what that 'sure' is supposed to mean, but that's just because she's never happy with anything.\n\n[[That's a problem for later.|Look at your phone.]]

Some old law mandates that every school retain a paper library in case of critical electronic failures, or economic equality, or something like that. St. Hackett's Academy has retaliated by ensuring that its library is incredibly meager and boring so as to not actually worry about students spending time there. Most of the books are old propaganda, older textbooks, and some truly ancient tomes on proper manners and the like. The only librarian is an antiquated robot with failing sensors and even worse motor control. In short, there's usually no one in else in the small room.\n\nThis time, two of your students are doing something untoward in here. Not that you can actually tell what's going on, but it's pretty clear //something// is. Every time you look up from your phone, one of them is showing some sign of enjoyed distress. Either the girl with bright pink braids and an enormous bust is squirming in her seat, or the equally bubblegummed boy with bulging muscles is blushing furiously. It's hard to not feel like you're being used as a component of whatever weird thing they're doing. So typical of couples.\n\nYou roll your eyes and go back to reading. Ignoring their whimpers is hard, though it's hard to say why.\n\n[[Maybe because it's annoying?]]\n[[Maybe because it's hot?]]

Descending the tight stairwell from your bedroom lets you out on the house's second floor. There's enough time to check in on the rest of the family though.\n\n[[Check out Tabbie's room.]]\n[[Check out Mom & Dad's room.]]\n[[Check out the bathroom.]]\n\n[[Head downstairs.]]

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You thump down the stairs, hurry to the door, and shove it open. There's plenty of time to get to school, but only if you don't miss the next magrail. But you probably won't miss that. Probably.\n\nThe front door clicks shut behind you. Sprawling out in front of you is Grasshaven, one of the many suburbs of the megasprawl that used to be named New Chicago. Two- and three-story buildings cluster the narrow streets around you, with ten- and twenty-story ones looming up around downtown. In the vast smoggy distance, you can just make out the outlines of the 200- and 300-story cloudpiercers.\n\nYou are a normal girl named Spring, and the world hardly recognizes your existence.\n\n[[Run for the magrail station.]]\n[[Take a very circuitous and ill-advised route to the magrail station.]]

You're mostly asleep by the time you take a seat on the magrail. Just awake enough to hear the passing stations, but nowhere near alert enough to care about the fact that your neighbor in the crowded car smells like old beer and fresh sweat. He should be happy to sit next to someone so inoffensively smelling as yourself, but saying that would be rude.\n\nIt starts raining again as you stumble out of Grasshaven's magrail station. Each drop stings as it hits exposed flesh, but not enough to prod you along any faster. You're sure to tuck Dad's cap under your sweatshirt at least. Going naked in the storm would be better than letting that get damaged.\n\n[[Arrive home after a long day.]]

Slander, of course, but amusing slander anyway. You grin impishly at Dreary, showing just a hint of your razor teeth through pink lips. He smiles too, an extremely wry one that you haven't seen on him all day. He gestures for you to step over next to him, and you giggle meanly as you do.\n\nHe wraps you up in his big hands. The dull, metal-capped nails dig against your pale skin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to remind you how big he is. You jolt and look up, only to be kissed deeply.\n\nYou kiss him back, more out of surprise than anything. The size different between your lips alone makes it a bit awkward, but it works. God, does it work. You've never had a kiss like this before, and you shudder a little as your lips meet, and press, and part, only to meet again right after. Soft. His lips are softer than you would have expected.\n\n"Like that, <<$springname>>?" he asks softly. You nod quickly. "Well, you've got my contact. Send another message sometime. See what happens. You seem like you might need some adventure."\n\n[[You nod, tasting your own lips as you do.|"Yeah, um, thanks! Same to you."]]

You edge open the door and peek in. Mom's asleep face-down on the bed, feet sticking from underneath the covers, head hidden under them. Her pink toes are wiggling in the dark room as she dreams.\n\nDad's still on his way back from the war. It ended a year ago, but shipping people half-way across the galaxy doesn't happen overnight. He's scheduled to return within the week, and that feels like it's taking a lifetime already.\n\n<<if visited("Check out Tabbie's room.")>>You checked Tabbie's room already.<<else>>[[Check out Tabbie's room.]]<<endif>>\n<<if visited("Check out the bathroom.")>>You checked the bathroom already.<<else>>[[Check out the bathroom.]]<<endif>>\n\n[[Head downstairs.]]

"That's a shame. I thought you'd get it."\n\n"What's there to get?" A lump forms in your stomach as you recall the scene. "Gore-Circus was way easier to watch."\n\n"Art's not supposed to be //easy//" he huffs. You wonder what he sees when he watches the movies. Not you, surely. It's all too weird. Way, way too weird. Gren would love it, but she's not here.\n\n[[You're here, and it's time to not be.|It's time to head home.]]