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"—agreement. Sounds fun, doesn't it? And all you've gotta do is look right here."
You're actually lost in thought now— you don't even see Mr. Suit approaching the counter. The crazy-eyes girl is obvious enough. (Not the helping part. You know who she is, you mean.) But who's "Casey"? Tell him what? And why does a big lizard give a shit?
Mr. Suit, just a few feet away from you, is witnessing your flagrant disregard for him right up close. It's not surprising, in retrospect, that he leans forward and <span class="mu-i">pounds</span> the counter with his meaty fist. "<span class="mu-s">LOOK HERE.</span>"
He managed to jolt your chair, too. You snap to attention.
"<span class="mu-s">THANK</span> you." Mr. Suit straightens, but his hands don't unclench. "Now we can have a fun chat. Can't we...?"
"Roscoe," you mutter.
"Can't we, Roscoe? You see, I'm here on behalf of another local business, Heads—"
You would hardly call Headspace a 'local business.' You're pretty sure they plopped their HQ here because Lindew's Landing was sufficiently unregulated, at least until the Wind Court rolled in. "I know where you're from."
"Fan-<span class="mu-i">tabulous!</span>" His pep seemed a tad gritted. "You've been here for quite a while, haven't you? This building's a bonafide antique! Practically falling down! Have you ever considered an upgrade?"
"You're not here to sell me a new building," you say.
"Oh, but aren't I? Oh-ho-ho! Now we're cooking! You see, Roscoe, your neighbors over at Headspace— we happen to <span class="mu-i">be</span> in the new building business. About the newest, the <span class="mu-i">sleekest,</span> the bravest, the most forward-thinking you can get— and you can get there in a snap! Literally! Imagine this very establishment, but large, clean, spacious, sunny— yes, with sunlight— packed to the proverbial gills with more merchandise than you'd see in a year. An establishment that could receive customers not <span class="mu-i">just</span> from this town, but from across the far stretches of the seafloor. From the <span class="mu-i">City.</span> Can you imagine such a thing?"
You're trying not to, but Mr. Suit, when actually listened to, has a way with words. His dorky sunglasses practically glow. "Except it's not real, right?"
"Headspace," says Mr. Suit solemnly, "doesn't prefer the term 'not real.' We prefer the term 'Real+.' Like reality, but better."
You would not normally be going along with this. You don't even have an excuse this time for why you are. "Uh, okay. Except it's Real+, right?"
"Yes! Precisely!" Mr. Suit pounds on the counter again, this time out of joy(?). "Headspace <span class="mu-i">plusses</span> your real, Roscoe. We offer experiences and lifestyles you just can't <span class="mu-i">get</span> all the way down here, and we offer them for free. You heard that right. Dead free. Why? Because I founded the damn thing, and I have a <span class="mu-i">passion</span> for improving the lives of as many people as I possibly can. This is why I'm coming to you personally, Roscoe. This is why I wanted to have a man-to-man chat with you. I could've sent a flunkey, but did I? No. Because I want to share my <span class="mu-i">passion.</span>"
