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Your name is Ellery Routh, local oddball, though you'd dispute the title: you're normal, you think, it's just that strange things keep happening to you. You've reached some measure of peace with this, though the recent surgical re-integration of your alter ego That Guy has jangled your nerves. Fortunately, this evening, you and your girlfriend Maddie are going on a date.
"It's not a date," Maddie informs you, in the acrid bad-mood tone. (Not to be confused with the regular acrid tone.)
"What?"
"You have a look."
Though the actual blood-connection-doohickey has long since worn off, or possibly ceased to exist in all timelines, Maddie has retained an uncanny ability to read your mind. You don't consider this fair play. "I have a look that says 'it's a date?' Sorry? Has a whole new hand— hand— 'looksign' been developed while I wasn't paying attention, and if so, how do you—"
"Ah, so you admit you aren't paying attention." She chucks you on the shoulder as she squeezes past you. "Not that that's a hard guess. Anyhow, it's <span class="mu-i">not</span> a date. It's business."
"Which I'm going along on. Which is a rare occurrence, meaning, Maddie, it's a special occasion, if you think about it, and it's just the two of us, and it's a real nice night..." You spread your hands. "Am I missing any requirements?"
She scowls, lacking an argument, or the energy to make one: she's been bustling around all day on capital-B Business. You don't know how she does it. "It can also be business," you add helpfully. "It could be a business date, which— I mean, do you think that's been done before? We could be real trailblazers, you know. We could go on a business date, the first <span class="mu-i">ever</span> known to man, and afterwards write a little booklet on, you know, tips and tricks, and—"
"Please—" and you watch the visible struggle on her face to contain the 'shut up.' "<span class="mu-i">Please,</span> Ell. Shit. I just need you to sit there and stare the guy down and not say anything, and I mean <span class="mu-i">anything.</span> Swallow a big rock if you've got to. I'll handle it, it won't take that long, and then we can go back and..."
You raise your eyebrows expectantly.
"...I can pass out. Get <span class="mu-i">out</span> of the gutter. I'm exhausted."
You've been hearing this a lot, which strikes you as funny, since you're the one who's been operated on. "Why not bring <span class="mu-i">Monty</span> with you, then?"
"What? He's always busy, and it's not camp busi..." She studies your expression. "Dumbass."
You stick your hands in your pockets.
"As I've <span class="mu-i">told</span> you, he's unfathomably married, and <span class="mu-i">moreover</span> has the sexual energy of a- a gingerbread man. You should feel more threatened by Fitz." Her spear. "Come here, idiot."
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