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"Right. Right. All I needed to kn—"
"Oh, thank god." Teddy snatches his glasses off and scrubs at his eye. "I-I-I thought you'd have more questions... or you'd want me to really go into detail, or... whew. I-I, uh, I—"
"Gil?"
He replaces the glasses. "Yeah?"
"Oh." You process. "That was really easy? I didn't have to slap you or—"
"Yeah, I-I-I, uh... I've been staying sort of lucid while I... you know." He glances down. "So did that help? Did you decide?"
"Um, the tents sound..." Extremely pagan. But <span class="mu-i">very</span> magyck. You battle yourself. "...interesting. I think it'd be useful to know, um, the future..."
"Aren't <span class="mu-i">we</span> the future?" Gil says.
You hadn't considered this. "Yes? But— but I still think it'd— whatever. Maybe we're not. Or maybe that'll still come in handy? It doesn't matter. That's the plan."
"...And we're doing the waterfall? Not doing it? I-I thought the plan was..."
"Good idea." You snap your fingers. "You stand in line, I'll go receive premonitions— nay, prophecies— of vital importance. Indeed. This shalt goeth forth as... um... yes."
Gil stares at you.
"So go stand in line! I'll catch up with you when I'm done."
"Aw... um..." He shifts. "I-I-I mean, I guess that makes sense..."
"It's your sworn duty," you prompt.
"Standing in lines? Sorry. Um... could you... could you at least..." He thrusts his hands suddenly into his coat and comes out with a teeming palmful of beetles. (They're different than usual, mottled green and beige.) "So I-I can know what's going on? I mean, <span class="mu-i">I</span> won't know, but he'll, um..."
You squint down at the proffered beetles. "I guess?"
"You just need to keep them real contained until he separates, or they're gonna try and head back over to me..." Gil's voice is getting progressively weaker. "Um, i-it's like a magnet... you know magnets?"
"Yes?"
"Oh. Um, I-I-I think you better just..." He pours the beetles into your waiting arms. "Okay. Bye."
"Bye?"
He hurries off across the glade while the beetles in your arms lurch after him. You clamp down to stop them and, after a moment's thought, cradle the whole ball of them against your chest. Then, thinking harder, you stiffly unbutton a pocket, scoop up the few escapees, and stuff the ball inside. You button the pocket back up.
It periodically thumps and squirms, but you pay that little heed as you too head across the glade and slip into the "PRECOGNITIONS" line. It's only after a wan "Aw, shit" trickles out that you startle, glance toward the waterfall line (Gil is out of sight), and unbutton the pocket.
"Thanks..." The beetles from your pocket sound uncertain about that. "I-I-I don't know why I suggested this. It was dumb. I-I should've just stayed in the line like a, a, a normal person, not a—"
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