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Cinny had managed to balance the stylus of her data pad between her nose and upper lip for nearly [i]five minutes[/i] when class suddenly ended, and she realized she’d missed most of the lecture. Oops. New record, but oops.

[i]“And don't forget that I want your essays on Isao Taiyōtawa in my databanks by Tuesday!”[/i]

Right, she knew she’d forgotten something. Essays, important robot history, big ol’ chunk of her final grade; she hadn’t started it yet. Oops, again. Seemed like she was going to have a few late nights ahead of her, which wasn’t a big problem. Cinny had always been a bit of a night-owl—everyone back home was, really. This wouldn’t be the first assignment she’d cranked out on a tight-deadline, and like the others, it wouldn’t be pretty but it’d keep her afloat. 

Some of her classmates enjoyed the history lessons, enjoyed learning about all of the egg-heads and big-wigs that’d built the mecha programs up, but Cinny just didn’t. It wasn’t why she was here. Isao Taiyōtawa was probably very smart, and very important—you didn’t name schools after idiot nobodies—and like every other hero and scientist they’d learned about, he wouldn’t matter when it came time to actually pilot. The bullets weren’t going to fly any faster because she knew Taiyōtawa’s favorite color. 

The lot of them were herded into the cafeteria. She waited in line, never overly eager to get first-slop. They’d had weeks to adjust to the academy’s tailored-diet, and while the groaning had mostly stopped, she knew better than most that silence was not the same as complacence. Cinny hadn’t said anything the whole time, and she [i]hated[/i] the paste. Every meal was a reminder of how nice she’d had it back on the farm. Sure, things were usually tight, dark, and miserable, but in addition to good company she could always count on a well-cooked meal at the end of the day. Not all of the invasive creatures introduced to her home were safe to eat, but some were. Some were downright delicious. 

Finally seated, Cinny stared down at the goop on her tray, mouth twisted in distaste, and started to eat. 

“Hey.”

Someone sat down across from her at the long table, an upper-classman she didn’t recognize. He had an untouched tray of his own goop, and he looked at her with the sort of muted intrigue of someone who didn’t want to appear desperate. But Cinny had been dealing with looks like that for weeks now, she knew exactly why he was here. 

“I heard you, uh…” he mumbled. Cinny cocked a brow, feigning ignorance, and the student chewed his lip. “You’re Cincinna, right? Uh, sorry, I mean Cinny.”

She nodded, and he stared at her until it became clear that she wasn’t going to offer anything else. Something approaching frustration seeped onto his face. “This stuff tastes like solid-vomit,” he said, poking the goop with his fork. “And word is you…like…have stuff that doesn’t taste like that. Maybe. Right?”

Cinny put a finger on her chin and batted her lashes at him. [color=BBF6FF][i]Who, me?[/i][/color] she seemed to say. 

“Yeah,” he said. Most people were quick to pick up what she put down. A bit impatiently he added, “so do you or not?”

He was reaching a familiar point, she saw, contemplating whether or not that sweet, delectable contraband was worth putting up with her. Unlike most students who got their hands on—admittedly harmless—illicit goodies, Cinny didn’t charge, but people who came to her thinking that meant they got stuff for free were always sorely mistaken. The price was that they were subjected to Cinny’s weird bullshit. 

Ugh, she loved it. It was so hard to find reasons to smile up here.

Cinny conceded, nodding, but just when he seemed ready to thank her, she held up a finger. He watched exasperated as she tugged down one of her sleeves, showing that it was empty, and then did the same to the other.

“What are you doing.”

She twinkled her fingers, waving her hands in mystical circles. Lem used to chant ridiculous incantations when he did parlor tricks, Cinny just turned up the gestures. He flinched when she reached out at him, but stilled at a placating look from her. Her hand went past his face and into his hair, and she screwed up her face with mock-puzzlement, only to pop her mouth into a little [i]‘o’[/i] imitating discovery. Then, as if from thin air, she produced a Zhenko bar from behind his ear.

Lem would have said something like: [i]“Now how did that get back there?”[/i] Cinny just mimed amazement. The student blinked. He was more than just unamused, he was now openly aggravated. Without so much as a thank-you, he snatched the bar from her, stuffed it into his pocket, and stalked off with his tray.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she heard him mutter under his breath. 

Cinny was beaming. The next bite of goop didn’t taste quite so bad.[/indent][/indent][/indent]