[b]Orange:[/b]

“I haven’t.” Here Starlight is caught flickering between a number of awkward confessions, caught trying to work out the least of them. You’ve dusted her bookshelves, and you doubt she’s bought a work of fiction since law school - and even then, those yellowed spines are mostly young-adult comfort food. There’s no accounting for what’s in her digital library, sure, but bookshelves aren’t obsolete, they remain a critical form of expression. No other decoration makes such a profound statement of their owner. 

Hers is filled with the biographies of scientists and technical histories, but no science-fiction, classic or otherwise. If she does read any fiction, she’s not sentimental enough to get it in print. 

And that, it seems, clinches the argument. Orange is following social rules that Starlight is ignorant of. This is no longer a bargain; this is a [i]faux pas[/i]. And just like that, Orange climbs another notch. 

Starlight clears her throat. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I think everyone’s just going to be happy it’s not pizza again. It’s…” She rubs her forehead with the heel of her palm, massaging it hard. “It’s work friends, but it’s not meant to be a work thing. I’m so sorry, you’re obviously trying to help, and I obviously need it.”

Who are you bringing? 

[b]Pink and Persephone:[/b]

"Well yeah," York says to Elodie with a smirk, "Whole point is I'm going to be [i]lying[/i], aren't I?" Blink and you'd miss it, York’s across the room with one arm around Marco’s shoulder. There are stars in his eyes, and a carnival barker’s grin. “I’m the editor of the Anthropozine. I’ve heard you’re going to be our fulcrum.” 

Marco blinks, trying to work out if he’s just too tired to understand, or if York genuinely didn’t make sense. “Fulcrum?” 

“Some Greek guy once said, give me a big enough lever and a fulcrum to place it, and I can move the world. You’re that fulcrum. You’re also my Dreyfus,” and he twists Marco by the shoulders to face Pink, “And her Prometheus.” 

Marco blinks and rubs his eyes again. “Okay. That makes sense.” It sounds half-sincere, but it’s a very valiant half that means it.

York looks the mouse up and down. He pulls Marco’s hoodie down for a moment to assess him, then pulls it back up. “Alright, you’re already camera-ready. The dead-mouse-walking look sells you as authentic. We’re going to need six hours of interview, then someone’s going to figure out how to drop you down to Earth. You think you can do that for me?”

“What?” York’s talking too fast for him - Marco’s eyes widen as he catches up to what he’s hearing. 

“Going to need some things from you first,” York plows through, “I’m going to need your home address, I’m going to need the contact details of all your closest friends and family, and I’m going to need access to your banking details.” 

Marco blinks and looks past York, over at Elodie. “[i]What[/i]?” 

In an instant, York sweeps the mouse into a big hug and squeezes. It’s a shockingly sudden and deeply sincere gesture, with Marco’s head resting on York’s shoulder and a hand rubbing just behind his huge, round ears. York just holds the mouse in silence for a few seconds. Then; “Listen, Marco. I’m really sorry about everything that’s about to happen.”

York breaks the hug, and Marco sways on his feet as he finds his own balance again. “What’s going to happen?”

But York’s already focused on you two, again. “Someone needs to go to his place and sweep it for everything. Drugs, storage media, laptops, cell phones. Take lots of pictures, before and after the sweep. I want to know what’s already missing, and what they’re going to attack this guy with. What’s the ‘he’s no angel’ narrative going to be? Then we need to hit everyone he’s close to. I’ll message Junta to clone a debit card and get him to try and buy something from a convenience store in Gaia, see if his accounts have been frozen yet." He checks his phone and remembers he's taken the battery out of it. Puts it back in his pocket without fixing it. "Someone else can figure out a way to smuggle our guy here to Selene safely.” He grimaces. “Persephone, I think you should do the apartment sweep. Go in ready for a fight. Fast as you like.”

That wakes Marco up. "Apartment 14, 272 Bostrom street, in Judith Butler. Apollo. Modern Apollo, I'll write it down. I've got a laptop and a desktop, all my external storage should be gone already. If you find any there, it might be someone else's, so don't plug it in to anything. Don't check. I keep all my medication in the bathroom mirror." Then, with a meek voice but hands balled into fists at his side, "Do I really need to go to Earth? Can't I stay here and, and fight? Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" 

York's firm on that one, but he looks to you two for backup - or dissent. 

[b]White:[/b]

“Heavens.” The unicorn smiles, and her companion stops in her train of thought, like a concrete bollard stops a cyclist at the bottom of a hill. “Another one.” 

The companion looks up from the book with an amused smile. “You do like to collect them, don’t you?”

“[i]Them[/i], she says,” The unicorn directs to you with an amused tone. “How soon she forgets. I’m Crystal. And you and I are going to have a wonderful [i]tête-à-tête[/i] the moment you can figure out whether you want to be me, or have me. Take your time. This one’s good at sharing.” 

“You’ll have better luck with ‘have’ than ‘be’.” The companion raises an eyebrow, finding her place in her book again. “She has personality like Rembrandt has paintings. In this curator’s opinion, anyway.” 

“You can see why I keep her around.” Crystal brushes a tress of her mane out of her eye, twirls a finger through it to curl it with the main body flowing down behind her ear. The result is perfect, even without a mirror, even though the gesture is unconscious. “She must like you, though. She went with a Dutch master, and not a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.” 

“Fiona.” The companion says, giving a two-finger wave while focusing on her reading. “I’m not jealous, no. Feel free to pretend I don’t exist.” 

“Now.” Crystal is within arm’s reach now. She trails fingertips from White’s elbow to her wrist, and then that impossibly soft hand draws White’s hand towards her lips, to kiss the back of her hand in a gesture that the unicorn elevates from old-fashioned to timeless. “You have my attention, but I don’t have your name.”