The push and pull. The fear and the exhilaration. I shouldn’t do this, I want to do this. I should be the responsible one—

But she can’t talk.

That’s her thing, that’s her strength. She can talk and talk and [i]talk[/i] when she needs to. A performance, a barrage of patter, taking control of the conversation because so many people are bad at it. You learn that early online. There’s no test to be a fan, no “you must be this good at using a keyboard,” let alone to try and send messages, to try and connect. Like everything else in the world that requires a bit of skill and consideration, a lot of people really aren’t good at intentionally socializing. Thus, the 3V theory of bars: getting drunk is a necessary social lubricant so that there’s more of a level playing field.

Wasn’t she here on business? She’s got to write a thing. She’s got words about music and about dancing and about how sometimes it’s okay for a place to be a place for your people, but that doesn’t mean there’s no room for new blood (but in a way that makes it clear she’s not talking about ethnostates, find a different fandom metaphor, maybe cooking?). She’s supposed to be finding the angles and making sure Black November has a great time and learning more about what makes this really cool android girl tick.

She nuzzles her lips into Black’s palm and whines, and holds one artificial but human hand against another (because November’s a person, humanity’s an umbrella, someone said that once and she stole it and ran with it) and presses it [i]firmly[/i]. She shouldn’t be doing this. This is kink in public. There’s a whole discourse. One of the others could tell Black about it. Green? No, she’s terminally online differently. Blue? Too much of a sweetheart. Black’s fingers tighten imperceptibly and 3V lets out a needy whimper and her other hand finds Amie’s and their fingers curl together.

Permission. God, the permission. Stop thinking, 3V. Stop making decisions. Do the thing that feels good. Isn’t that what nightclubs are for? Being young and pretty and dumb? And the cover story is that they’re dating and November wouldn’t let that spin out of control. Nobody’s going to call them out for this. It’s okay. Relax, Vesna. Let go of the conversation and the evening. You don’t have to make it all line up.

“Mmmmfff,” she says, and feels safe to do so.