[b]White![/b]

"Well, you're coming at it at a disadvantage," 3V says, staring at the places where those black shorts pull taut. Mostly because, you know, it's a signifier. She stares because that's what you're supposed to do at a girlfriend. To a girlfriend? And that's part of the social bond of girlfriends. "Our central nervous systems are evolved to Make Monkey Go. All of that unconscious processing power. We spend years learning how to master it, and even then, we have to do things like sportsball games to [i]master[/i] it. Which is to say you're doing [i]really good[/i] compared to babies."

And then she giggles because that's the vibe, isn't it? World's Smartest Baby. The intense look of concentration before suddenly bursting into motion and then freezing up again.

And then she stops because that feels like an asshole move to laugh, and that clams her up. "You've got this," she says, as penance, because so much of social interaction is about penance, when you get down to it, all about penance or performance. "It took me ages to learn the hotkeys by heart, after all. And once you get down here, we've got [i]stretches.[/i]"

She waits until November glances back to do [i]big[/i] stretch. Will [i]that[/i] cost you a moment of processing power, dearest fake girlfriend? Or will Blue just spontaneously lock up somewhere?

[hr]

[b]Blue![/b]

"Oh, ah, jeez," 3V says, running calculations in her head so fast that they start ramming into each other and creating a cognitive conceptual bottleneck and how cool is this? How okay is this? This is her [i]house[/i]. Her workplace house. There are [i]customers.[/i] But this is a bit. And you have got to commit to the bit.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, her smile is the sweet poison of the scorpion sitting on top of the frog. "You played well," she says, and tugs the leash juuuust so. She stands, places one foot on her chair. "But you were doomed from the start, you adorable little android. It is not enough to [i]know[/i] the game, but you must..."

She places one hand on the back of Blue's head, the free hand, the hand that's not wrapping her glow-throbbing fingers around that leash. "[i]Feel[/i] the game in your heart. You must surrender reason to the passion of the dice. You must be vulnerable to their whims, and present yourself before the unfolding narrative with no shroud to hide behind."

She kisses the air in front of Blue's lips like a striking cobra, waggles her eyebrows as that grin sharpens, and then lets the leash fall slack with a flourish of those same fingers. "Can you put the miniatures up, dear? I've got to check something behind the counter." And there's nothing behind the counter to check, but it's... another move, call it. Seeing if the maid bit lands. A chance for Blue to contextualize losing, too.