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You're making her uncomfortable.

Hopeful, shy. She just needs some gentle encouragement.

'A Canny Method'? An Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre?!

Hunched over the phone, desperately thumping his half-flaccid cock while teenagers laugh just a few feet away. Duchess' voice in his ear, claiming that it wants him.

The dishes she hands you are hot, clean, and faintly lemon scented.

Sounds like how her sister in the magazine offices dredged out your cryptonym.

Neither particle nor wave, but some other fundamental entity, uniting and penetrating all things at once.

Become foam-gäng.

What she's describing is hyper-tier psychic surgery. Someone like you could do massive damage with such a technique.

Your heart flutters, races. This is scary -- awesome!

Your body dissolves, separates, but coheres.

You can still feel hard edges against you, even as your mind splits into pieces.

Sounds like how the EMTERR interrogator in the magazine offices dredged out your cryptonym.

Oh no, oh no. We've made her cry.

She's a raging cunt full of knives.

Big money foreign girl, spending money on space she doesn't even use.

She looks away, too quickly. She wishes she could play it off, but it rings a bit too true.

You activated a protective drive in her. Her sister will always be her sister. She can't let you threaten that.

Hold on, that's this woman's sister?

Relief, but with a hint of dread.

She looks away, uncomfortable.

He's reading you in return. A man trained by an informal school.

A place where you grow up with the same people, watch their faces change, their dogs die. It's home.

Does this man have any regard for operational opacity?

Bravado. Nothing else.

They had the rare kind of bond that cannot be described.

The outlandish jacket, the promises, the smooth flirtations -- all performance. But whatever he's feeling about this certainly isn't.

A warning. From the heart.

A respectable show of how to maintain one's cover.

Making Goat Eyes look like a snitch, with none of the perks.

Tritos 91. A highly-inebriated Operant CASCADE (schnapps count: ??) is pulled over for 'reckless tuk-tuk driving'.

And he just happened to come across it?

Words that echo of marble, drums, and banners.

He makes it sound like curiosity, but it's concern.

Not wanting to be seen together. But why?

One of us, until the end.

Holed up for days on end, frying your circadian rhythm for The Work. A mangled part of you craves it, always.

Defences going up -- but curiosity as well.

A steady crowd noise drifts over from that direction.

The Azzurris smelled something was off about it, then.

A courtesy he'd like to be mutual.

The words roll off his tongue, smooth as the smoky bergamot cologne he's wearing.

'Fell off' the back of a tuk-tuk.

The way his lip curls -- revulsion, as if he'd smelled meat left to rot in the sun.

You know the feeling, and how to put it into words for him.

Both fake and shit.

Smells like rubber bands, hardly vegetal. It is also very obviously dry.

Someone's used to improvising pitches.

3,496 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 12 of 70