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Eszti's territorial. Walking into her apartment was a trespass. She'd have no reason to be here.

After all these years perhaps they've developed some notion of society, even religion. Open your mind to their theologies and they may accept you as their own.

Disbelief that anybody would do anything so vulgar as know this man.

She's seething. This could go very poorly.

More curious than horrified, interestingly enough.

She's going to eviscerate you later.

See -- he has a soul.

Firm but gentle. She doesn't envy you the choice.

She pauses for a moment of internal gloating.

Piqued, can't help herself.

No mystery as to who he wants getting down on their hands and knees.

How does it feel to come face-to-face with yourself?

Best to play along.

He's taken offense.

A measure of last resort. Reports state it being extremely painful for the recipient.

His soul is still new to the world, fresh and vulnerable. You need to walk him back one step at a time.

Her name seems to brush across your inner thigh.

A trace of concern. Lean into it.

It would be so very easy to believe her. As if for you and you alone, it's no act.

She casts it off, just like that. As if the phone was passed to a different person.

You are fucked up.

A soft, excited laughter folds into each word -- like sugar melting into warm cream.

His expression is soft, curious.

As for operant 'excommunications'... HOLOCENE is a case in point.

The text seems genuinely uncertain of what it is more interested in doing -- getting to the heart of the Opera's problems, or delivering the former director a literary pummelling.

It's his own current condition he is describing: the terminus of mistrust.

The work: To care for yourself, even and especially when no one else does.

It reads like he's mourning.

Could be anyone about to pick up. A total stranger, their life intruded.

She'd only tell you to get on an aero-tram back home again.

Recognition like that never goes amiss.

All HOLOCENE did was hunt for meaning... especially, perhaps, where it doesn't exist.

All HOLOCENE does is hunt for meaning... especially, perhaps, where it doesn't exist.

Not surprising. HOLOCENE's worldview isn't shared by many -- if anyone -- except the author of that particular book.

Artist types have their own uniform -- usually, whatever constitutes the opposite of formal.

A hint of suspicion.

She doesn't lack what's required of a boss, something else has dismantled her authority.

Finding order. She enjoys this, it keeps her together, grounded.

Some people's baseline is kindness.

This is the answer she wants to give -- carefully avoiding any mention of her 'sponsor'.

The inner core of people. She wants them to rip out whatever makes them tick.

Not a people person, then.

Translation: please, stop, I can't take this any more.

Her face softens -- an expression you haven't yet seen.

This is exactly her kind of thing.

False promises and disappointments? Those are two of your special abilities.

It occurs to you that this little magazine may well be the sum total of this woman's life and legacy.

It's almost like she's lost a fundamental part of herself.

Amid the heavy darkness that possesses her comes a sunny spell. It won't last long.

1,005 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 17 of 21