You stare at the woman who has accosted you in the street. She's blonde, with black eyes that something urges you to call "obsidian orbs" or "two limpid puddles of ink" or "gates of the abyss".
[CHECK: Cosmicomics Awareness: Easy.]
3 + 4 = 7+3 = 10. Success.
This is a sign of the powers of Chaos when unconstrained by the discipine of the Way.
COSMICOMICS AWARENESS: Yeah. It's a warning sign. Like an electric dosimeter in a nuclear power plant. You can't check your film badge, but you can check the little beepy thingy around your neck.
TRIVIALORE: Oh, it's Send Valu. One of your fellow demigodesses, though of uncertain origins and a party-hard demeanor. Many people refer to her as the "Eighth Problem from Dorastor".
YOU: Not to her face, I hope.
[EXTRO-EMPATHY: Challenging]
EXTRO-EMPATHY: That look on her face... she's torn between impulse and responsibility, and it's a new feeling for her. She doesn't like it. She seems vulnerable.
[HEROINE OF THE RAZOR: Easy]
HEROINE OF THE RAZOR: You could lift her with one hand and place the other just under her chin, ready to jab inward and collapse her throat. Might not kill her, but if you ever wanted to shut her up...
SEND VALU: I heard about your amnesia, Jar-Eel. I... if there's anything I can do to help, then...
The air of a question hangs over the scene.
Thank you for the offer. I shall have to think about it.
I know what your "help" is like, and I'm nasally ready to snort lines off of you, Sendie.
No. Not now. Likely not ever.
[HEROINE OF THE RAZOR: Trivial] I thirst, Sendie. Without the comfort of memory, the yearning grows too strong to control. [Break her arm with one hand.]
[EXTRO-EMPATHY: Impossible] I know what you want, sweet Send Valu, sent here as tempter and mocker. Gimme sugar, baby, and if you're good I'll fold you in half later.
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