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Eye contact, two firm shakes, release. Easy. “Pleasure meeting you, ma’am.” What the fuck script was that from. “Looking forward to our business in the future.” Joke. Escape with a joke. “I do hope you’ll consider my restroom proposal further.” Why. Before she could kill him, he went for the door.

That gave Zane a hint of a smile. “Yeah. At least I remember something.” He nodded and stood, resolute. “It’s settled, then. You’ll pick the movie, and I’ll pick the food. Steel is immune to poison, right? Your ‘food’ might kill me.” He adjusted his bag and turned to offer his hand for a shake...

Zane shrugged. “Not so bad.” God, he needed a drink—right! The flask. He fished a flask out of his bag, “In loving memory of Jefferson,” inscribed on the side and took a swig. “Nothing to remember. Nothing to miss.”

Then came self-awareness, Zane’s most foreign awareness. He immediately sat down and had nothing to pretend to not have anything to not really be doing dammit. “Amnesia. Don’t remember much about when I was human,” he mumbled.

Zane wrinkled his nose. “That’s even worse. You’ll either pick a Phantasm or Rockwell’s Empir—“ he lost his train of thought. “What are... I’ve never seen a—“ he jumped up in excitement. “I’ve never seen a movie! I remember them! I remember movies!”

Zane frowned and picked up his empty poképouch. “No change for me,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, though,” he winked at her with a smirk. “No restraining order’s ever stopped me.” He stuffed the empty pouch back in his bag, but kept his eyes on her. He closed his bag and pointed his...

“Do it? Satisfaction?” His expression twisted into mock revulsion. “Now now, little miss riolu, I’m flattered, but sorry. I might need to buy a house within a mile radius of a school someday.” He inspected his claws, pretending he had any idea how to clean them. Did zangoose sharpen their claws...

Zane raised one eyebrow. “Kinky.”

Zane decided it would be best to let her down easy. He raised his arms in surrender (and preemptive self-defense). “All right, all right, sorry.” He calmly returned to his seat, reclining on air. “I got so excited that you liked me, I forgot my moves only work on chicks.” His smile waited for...

Curio was going to kill him. “Oh no, not at all.” Zane shook his hands and head, but stayed kneeling. “I’m incredible at picking up chicks. Just watch me.” He stood, wrapping one arm around her along the way and then holding her over his head.

“Real screwed up shit, eh?” Zane propped his head up on his fist, claw tapping his chin. Then, as smooth as silk, he knelt next to her barstool with one outstretched claw and a pleasant smile. “May I take you to the bathroom, m’lady?”

Zane held his head in his hands. He was so lost. Trapped. He couldn’t even come up with an excuse to book it. He was utterly screwed. He started to laugh. It was stupid. It didn’t make sense. It was hilarious. He couldn’t stop until his head rested on his arms on the bar. He looked at Curio...

“Don’t hate, right.” Zane nodded along despite not at all understanding the basic premise that she didn’t hate him. “Guess that makes us—“ the bottles were gone. He didn’t have anything to fiddle with but his claws. Panic. He was out of plans. He needed to evacuate. Escape plan. Easy. He...

“Somewhere?” Where were they going? Was she asking him to go somewhere? Out? What was she planning? It wouldn’t matter. Zane would take the lead right out from under her. She couldn’t fool him. “Wh-where are we going?”

“Do, you don’t...” Zane struggled to switch gears. Did she just psychoanalyze him, or did she just repeat his own thoughts back to him? “You don’t hate me.” Were they moving too fast? What was he supposed to say back? Was it hot in here? “Th-thanks. You, too.”

“You don’t—“ Zane clasped the bridge of his nose. “If you don’t want to see me waste away, what the hell is the point of any of this?” He seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but didn’t make any attempt to muffle his words. “Bunch of stupid heroes,” he decided with a resolute scowl. “You’re...

Some synapses in Zane’s brain clicked—snapped, really. She was still here. Curio was still listening to him. “You...” the realization truly hit him, a punch to the gut that left him breathless. “Wait, are you saying you—“ not even worth entertaining that idea. She had her reasons to stay, he was...

Zane shrugged. “I might. Who’s stopping me?” He looked for the blue reflection of his shadow, but only saw his own face wrapped around each bottle. It didn’t say a word either. “Who cares?”

She’s right. You’re just you. “‘You’re just you,’” Zane echoed. “Tell me, then, who am I?” He put the bottle down to hold his head up instead. “You used to call me Blueberry. You used to smile when you saw me. Then, we got to know each other better.” His claws rapped against the bar. “I’m just...

The memory of scotch lost its flavor: Zane hoped the rum would fare better. “No, it doesn’t hurt to think before you speak.” Even the rum’s fumes had faded. “Have you ever thought after?” Tell them that it’s all a lie until there’s nothing left inside. He didn’t have high expectations for the...