Miss Miere Marks You Maidenless

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<<nobr>> <<set $costumeshavea = 1>> <<set $costumeshaveb = 1>> <<set $dollarfistfuls = 0>> <<set $smwswin = 0>> <<set $cigpack = 0>> <</nobr>> The best idea is //never// to leave. Stick around for as long as possible, don't eat anything, just cook, clean, and wait. Don't eat, don't leave. She'll make sure you don't //starve//, and that's more than they'd do back home. That's all the posters said, cook and clean, be good, join the revolution. Simple. Such nice posters, too, such //nice// imagery. But as you were wiping the dust off some lightswitch cover, a millisecond movement, mostly muscle memory, you heard something quite terrible. Not a voice, or even a scream, just a slow, mechanical whirring, telling you quite clearly, that your time avoiding trouble by staying here is probably coming to an end. It's quite sad, you'd enjoyed the meals. Fried oysters, and roasted duck, garlic and rosemary, dill and lavender. Exotic meats, lab grown meats, just wave your hands through her refrigerator's catalogue, each requisition displayed before you with some hologram, sparkling in the air, your mind forming the scent all on its own, if inaccurately. Another arcane hand signal, and it's headed through the air, right to her building's mailyard. Mask on, grab her keys, head downstairs, and smile your way through the elevator eyes of the older ladies at the customs counter. You'd had a lot of fun with the balls of dough, and she'd loved every single dessert. She'd seemed nice. So why are you currently looking at so many guns? So much european money? So many bundles of what is actually marked, "organic cocaine"? Why? Doesn't she work for the party? Doesn't she have a high-level degree? Why didn't she //close// the safe that you're looking into? So many questions. She doesn't answer them, instead, demanding to know, over her apartment's intercom, why in the actual ''fuck'' you have decided to ''fuck with'' her __''shit''__. She no longer seems nice. <<linkreplace "put on a surgical mask" t8n>> [[run away from this situation as fast as you can|0C]] <</linkreplace>>

You instinctively begin to freeze, as you realize where you are, and what you're looking at. A young man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, is surrounded by a group of what look like junior college boys, and a few topless university students. Most of the boys are yelling and pointing at the man, but a couple of the braver ones kick at him. The university girl grabs the man's skateboard out of the hands of two boys, who were trying fruitlessly to snap it in half. She calmly saunters over to the man, motions the boys away, and begins beating the man with his own skateboard. The thumping of heavy bass drums form a rhythm, for her to add her own percussion to. After a few whacks, she and her compatriot cable tie his motionless arms and legs together, before ordering two of the boys to load the man onto a stretcher. As they cart him off further down Rosy-Hall, you do what everyone else does. Keep walking and try not to look concerned. <<linkreplace "vibe with the violence" t8n>> <<set $vibed = 1>> As quickly as it happened, it's over. The man is carted away, what little blood was left in the street is covered in a grey powder and swept up, and the party continues. It's easy enough to look past the boys, or briefly smile at their university sisters, before coquettishly returning to your business. Quickly scanning the local establishments, you notice a mostly empty sodapop bar, a much larger and busier Social Credit Stores office, and a couple of specialty stores for new grooms. [[Head into the sodapop bar|1B]] <</linkreplace>> [[sashay your little ass back to the square|0C-ii]]

Out into the street, with at least as much that you'd come with, and nicer clothing, as well. Even if it's mostly costumes. It's easy enough to trade those off to somebody at a bar, they're the expensive kind. Obviously not the bar you'd met her at, though, she's //definitely// a regular. The first thing that catches your eye is the new banner, placed sometime between now and the last time you'd left her apartment building. It's actually been a little while, so it's not surprising to find the banner changed. Last time, it said some really crazy shit, like <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">YOUR EFFORT AND SACRIFICE WILL LIBERATE THE OPPRESSED</span><</nobr>>, in silver lettering, on a violet background. This time, it says something slightly less intense. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">OUR MESSAGE IS WORLD PEACE</span><</nobr>>, once again, silver lettering on a violet backing. Beneath, there is, as usual, a small collection of two-panel bamboo folding tables, each full of various hot foods and cool groceries for distribution to families. You see a number of thin, middle aged men standing in line, waiting for the party's goodies, to supplement their collection of regular stores rations. Their wives will be pleased to have fresh vegetables and cheese products in their dinner tonight. Most likely the men will also be home in time to finish tidying, and even help their kids with homework. These men have ''wives''. __Paperwork__. They don't //need// to wiggle their hips past the building security girls, or chat up the customs ladies. They don't need to find a wine bar, either. You do. <<linkreplace "check the businesses around" t8n>> On this block, there are a number of small shops and boutiques. Although most of them are currently quite empty, things do pick up during the evening, when party members go out drinking and shopping with their husbands and co-workers. During the daytime, you'd sometimes see small groups of college boys, led by their beret-clad party sisters. They'd be found shuffling through the discount sections of the stores, trying to find the best deals for their sisters and aunties. All of //them// have perfect papers, as well. <</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "close your eyes" t8n>> They're serving some type of animal meat, that much is sure, and it sure does smell toasty. There's a hint of garam masala spice in whatever it is that they're eating. You can also find the starchy scent of rice being freshly cooked. They'll probably be turning out an entire 20kg bag of the stuff by moonrise. You can hear techno music coming from Rosy-Hall st. Coming from Mother York st, you can hear intermittent cheering and laughter.<</linkreplace>> [[Quietly shuffle down to Rosy-Hall street, to the West|1A]] [[Quietly shuffle down Mother York street, to the East|2A]]

This street is crowded, with numerous ladies, femboys, and brother youths hanging out, some in their party uniforms, others wearing local fashions. All of them have proper paperwork, so nobody's checking to make sure. There's a large group in the middle of the street, standing to watch some arcade sporting tournament. On the side of one of the buildings, a large screen displays the game, a 2D fighting competition featuring characters from "Star Maiden Warrior Sisterhood", an imported and dubbed animation, popular among young children, in some form or another, for the past 30 years. The maidens jump around and shoot fireballs and electricity bolts at each other, as the crowd cheer and place bets on the outcome. The tournament is being held in front of a large arcade called "Aunt Dora's Gaming Village". Neon lit signs promise 2D, 3D, AR, and Holographic entertainment experiences. <<linkreplace "Blend into the crowd" t8n>> Star Maiden Warrior Sisterhood fans encompass almost the entirety of the Canadian youth population, and much of the wider Ladies' Renaissance besides. The crowd is full of Canadians, with a few visitors from Romania and America, as well. Brothers, Sisters, and Femboys are represented quite equally, although there seem to be less brothers, overall. It smells surprisingly nice in the crowd, nicer than you'd think it would. You look up at the screen, the light blue and white background sprites calming you, immediately. The dance of the two maidens, each controlled by a focused party girl, is rather entrancing on its own, but soon enough, your attention is drawn towards a circle of femboys. A short one is taking skirts and tops, some with tags still on, as collateral for betting. After each match, they hand US dollar payouts to the winners. You instinctively feel inside your bag. You feel <<if $costumeshavea == 1>> a really expensive maid outfit, <</if>> <<if $costumeshaveb == 1>> a really nice nightgown that shimmers in two or three colors, and is //very// soft, <</if>> some foundation, and a few empty vape cartridges from when you still vaped. <<if $cigpack >= 1>>There's a bunch of cigarettes in there too, packed with a matchbook.<</if>> <<linkreplace "bet your maid outfit" t8n>> <<if $costumeshavea == 1>> In retrospect, and looking at it in the light of day, this maid outfit is a little embarrassing, actually. Moreso than the nightclothes. It's also quite expensive, and made of very nice fabrics, that shimmer and dance in the sun. You'll probably be able to get something out of it simply on that alone. <<linkreplace "Engage in Sports Betting" t8n>> <<set $costumeshavea = 0>> <<nobr>> <<set $smwswin = random (0, 100)>> <<if $smwswin <= 40>> Your chosen player fought well, their skillful timing and quick reflexes relieving you of your ridiculous maid outfit, and rewarding you with about triple what it's worth. Two fistfuls of American Dollars. <<set $dollarfistfuls += 2>> <<elseif $smwswin >= 60>> Your chosen player fought well, but lost in the end. Too many missed combos, perhaps. You lose your maid outfit. What a shame. <<else>> The match was a tie, and so you get to keep your ridiculous maid outfit. Why did she like this thing so much, anyway? <<set $costumeshavea = 1>> <</if>> <</nobr>> <</linkreplace>> <<else>> You've already bet away your maid outfit. Fate fell as it always seems to. <</if>> <</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "bet your nightgown" t8n>> <<if $costumeshaveb == 1>> You have been blessed with an astoundingly average figure for a femboy, and so, these nightclothes look quite good on most of your compatriots. The fabrics are amazingly soft, and seem to hug and caress you all by themselves. //She// certainly liked the way you wore them, and couldn't keep her hands off you, when you were in them. Holding them in your hands makes you remember those times... <<linkreplace "Engage in Sports Betting" t8n>> <<set $costumeshaveb = 0>> <<nobr>> <<set $smwswin = random (0, 100)>> <<if $smwswin <= 40>> Your chosen player fought well, their skillful timing and quick reflexes relieving you of your nightgown, and rewarding you with about double what it's worth. Two fistfuls of American Dollars. <<set $dollarfistfuls += 2>> <<elseif $smwswin >= 60>> Your chosen player fought well, but lost in the end. Too many missed combos, perhaps. You lose your nightgown. <<else>> The match was a tie, and so you get to keep your nightgown. <<set $costumeshaveb = 1>> <</if>> <</nobr>> <</linkreplace>> <<else>> You've already bet away your nightgown. Fate fell as it always seems to. <</if>> <</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>> [[head into Aunt Dora's Gaming Village|2B-i]] [[head back to the square|0C-iii]]

A few of the sleepier looking eyes linger on you as you step into the establishment. Young women sit and vape at the bar, sipping well-made mixed drinks from straws, out of glasses so complex, they can only be cleaned with specialized tools. The bartender, a young femboy, polishes the exterior of one of these glasses with a very standard hempcloth tissue. A couple of ladies dressed for the office shift their gazes from you, back to the bartender's gentle ministrations. They're almost putting on a show for the two ladies, complete with soft humming. Their tip jar, full to the brim with gifts, requisition slips, and American money, suggests that they've been performing this way for a while, and have gotten quite good at it. At the couple of booths in the corner, a few couples snuggle up together, enjoying ice cream floats and freshly made chips with malted vinegar. In the corner behind the bar, an older man listens to a radio, peeling potatoes for the next customers. <<linkreplace "listen to the radio" t8n>> A fast paced, very uptempo, and quite bubbly pop song plays, as you settle into the atmosphere of the sodapop bar. The warm giggles and chatter from the booths put you at ease a bit. They don't serve alcohol here, and the sodas normally only have a little bit of anything in them at one time. You don't get trashed at the sodapop bar, which means that //she// won't be making an appearance for now. The bartender doesn't look like they'd be interested in your maid outfit, but it was so expensive that it wouldn't hurt to ask. There's a tip jar full of usefulness __right__ there. <<linkreplace "Freely Trade the 'Maid Outfit'" t8n>> <<if $costumeshavea == 1>> In retrospect, and looking at it in the light of day, this maid outfit is a little embarrassing, actually. Moreso than the nightclothes. It's also quite expensive, and made of very nice fabrics, that shimmer and dance in the sun. You'll probably be able to get something out of it simply on that alone. //Probably//. You call the young femboy away from their work, and over to the end of the bar. The guy peeling potatoes makes his way out back to smoke, as you attempt to get anything at all out of the bartender. You don't bother with the sob story, and hope that the ridiculously expensive european branding speaks for itself. It doesn't. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSkyBlue"> What am I going to do with a maid dress? Keep that for your next job, honey 😙</span><</nobr>> <</if>> <</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Freely Trade the 'Nightclothes'" t8n>> <<if $costumeshaveb == 1>> You have been blessed with an astoundingly average figure for a femboy, and so, these nightclothes look quite good on most of your compatriots. The fabrics are amazingly soft, and seem to hug and caress you all by themselves. //She// certainly liked the way you wore them, and couldn't keep her hands off you, when you were in them. Holding them in your hands makes you remember those times... But those times are over, and now it's time to find something new. You call the young femboy away from their work, and over to the end of the bar. The guy peeling potatoes makes his way out back to smoke, as you attempt to get anything at all out of the bartender. You don't bother with the sob story, and hope that the ridiculously expensive european branding speaks for itself. It does, and the bartender offers you a fistful of american dollars in trade. <<linkreplace "take the 'fistful of dollars'" t8n>> <<set $costumeshaveb = 0>> <<set $dollarfistfuls += 1>> The bartender heads over to their tip jar, and takes the dollars. They smoothe the crumpled cash out on the table, before handing it over to you. <</linkreplace>> <</if>> <</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>> [[Head back to Rosy Hall St|1A-ii]]

The banner catches your eye once more, as it continues to be eye catching. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">OUR MESSAGE IS WORLD PEACE</span><</nobr>>. You can only hope so. The techno party soon arrives right behind you, content with their capture on Rosy Hall, and eager to share their war stories with the sisters serving hot meals at the supplementary rations pop-up. Their speaker wagon blares slow religious folk songs now, and the junior college boys fan out across the square, to enjoy their time away from junior college studies. [[head over to Rosy Hall st|1A-ii]] [[head over to Mother York st|2A]]

The streets are moderately full, a few people ride bicycles down to the square, and others walk back and forth. The social credit stores office has a few people mulling outside, trading their requisitions back and forth between each other. Cigarettes and vape carts are chief among the traded items. A few people stand around handing out data cards for AR goggles, taking laundry detergent and cigarettes in exchange. Looking around, you see a mostly empty sodapop bar, and a couple of specialty stores for new grooms. <<linkreplace "close your eyes" t8n>> You can hear religious folk music coming from the square, slow croons about the absolute adoration that the mother creatrix holds for her loyal and lovely sons. Closer by, people barter over american money and requisition slips, services and goods, and always, the snapping of stamps to officiate a trade for the stores officials. People shift from the indoor niceties to the outdoor mannerisms, as a delicate dance of free trade and central planning unfolds before you.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Head towards the stores office" t8n>> Without any requisition forms, you can't get much from inside, and without //any// paperwork, you won't get far either. There is, however, a large number of people hanging out here, who, for the most part, really don't care about papers. They want the southern linens, that never seem to disintegrate, no matter how much you wash them. You head over towards their grouping. They don't regard you much, although you do notice that this is //not// some type of consignment shop, and absolutely none of these people will have any interest in european femboy cuts. Past the checkpoints they would, but past the checkpoints, they don't have a barter brigade outside the stores office. There's one guy exchanging fistfuls of dollars for cigarettes. Another hands out requisitions for herbs and spices, taking dollars or stacks of requisitions in trade. The vape cart girls count their wads of blue-tinted linen, as another stands behind them, lugging a large backpack, with a set of AR goggles hanging from it's shoulder strap. <<linkreplace "buy some cigarettes" t8n>> The cigarettes are wrapped in paper bundles, and secured with string. From the tobacco junkies around, you can tell that they're soviet styled, with a long paper tube for holding in the hand, and a small filter, with the tobacco in the very end. At least they're packed well, and smoke quite slowly. <<if $dollarfistfuls >= 1>><<linkreplace "engage in free trade" t8n>> You hand over a fistful of dollars, and get a paper packet of 20 cigarettes in exchange.<<set $dollarfistfuls -= 1>><<set $cigpack += 1>><</linkreplace>><</if>><</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "buy a vape cart" t8n>> The girls smile at you, each singing out a short rhyme, 10 on phen, 20 for honey, that sort of thing. They'd also prefer one or two large sized bills, as opposed to fistfuls of the smaller ones. It's good that you've quit vaping. Even //she// would say so.<</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "Ask the AR girl for help with your papers" t8n>> Her techwear crinkles as she turns to face you, sizing you up, and grinning towards the vape cart girls. She says she can get you tourist papers for the night, but anything further is just not in her wheelhouse. She does requisitions. Immigration is a whole separate network. She says it's cheap, too, although the price she's quoting seems like it's about all that you could possibly have, right about now.<</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>> [[Head into the sodapop bar|1B-i]] [[head back to the square|0C-iii]]

The banner catches your eye once more, as it continues to be eye catching. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">OUR MESSAGE IS WORLD PEACE</span><</nobr>>. You can only hope so. A techno party of junior college students mulls around, looking very pleased with themselves. They chat up the sisters serving hot meals at the supplementary rations pop-up. Their speaker wagon blares slow religious folk songs, and the junior college boys fan out across the square, to enjoy their time away from junior college studies [[head over to Rosy Hall st|1A-ii]] [[head over to Mother York st|2A]]

A few of the sleepier looking eyes linger on you as you step into the establishment. Young women sit and vape at the bar, sipping well-made mixed drinks from straws, out of glasses so complex, they can only be cleaned with specialized tools. The bartender, a young femboy, roasts the top of a creme brulee with a small blowtorch. A couple of ladies dressed for the office shift their gazes from you, quickly back to the bartender's skillful display. They're very much putting on a show for the two ladies, complete with eye contact. Their tip jar, full to the brim with gifts, requisition slips, and American money, suggests that they've been performing this way for a while, and have gotten quite good at it. At the couple of booths in the corner, a few couples snuggle up together, enjoying ice cream floats and freshly made chips with malted vinegar. In the corner behind the bar, an older man listens to a radio, peeling potatoes for the next customers. [[Head back to Rosy Hall St|1A-ii]]

A cloud of vape coats the low ceiling of the establishment, casting odd rainbows and halos around each of the lights. There aren't many halos, and the place is quite dimly lit. Rows of various arcade machines, each hosting a different series of games, sit blinking invitingly, forming a casino-like atmosphere. Holographic go-go dancers party in the air above you, dancing through the arcade like coked up fae. Tall, broad, and well dressed young ladies saunter back and forth between the aisles of machines, every so often addressing the more openly competitive players with a sharp tap on the shoulder, and a large smile. Past the machines, there's a milk bar, and a hallway leading to the AR room. [[Head into the AR room|2B-x]] [[back to Mother York st|2A]]

As you head towards the AR room, a small, dim, holographic dancer flits around your head, reminding you that you don't have any ocular augs, or AR goggles, and that the establishment doesn't provide either, even to rent. They playfully bounce away, giggling, as they know exactly what you're going to find in there, with no ocular augmentations, and no augmented reality lenses. A friendly looking younger lady sits on a cushioned stool, at the entrance to the AR room. She looks you up and down, smiles, and asks you for a fistful of american dollars, as an entry fee. <<if $dollarfistfuls >= 1>> <<nobr>> <span style="color:MediumTurquoise"> Seeing as how you don't have any way to actually //use// this room, I guess you're here to start drama with one of your precious, precious, partners? Cleanup's on you, too. <<linkreplace "Hand her the Dollars" t8n>> <<set $dollarfistfuls -= 1>> You hand her one fistful of dollars, although, seeing as how there's absolutely no way //she//'s in here, there definitely won't be any drama. Just AR boys. [[Enter the Augmented Real|2Bxi]] <</linkreplace>> </span> <</nobr>> <<else>> <<nobr>> <span style="color:MediumTurquoise "> Seeing as how you don't have any way to actually //use// this room, I guess you're here to start drama with one of your precious, precious, partners? Cleanup's on you, too. As you reach in your bag, you feel lots of random crap, but no actual money. It looks like this woman wants you to //pay// to enter the AR room with no AR equipment. [[head back to the arcade|2B-i]] </span> <</nobr>> <</if>>

Massive beanbags line the walls, with a writhing man in almost each. An empty stage sits in the middle of the extremely dark room. Blue and purple fairy lights are strung from each corner, to the center of the room, coming together above the stage. A few young men sit around the stage, staring into what appears to be nothing, but enjoying every moment. At times, they'll turn to nothing beside them, and make conversation with it. [[Exit the Augmented Real|2B-i]] [[Try to sleep in a beanbag|2B-xii]]

<<set $bigbux = 1>> You crawl into a beanbag, hug your belongings to your chest, and curl yourself up into the tiniest little ball that you can possibly be. As you drift into sleepyland, the boys around you whisper and moan to their AR lady friends, probably european, and hopefully wealthy. Eventually, the women log off, the boys either finding another, or logging off themselves, and being replaced by another. You dream of her, her gentle, wine-stained kisses, and needy, coke-fueled touch. She never could keep her hands off you for long. You dream of her laughter, and the way she smiled, her love for butterflies, and the way she would kiss them away from you, at their sanctuary. Their kisses gave way to hers, and your giggles and sighs joined the others, reverberating off the glass walls and ceiling. Just as dream her climbs on top of you, tearing your blouse open to sprinkle the obligatory line onto your chest, you feel the warmth of a hand, and the gentle tickle of a long, silken robe. Whispers follow, sympathetic coos, and you make out the words, "american", along with //her// name, and a bit of party related gossip that is incomprehensibly specific to her career path. Gentle stroking at your lower back becomes a tickling around your solar plexus, and the crinkle of a folded bill stays behind, as the two priestesses make their way back to the boys around the stage. After slipping the bill into your bag, you snuggle back into the beanbag, and go back to sleep. You don't dream, and when you wake up, it looks, sounds, and feels like a late-night in european AR. It's probably time to get out of here. [[Exit the Augmented Real|2B-ii]]

A cloud of vape coats the low ceiling of the establishment, casting odd rainbows and halos around each of the lights. There aren't many, since the place is so dimly lit. Rows of various arcade machines, each hosting a different series of games, sit in rows, forming a casino-like atmosphere. Holographic go-go dancers party in the air above you, dancing through the arcade like coked up fae. Tall, broad, and well dressed young ladies saunter back and forth between the aisles of machines, every so often addressing the more openly competitive players with a sharp tap on the shoulder, and a large smile. Past the machines, there's a very full milk bar, and a hallway leading to the AR room. [[back to Mother York st|2A-ii]] [[head to the milk bar|2B-v]]

You slide into the bar beside a rather stout lady, still wearing her security uniform from wherever it is that she works. Her equipment is in the locker, and she looks about as relaxed as they come. She turns from the roller-derby game on TV, over to you. Her smile widens. The glass says milk, but her eyes say phenazepam. They linger on you for a long time, and you do your best to smile coquettishly, and look away. Your gaze returns to hers, and she finally lifts her head, and greets you, as properly as she can. Her pickup line is tired, but so is she, and she closes it off by wrapping a big, soft, arm around you, and pulling you close to her bosom. You giggle, and shake her off. She seems nice enough, despite her lack of manners. She presumptuously asks you if you've got a cigarette, as most phenists do. <<linkreplace "offer her a smoke" t8n>> Apparently the vapes won't do, and tobacco is what she really wants. <<if $cigpack >= 1>> There's a packet of hand-rolls from the girls outside the stores office tucked away in your bag. [[Offer her one|2B-vi]] <</if>> <</linkreplace>> [[back to the arcade|2B-ii]]

The streets have cleared out a bit, with most of the buildings around, aside from Aunt Dora's, being residential. Tall and broad, the concrete buildings each feature at least one nice-looking poster. Smiling suns shine down on grinning daughters, leading their fathers and brothers in building the future of canada. You can't help but smile sadly, recalling the many, many, mostly fantastical claims, repeated by the american talking heads and politicians. If only this place were what they'd said it was. [[head back to the square|0C-x]]

The banner shines in the pale moonlight, seeming to sparkle through the darkness. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">OUR MESSAGE IS WORLD PEACE</span><</nobr>>. What a message. The streets here are quite full, with numerous ladies mulling around, heading in and out of various shops, cafes, and boutiques. The femboys around the serving and distribution station are vaping and chatting amongst each other. [[run desperately back to her|0C-xi]] [[see about a meal|0D-ii]] [[go to Rosy Hall st|0D-iv]]

The best idea //is// never to leave. Maybe you should've stuck around, tried to explain over the intercom. Maybe it's not too late, and maybe she really is nice... You head back up the steps, quietly acknowledging the door ladies, as a smaller one ushers you inside. They regard you with sympathetic smiles, and don't ask for paperwork. They never have. Through the lobby, past the public AR terminals, and the sisters whispering into nowhere. Up the elevator, a sly smile as you press the button, thinking of the view from her apartment. Thinking, briefly, of how poorly this //could// go, if she really is angry with you. It //was// a lot of guns... <<linkreplace "be optimistic about all of this" t8n>> You step up to the door. How badly can this go, really? An //american// femboy falls from a high-rise and nobody cares. You're not ''in'' america. Obviously her temple is aware of you, and that at least //should// mean something, right? Right. They're a <<nobr>> <span style="color:Indigo">circle of accountability</span><</nobr>>. Just like the posters said. [[ring the buzzer|0D-i]] <<linkreplace "listen at the door" t8n>> She's speaking in a yell, a somewhat cute eccentricity when she was happily excited, which she clearly is now.<</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>> <<linkreplace "consider further how badly this could go" t8n>> This really //could// go quite badly. It sounds like she's with somebody, probably ''two'' whole femboys, both cuter than you could ever be. And //younger//. Then she'll shoot you and throw you out the window and nobody will care because you're an american and they all __hate__ you! [[Run away again|0C-xv]] <</linkreplace>>

A sense of confusion shudders through you as you face yourself, opening the door. Except it isn't you. It's younger, and cuter, but, aside from that, well, it's //you//. You've still got some coke on your chest, and around your nose too. Before you can look yourself in the eye, she comes up behind You-but-Younger and kisses them on their neck. You sigh, both sadly, and blissfully, as she pulls both of yous inside. She rambles something about hors d'oeuvres, and motions you towards the kitchen. As you make your way back towards the refrigerator, already conjuring up recipes in hologram before you, You but Younger chimes in to ask her what an hors d'oeuvre is.

The banner shines in the pale moonlight, seeming to sparkle through the darkness. <<nobr>><span style="color:LightSlateGray"><span style="background-color:RebeccaPurple">OUR MESSAGE IS WORLD PEACE</span><</nobr>>. What a message. The streets here are quite full, with numerous ladies mulling around, heading in and out of various shops, cafes, and boutiques. The femboys around the serving and distribution station are vaping and chatting amongst each other. [[see about a meal|0D-ii]]

You walk towards the bamboo tables beneath the violet banner. The one holding groceries is about empty, and the men usually show a supplementary ration card when they take those, anyway. Something you don't have. Canadian femboys usually don't need to //show up// to the supplementary rations table. Plates don't require a card though, or even tourist papers really, so you head over. Speaking to one of them elicits a smile, and they motion you towards the plates and utensils. All of them are made of some thin bamboo composite, but it seems strong enough for curry and rice, so you make yourself a plate, and are motioned towards a small outcropping on the side of the banner building. <<nobr>> <span style="color:SeaGreen"> It's nicer inside, and you can take your mask off and eat. Miss Miere's in there too, she's really nice... </span> <</nobr>> They laugh and look down, remembering something lovely and joyful. Whoever's in there, you certainly can't eat through a mask. You pass by the small group, and take your plate into the small sunroom. [[Go into the sunroom to eat|0D-iii]]

It's nice in here, like a restaurant. Lilac coloured light filters in from the square, the neon and diodes of the city casting their gaze even here. A woman sits at a small table, poring over papers, while a couple of femboys sip tea and quietly chat amongst themselves. Most of the other tables are empty, or just have one or two well-fed figures, reading party literature, or discussing something over cups of wine and charcuterie. You sit down, and start on your dinner. The meat, definitely chicken, is tender and flavorful, spiced perfectly, and atop rice that picks up the juices and sauce just right. You've always eaten quickly, and tonight is no exception. As you inhale the curried rice and warm, jasmine tea, you fail to notice the presence of the woman who was previously at the table. She appears in front of you, and sits down across from you. <<linkreplace "Say hi!" t8n>> You smile, and introduce yourself. The woman wears a regular uniform of a dress shirt and long skirt, but the beret tucked into her epaulettes suggests that she's with the temple, somehow. Her light brown hair sparkles in the light, as she speaks. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> Good evening honey... You look like an American. You also look lost, and like you need help. </span> <</nobr>> She reaches over and touches your hand gently, you look into her eyes, warm and a light, reddish, brown. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> I'm glad you came to the party for that help. The party needs you just like you need it, sometimes. </span> <</nobr>> <<linkreplace "Ask her what she means" t8n>> <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> Well honey, all of this, everything that we use to protect you, and feed you, and help you through tough times... </span> <</nobr>> She motions around herself, at the other femboys and party girls seated around, enjoying their private meals and discussions. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> All of it is under threat. From the same people who threatened you. They send their tiny little drones up here to destroy all that we've built. To destroy us, because we //protect// you... They're so... Jealous, and cruel, and they can't stand that we make you happy. </span> <</nobr>> She squeezes your hand softly, sighing, and gazing into your eyes with a smile. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> But finish your meal first. Then we'll discuss what can come next... </span> <</nobr>> [[Finish eating|0E-i]] <</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>>

Her sleepy eyes perk right open, as you pull the paper packet from your bag, and hand her one of the long, mostly paper, tubes. After taking one last swig, she leads the two of you outside, to Mother York st. The streets have cleared out a bit, with most of the buildings around, aside from Aunt Dora's, being residential. Tall and broad, the concrete buildings each feature at least one nice-looking poster. Smiling suns shine down on grinning daughters, leading their fathers and brothers in building the future of canada. You can't help but smile happily, your arms securely linked with hers, as the two of you puff your way back to her place. She and the checkpoint girls crack jokes to each other as they shuffle you past the men and boys waiting for their paperwork checks. You giggle appropriately, and nuzzle into what is very clearly your new girlfriend, at least for tonight. Kisses rain down on the top of your head, along with slurred recollections of her apparently quite stressful workday. As the two of you make your way up the sterile stairwell of her tenement block, a few of the lights seem to flicker on and off. You pull in a bit closer, and soon enough, you're both at her door. A soft sigh escapes your lips, and begin to wonder about breakfast.

You finish up your curry chicken and choke it down with some water, as the woman heads back over to discuss something or another with another party member. You focus on your situation. Clearly, //she// is only as important as you make her. It's alright if you can't find a bar, and a new lover. You came here to join the revolution, after all. Not just to be cute and nice. So what does this woman have to offer? Certainly she won't be trying to send you back to the United States on some kind of ridiculously dangerous mission, simply because you're from there, and have the accent. Certainly she'd respect your desires to be safe and sound, right where you are, papers or no papers, //in the Ladies' Republic//. There's still a place for the American Femboy in the Ladies' Republic of Canada... Right? <<linkreplace "right?" t8n>> <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> Right! </span> <</nobr>> You look down at your food. You've finished, and without giving you time to even tidy up, this new woman is back, smiling warmly. Smiling like she wants nothing more than your safety, and happiness. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> I'll take that, love... </span> <</nobr>> She grabs your bamboo dishware, and gracefully walks it vaguely towards the kitchen. A pair of femboys quickly stand, one bowing slightly, hand over their heart, while the other smilingly takes the plates and utensils the rest of the way, to be washed. With a confident smile, the woman turns towards you, and sits down. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> You're aware of our outreach, aren't you? To Americans? I know it's not so nice there, being a femboy. Did you ever meet anyone from the republics, when you were living in America? Our sisters do love to go down there and help. Usually, they try to help boys like you escape... Did you meet a woman like that? </span> <</nobr>> [[Remember|4A]] <</linkreplace>>

The street is bustling with people near the square, with crowds thinning out further down, towards a neighborhood. The attitude is a bit more hurried here, you notice. The Social Credit Stores Office is closed for the day, but that just means that the drug pushers and requisition hackers have been replaced by regular old meat and cheese peddlers, a few with more luxury goods, like perfumes, or teas. [[Head back to the square|0C-x]]

She had told you that her name was Brittany. They always gave names like that. Heathers, Gabbies, Kellies, and Brittanies. The accents never matched the names, at least not when you were alone with them. It was nice sometimes, being in on a secret with them. They knew all of yours, you got one one of theirs, at least. Anybody asking questions about them wouldn't be asking you. They'd be too busy hurting you to bother with anything else. So Brittany seemed like a friend. She was certainly friendly, friendlier than most of the other people you'd met. Through her friendship, you'd met other friends, and you'd finally started to feel good, for a change. She'd told you about the revolution, about how kind it was. How kind it would be to //you//. The people on the news had said the exact same thing, although in their own, apparently highly embellished, way. They kept acting like the temples ran everything. You told the woman about Brittany, she listened, nodding along, and motioning for some of the others to grab some tea for the two of you. She listened just like Brittany did, cooing with sympathy, taking your hands in hers, drawing your gaze up to her own, and finally letting out a gentle sigh, and almost whispering her condolences. <<nobr>> <span style="color:Crimson"> I'm always amazed at how strong all of you are. It's why we keep trying to rescue you 😓 </span> <</nobr>>

The best idea is never to leave. Stick around for as long as possible, don't eat anything, just cook, clean, and wait. Don't eat, don't leave. She'll make sure you don't starve, and that's more than they'd do back home. That's all the posters said, cook and clean, be good, join the revolution. Simple. Such nice posters, too, such nice imagery. But as you were wiping the dust off some lightswitch cover, a millisecond movement, mostly muscle memory, you heard something quite terrible.

Not a voice, or even a scream, just a slow, mechanical whirring, telling you quite clearly, that your time avoiding trouble by staying here is probably coming to an end. It's quite sad, you'd enjoyed the meals. Fried oysters, and roasted duck, garlic and rosemary, dill and lavender. Exotic meats, lab grown meats, just wave your hands through her refrigerator's catalogue, each requisition displayed before you with some hologram, sparkling in the air, your mind forming the scent all on its own, if inaccurately. Another arcane hand signal, and it's headed through the air, right to her building's mailyard. Mask on, grab her keys, head downstairs, and smile your way through the elevator eyes of the older ladies at the customs counter. You'd had a lot of fun with the balls of dough, and she'd loved every single dessert. She'd seemed nice.

So why are you currently looking at so many guns? So much european money? So many bundles of what is actually marked, "organic cocaine"? Why? Doesn't she work for the party? Doesn't she have a high-level degree? Why didn't she close the safe that you're looking into? So many questions. She doesn't answer them, instead, demanding to know, over her apartment's intercom, why in the actual fuck you have decided to fuck with her shit.

She no longer seems nice.

put on a surgical mask