17

Marlowe nods enthusiastically.

"Definitely. And I've got plenty of time; surprisingly, even the people who write the actual news don't have all that much to do."

You talk a little while longer, until Marlowe decides the ferrets could use their dinner and puts them back in their cage. Then Marlowe goes over to their computer and puts on some music—which you immediately recognize as Scale the Mountain, the band you saw together the other night.

"I couldn't get them out of my head, so I downloaded their album," Marlowe tells you excitedly, as dreamy guitars and ethereal vocals start to fill the room. "I've been listening to it a lot while I've been writing. It helps me get in the fantasy zone—and I just really like it. It was such a fun night going to see them."

As the music flows on, you can't help but picture the low lights and the shimmering iridescence of the other night, too. And then there's Marlowe themself, seeming to glow in the midst of it all as the two of you move closer—

"I wish I could sing—or do anything musical at all," Marlowe laughs, coming to sit next to you on the bed again. "That must be amazing to make something that can sound like that. Oh well—I guess I could always write the lyrics."