9

You spend a few minutes trying to figure out how you should phrase your request, using the normal means of inquiry: following Nomi's Instagram for several days, careful never to like any of the pictures. This, more than the journalist's articles on CAHOOTS! or their work-for-hire on Comic Book Resources or Women Whaler, helps you understand Nomi's constellation of interests: rapid transit, twentieth century futurology, government conspiracies, and, most of all, a burning and bizarre fixation on old graphic adventure games, which they inherited from their uncle Paul.

Who, interestingly, either died or disappeared investigating some kind of government experiment in Nevada. Fascinating. Okay, you now have normal things to talk about (murdered uncles, secret government bases), and you have acquired them in the normal way (Instagram stalking). You are now prepared for a normal date with a human. So, after a night and a day spent with Elton, trying to run down a copy of The Book of the Burning Hand that's allegedly escaped into the human occult community, you send Nomi a text as you nurse a mug of cocoa in the minimall.

rubblelandscape Hey Nomi, you want to go out for coffee or something the next time you're not working?

You feel a little nervous, of course, but you're surprised that your ears are ringing. You must not be getting enough sleep.

Wait, your ears aren't ringing. Your phone is. You look at it. Nomi is calling you.

This is outrageous. But you can't just let it go to voicemail.

"H-hello?" you say.

"Hey Stonegrowl!" Nomi says. "Do you have a gun?"

"What?"

"What."

"What!"

"How quickly do you need one?"

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