Marza has found lumpia! Marza is happy. (They're not really the right kind of lumpia, they're kind of fusion-y – but lumpia are the kind of thing where they're never exactly right, anyway, because the perfect lumpia are the ones you had when you were eight years old from your favorite restaurant that closed down.)
Oh, hey, she's being approached by espers. Her dress is really pretty. His everything is really pretty but he certainly doesn't need to hear it from her.
"Hi! I love your dress."
"Oh, thank you! I made it, it's quite bulletproof but doesn't it feel so soft! I like yours as well, it's doing an excellent job at being flashy without being tacky. I'm Hata Chieko and this is my husband Hao, how are you?"
As she approaches, Marza may feel her backlash trickling away at a barely noticeable rate.
"Thank you, that's why I bought it – I'm Marza – sorry, um. Is one of you guiding me from over there?"
"Oh, how exciting, you might be! Hao, come on, get your glove off, we need to test this –"
"I'm not going to guide anyone but you," he says sullenly, as he pulls the glove off and offers Marza his hand.
Poke? "Passable," she says.
Hand for the lady?
Marza feels like she just stepped into a scalding shower, except with none of the pain-adjustment or actual heat and all of the forcible relaxation of every bit of muscle stress she's been holding for a week.
"Holy shit. Um. Is it weird if I ask to keep holding your hand even though your husband's right there."
