Conurbation

Conurbation is a bustling metropolis known for being the most divisive city on the continent. Neighboring countries won't touch them with a 10-foot pole and they've become a rather insular country. Few people want to come in; fewer yet are able to leave. Sociologists are eager to see what comes of a society with decades of division driven between not only social classes but even within family units with siblings and parents ending up on different sides of the class wars.

On one hand, there are the Hidebounds. The Hidebounds are known for their resistance to change and commitment to upholding the status quo. After all, things were better in their childhood, and now things are different -- and worse. They know that if society could simply shift back to the Good Ole Days everything would be fixed. As a result, they do their best to uphold tradition and resist being stripped of their way of life.

On the complete other side, there are the Iconoclasts. The Iconoclasts believe that the core of all modern problems stems from the issues from the past simply coming to a head after years of getting swept under the rug. They want immediate societal change that shifts the focus away from tradition and towards empathy for the human condition.

Then somewhere in the middle are the Guarded. The Guarded generally say they agree with the Iconoclasts, but value their comfort and security above the hope of a better future. As a result, they are generally disliked by both the Hidebounds, who don't like their lip service to Iconoclasts, and the Iconoclasts, who don't like that their inaction makes it easier for the Hidebounds to get their way.

Recently, however, there's been a growing realization that this is all a facade. The elections are meaningless and the Council is a theater, meant to give the illusion of free choice while ignoring the will of the people.

There are now rumors circulating about a secret society responsible for clandestine activities in the shadows. The motives of the society remain a well-kept secret, but there's reason to believe they have substantial political, economic, and social influence. Driven by curiosity, a diverse group of individuals decides to take matters into their own hands and infiltrate this elusive organization and expose their crimes and members.

In a setting where no one is who they seem and you can never be sure who you can trust, do you think you have what it takes?

Spoiler

The Mastermind: The strategizer. Excels in devising intricate plans and manipulating others to do their bidding. Acts as the leader of the Resistance and oversees the others' activities. @herbalhour

The Insider: A member with special knowledge of the secret society -- a relative or close friend of one of Society Members, but not in the society themself. This character needs to be able to navigate a delicate balance between not being found out by the Society while helping the Resistance. @Spearmint

The TechnoNerd: The love-child between a social justice advocate and a hacker. Skilled in hacking, surveillance, and technology to the degree they're able to gather information for the resistance without exposing themself or their efforts. @Shady

The Extroverts: (can have multiple characters!) The adaptable individual who attends social events and tries to make connections with Society Members. Generally great at blending in and gaining the trust of influential people. @JazzElectrobass, @EtherealVagabond, and others are welcome!

The Introverts: (can have multiple characters!) The individual who is very good at NOT interacting with others. Can slip in and out of areas unnoticed and is a valuable resource for gathering intel and planting bugs. @APoltergeist and others are welcome!

The Journalist: A relentless truth-seeker who is intent on exposing the society’s activities to the public. They are skilled in research and gathering evidence, then broadcasting it to the public. @JazzElectrobass

Others: I am open to chatting with you if you’re interested in filling a role other than the ones above! Let’s chat c:

"No... no... no!" Sadie typed away furiously at her keyboard. The clattering of her keys could have been heard from several rooms away, if there'd been anyone else in her house just then. "What is happening?" Her eyes flicked across the three monitors she had set up on her desk.

The screens were black with predominantly white text scrolling down them, but lots of lines of blue and red intermingled as well. They would have looked like nonsense to anyone else. Heck, they sort of looked like nonsense to her, and she understood a fair bit of it.

Well, she had until--

"Ohhh." She muttered, shaking her head with a little smirk. "You're good."

She typed even faster. She didn't know who was fighting her off, but it was clear that she wasn't the only person on this server. Every time she got past one wall, they threw up another. A game of cat and mouse where neither of the mice was exposed, yet, and they both wanted to stay that way.

"But I'm better." She typed in another string of characters faster than she'd ever typed before, smirking as she envisioned the profanity that must be spewing from whoever had tried -- and failed -- to keep her out.

She laughed, grinning broadly as she made her final keystrokes. In 3... 2... 1--

Actually. Wait. May as well--

She hovered her cursor over one of the blocks of text and decided to sign her work: fyshi33k <><

Victory was sweet; gloating was divine.

Sadie sent her final lines of code, then reached for her MegaChug cup full of soda and took a big drink.

Now that she was in, it was time for the real action.

Scrambling accounts. Just for the heck of it.

She was a chaos goblin. And she thrived on it.

First, forgiving every single school lunch debt in the entire city --

-- then erasing the past-due balance on all utility bills over $300 --

and finishing up with a million-dollar loan at thirty percent interest to the mayor, just for the heck of it. She couldn't stand that guy. Stupid Hidebound idiot.

When she finished, she locked it down with multiple layers of security so it would be hard for him to even notice, and much harder to remove once he did. It shouldn't hit his credit report for at least six months, and by then he should be well beyond any annulment window. And well on its way to compounding interest.

Sadie closed her connection to the City Servers and covered her tracks, then got up and cracked her back. Another day; another feat of vigilantism against the government. Time to go get some tacos.

Maho Elewyn swiveled around in her chair, sifting through information. She continued to drink her cup of coffee, and glanced up at the clock. "Oh-"

She jumped up and ran around plugging stuff in, plus checking that it was all working perfectly. The last piece, which she considered to be second important in all of this, was the voice changer. She activated that, and at exactly 1:13, she began the broadcast.

"Hello Conurbation!" She spoke radiantly. "It's Soundblast once again bringing you a drink of information to satisfy your curiosity. I have found a rather interesting image which you can find on my page. I have a perfect shot of his face, and he has an entire story in his file. Yet something is just off. He's too perfect. An ordinary job, ordinary life, has a wife and kids. Look at his hand though- there's no ring! Who gets married and then takes off their ring like that? Either he's cheating or he isn't who it says he is. Either way, look at his face! Tell me he doesn't look like someone who would have shoved a kid's head into the toilet during high school? He even went to a school that has the records of him, but I found someone who was supposedly in the same year and he isn't even in their yearbook! They never even knew or saw that guy!"

Maho continued talking, and revealing each piece of new information she had gotten her hands on. She looked at the clock, and she decided to end it to not risk exposing her location. "Well, that's all for today folks. Thanks for listening."

She turned everything off, and then sat there for a second, feeling the thrill of spilling the secrets of this secret organization who couldn't even find her! They could just think she was no threat to them but she'd prefer to think of it as her being slippery, like a child covered in peanut butter. She had bounced the signal to many others, and she always changed them up after each broadcast.

She hopped off, logging out of everything before changing into different clothes. Maho had found herself another person who might know something, and it was about time to meet them.



Vinny walked around at the party, talking to everyone there. He smiled, flirted, laughed, and told jokes. He acted like he belonged. How does one make it convincing? Well, they simply force themselves to believe it.

Why was he even attending this party in the first place? He was just a random person; an ordinary Joe. Well, he was curious about this Society, and it's not like he has anything better to do. There was this particular guy he was trying to get to know better. He had a sort of French accent, and managed to look both formal and casual at the same time. He admired this guy's taste in clothing. Maybe he could start a conversation about that. It was a simple topic that could possibly carry on. He walked over and sat down at one of the couches.

"Hello." He nodded in greetings. The fellow did the same.

"Bonjour."

"I do quite like your style. It is perfect for all occasions." He took a sip of his drink, and brushed his hair out of his eyes with his fingers.

"Yes, thank you. I hate it. My tailor said if I were to attend a party like this it is something I should wear. Do you think my tie clashes?" The guy leaned forward, and gestured at his bowtie.

"Not at all." He hummed thoughtfully after a moment. "I think it gives it a compliment. A little more flair."

He ended up talking to this guy for an hour, until he stood up. Vinny also stood up, and shook the man's hand. He was a little wobbly, and had to wait for the blood to get into his legs.

"It has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must go. Here is my number so you can contact me later." Vinny took the card with thanks, and he tucked it into his pocket. Another person he'd met, and befriended. Now, to see if he'd let anything slip. This man seemed like an unlikely candidate now, but you never know. Some people can give you quite a surprise. He continued to socialize with the others in the party, all the way until morning came. He headed home, and then fell asleep on the couch, which was 10 ft away from the room containing an actual bed.

Ellis looked at his client with a soft, understanding expression on his face -- one he'd practiced many, many times over the years as a therapist. He liked to believe that nothing could phase him at this point, after the horrific things he'd heard during his career. A master of playing it cool.

"--and that's why we need the Resistance."

Ellis blinked, eyes focusing on his client's face. "I'm sorry?"

He'd heard whispers about the Resistance before, but he certainly wasn't expecting for those rascals to be coming up in a session.

"The..." his client shifted, tugging at his collar. "Never mind, sorry."

"No, no, by all means, please go on," Ellis encouraged. "I'd like to understand what's on your mind."

His client still hesitated. "Well, you know how the elites are the ones who are screwing us all over like their little marionettes?"

Ellis gave an encouraging, but noncommittal, grunt and nod.

"Well, some of us have had enough," he said. "And we're going to do something about it."

"And what's that?" Ellis asked coolly.

His client looked at him for a long moment, then furrowed his brow and glanced away. He was clamming up. Ellis bit his lip, trying to consider what he could say to encourage his client to keep going. It was a fine balance between persuasion and coming across as prying and making clients shut down even further.

"Mm?" Ellis prompted, opting for the simplest choice.

"I don't know," he muttered, not making eye contact.

Rats. He was gone. Best to drop it for this session and hope it comes back up again next time. If he pushed too hard he'd be stone-lipped forever.

"Okay," Ellis said, glancing at the clock. "It looks like we're about out of time anyway. Same time next week?"

His client nodded and stood up. "Sounds good. Thanks, man."

Ellis stood up as well, clapping his client on the shoulder. "My pleasure! Take care now, I'll see you soon."

He watched his client leave, then went back to his studio and sprawled across the sofa, picking up his cell phone. His mind kept circling back to this Resistance. Were they organized now? What were their ideals? How did one go about getting their foot in the door with them?

He didn't know, but he planned to find out.

Oliver could feel people's eyes drawn to him as if he was the moon, outshining the stars in the sky. Leaning against the bar, he laughed easily, making eye contact with his conversation partner as if she had his full attention. Of course, she didn't. Like always, Oliver observed the room through his peripheral vision, feeling a twinkle of delight whenever someone looked at him with interest. He'd freely admit it: he liked attention.

After a few moments, Oliver excused himself politely and strolled over to another group, which parted eagerly to let him in. He grasped the thread of the conversation quickly and made a joke that cracked the others up. Then, just as soon as Oliver was lightheartedly punching the other guys' shoulders as if they were old friends from high school, he slipped away and slid effortlessly into another group.

This evening, his parents were hosting a social event at an upscale bar that they'd rented out for the night. Oliver was dressed in a light teal suit that matched his eyes, and across the room, he could see his mother in a glamorous gold dress and his father in a black suit with gold accents. The rest of the attendees were dressed similarly fashionably, which was only natural, considering they came from the upper echelons of Conurbation.

It was funny. One would be hard-pressed to detect the tension between the various Guarded in this room. It was too well-concealed beneath polite conversation and jokes that mostly received laughter out of courtesy. (Oliver liked to think his own jokes were amusing, but he had a feeling a couple of the people in this room used laughter only as a political weapon rather than to express amusement, no matter how funny the joke was.)

Soon, Oliver's father beckoned him over with a gesture that exuded confidence. Oliver grinned brightly and walked to the end of the room with an equal amount of confidence, continuing to mingle on his way there. He knew his role, and he played it excellently. Promising law student, skillful speaker, brilliant networker. They all played their roles, in fact: loving wife, perfect son, the cornerstones for Mr. Windermere as he launched his campaign for reelection. They were the poster family for the Guarded of Conurbation.

"Hello, Father." Oliver nodded respectfully to Mr. Windermere, then shook the hands of the two people his father was speaking with. "Arian, Lee, good to see you again."

"Indeed," Lee said genially. "How are your studies coming along, Oliver?"

"Oh, stupendously. Rather like the drinks here--" Oliver swirled the glass he'd picked up along the way-- "quite enjoyable, and consumed faster than one would expect. The past two years have simply flown by." He let some good humor reach his eyes and make them sparkle, and Lee laughed, just as planned.

"We are incredibly proud of our son's progress." Oliver's mother glided over and placed a manicured hand on Oliver's shoulder. She gave him a smile that reached her eyes-- yet perhaps not her heart. Over twenty five years, Oliver had honed the skill of reading people's true emotions, but he always had difficulty with reading his mother.

His mother turned her attention to Oliver's father. "Now, I'm sorry to steal the star of the show from you three. But, dear, I did want to speak to you about the party at the Cloudwalker family's skyscraper on Saturday. I wholeheartedly agree with you that it would be a wonderful opportunity to make an impression on moderate voters. In fact, if we speak to Ms. Parilla right now..." She placed a hand on Mr. Windermere's elbow and smoothly guided him away.

Oliver slipped a hand casually into his pocket. He subtly drew out a slip of paper that hadn't been there before and turned away to read it under the guise of placing his glass on the bar.

"Lindenburgs, Malis, Hamlets"

The first family name was written in blue and the other two in black. Clearly, his mother wanted him to investigate the potentially-hostile sentiments of the Lindenburgs and to speak to the Malis and Hamlets to affirm their support of his father. Oliver slipped the piece of paper back into his pocket and, after excusing himself to Arian and Lee, set off on his new assignment.

Yes, Oliver was a good son. Yes, he did everything expected of him. And yes, he enjoyed it. Of course he did. After all, the area near the Sun was a far friendlier place than the shadows at the edge of the Solar System.

collab with @Shady

Elias adjusted the feathers on his suit and started humming to the classical music on his record player. He walked over to the large whiteboard in his office which had images linked with strings, along with a timeline on the bottom.

"Well... what if that doesn't..." He picked up the croissant from the ornate plate on his desk and munched it deep in thought. "Ah, we could... but no... if only..." Elias sat down in his office chair and slumped. "Why can't we just have... I mean... Agh!"

His phone started dinging from texts. Elias set down his croissant.

The text was from Sadie Lovett and read: bet u never had a crescent dat looks this good lolol with a photo of street tacos sent below.

He chuckled. I bet you've never had something as fluffy as this. He sent a photo of his half-eaten croissant.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately. HAH! Do I know you or do I know you, dorkface.

Elias responded with the emoji that looks like a dragon spewing smoke. I am not a dork!

Oui, oui, baguette. Along with a selfie of her eating her taco with her pinky finger raised dramatically.

Aaaaaanyways, how was getting into the servers? He took another bite of his croissant.

idk what ur talking about, this is take out, no servers involved.

Oh, right. How was getting your take out?

delish

Alright. I think I might go out too.

u still live in this hood? i'm in the park, under our tree.

Which tree? The one where I buried that frog?

rip croaky she sent another photo of the small rock they'd left as a headstone.

Will forever be missed. He then sent the pouty face emoji.

She didn't reply right away, probably eating her tacos.

Anywho, be there in a jiffy... er... like 50,00 jiffys.

She still didn't reply for another minute or two, but when she did, it read: 152 jiffy... 153 jiffy... 154...

Oh, we're playing that game? Elias picked up his keys and his croissant.

167... 168...

He stepped out the office, making sure that all his plans looked inconspicuous. He then proceeded to lock the office door. Fine, I'll be there in more than 50,00 jiffys.

nope u have exactly 5000 jiffies then i leave n i riot

I will no longer host taco night if you do that.

you aint hosted in forever anyway

I'll uh... burn down the theater!

yeah rite as if u'd survive without the theatre mr twinkletoes

i will stop uzing grammmr

grmmerrer

yis so stay der

kk croaky n me will wait ig

Elias slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped into his car. Some time later, he arrived at the tree and waved to Sadie. "Hello! Only 100 jiffys late, I know."

"Mm... 1 o' 5 by my count." Sadie grinned and jumped up, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Hello shrimp lord."

"I've already told you you don't gotta call me Lord, shorty." She ruffled his hair then flopped back down on the bench. "What've you been up anyway? Been a while."

Elias sat down cautiously, as not to get a rip in his suit. "Funny you should ask, i've been thinking..." He pulled out the croissant from his pocket.

"Trying something new, huh?" she teased, elbowing him playfully.

"What if we gather more people?" Elias took a big bite out of his croissant.

"... for...?" She furrowed her brow and looked at him.

"You know how we both hate the idea of the secret organization?" He smacked his hands away from himself to clean the crumbs off.

"... yeah?"

"And how I have that whole board of a plan in my office...?"

"Look, Eli..." She sighed, looking at him with a slight frown. "I thought we talked about this. It's not a good idea."

"But it's a great idea! You already basically do what the whole idea is... and I have the plans! We just need to recruit people!"

"And what if you recruit a mole? You're not cut out for prison."

"So I have you to rely on! You basically can research people with your skills!"

"Mm." Sadie was quiet for a long moment, considering it.

"Is that a yes-I-will or a give-me-some-tacos?"

"I mean tacos always sweeten the deal."

"If I were to take you to get tacos would you say yes?"

"I'm going to need to see these grand plans of yours," she said, but seemed to be seriously considering it. "And then... I'll think about it. Maybe. I don't know... this is a big leap. Are you sure..."

"I've never been more sure. I'm even surer than the time that I ran for class president!"

Sadie snorted and rolled her eyes, but smiled. "... Alright. Let's go see these plans of yours and talk through this somewhere that we can have some more privacy." She stood up.

"I knew you'd be on board."

Breathe in, breathe out.

Let grease drip off his fingers, smearing dark against the metal tabletop. The drone whirred weakly, blades cracking angrily the longer it was left on. He let the buzz drown out his thoughts, lungs aching from always lacking the proper amount of oxygen.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Twist the screwdriver to the left, loosen one screw, tighten another. Add grease to the propellers, jerky noises fading into a smooth, almost soundless purr. Satisfaction congealed in his chest, worry dripping away just like the oil on his hands. He had begun to think this one couldn't be fixed.

Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale.

Wipe the grease off on a soft rag, leaving inky black streaks in the gray fabric. He tossed that aside after his hands were clean enough, picking up the little drone and setting it on the rack with the other rebuilt drones. They stare at him, blinking in flashes of green and red.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Vinn, lights off." The AI complied, lights flickering until he was left with the dim glow of his watch to lead him out of the lab. She had taken him months of frustration and searching the darker corners of the internet to be able to code properly and he was sure there were still a few mistakes he needed to fix. She was connected to every piece of technology in his suite and every piece of technology in his suite was closed-circuit. Every signal going in and out was bounced between hundreds of countries constantly to prevent it from being tracked.

He wasn't paranoid.

Not. At. All.

Okay, maybe he was a little paranoid.

It wasn't his fault. People were bound to be suspicious of him, he lived in a suite, rarely- if ever- made public appearances, and had an uncanny ability for showing up places and worming information by being a sneaky, albeit paranoid, shadow.

But, deliveries still worked! He was perfectly content to stay in his room and play with his drones and the occasional stray cat he picked up off the street. He had four now.

Breathe in, breathe out. Let the gentle electrical current pulse through his veins, reminding his lungs to move without him telling them to do so.

It was time for sushi.

Ellis hummed to himself, looking over the intake paperwork for the new client he had coming in this afternoon.

Vincent Kai. 23. Engineer.

Hmm, that was a demographic Ellis didn't see often. Most engineers weren't self-aware enough to realize when they could use some mental healthcare. Especially not when they were that young.

Ellis opened his laptop and quickly googled all the information he had about this Vincent fellow. He found a couple of old art competition entries -- not too shabby at that -- and some academic records, but not much else. That was just as well. He tried not to make judgments about clients before even meeting them. That was the point of the intake: evaluating what he was working with.

He glanced up as he heard someone step onto his porch. Ah, that must be him! Ellis popped to his feet and stashed his laptop away, then started for the door.

Vincent had woken up at some point in the afternoon, just in time to remember he had an appointment to attend. He reluctantly got off of the couch and made himself as presentable as possible. Well, as presentable as one can be after a long night of partying. Once he deemed himself to be looking good enough he headed out on foot.

As he walked, he wondered how his session would go with the new therapist. The last one he had was confused about why he feared milk. They had also said that his obsession with this 'secret society' was unhealthy, and that he should find a new hobby.

He broke himself out of his thoughts as he walked up the steps of the building. He looked at the door for a second before knocking.

Oliver loved pasta. Sadly, he was not currently at a restaurant that served pasta.

He flashed a smile at his friends, who were crowded around a wooden table in a corner of the taco place. "I can go pick up our tacos."

"Thanks, Ow!" one of Oliver's friends joked, using that rather-ridiculous-yet-somewhat-endearing shortening of his name to his initials. Oliver saluted in response.

The chatter of customers and ambient noise of the taco place flowed past Oliver as he made his way to the counter. He briefly debated mounting the stage at the side and singing a heartfelt rendition of "Raining Tacos," but decided that there were lengths that were too far to go to, even if it'd be entertaining to try to grab the attention of the crowd.

Oliver searched the counter for his group's orders and found a tray loaded with carne asada, pollo, and queso tacos. There were chips and guac and red sauce on the side, and Oliver smiled. Alfredo pasta might have been his favorite, but he could appreciate a good taco.

Oliver picked up the tray and started to weave his way back to the table, already imagining biting into his taco con queso. The cheese would be perfectly melted, and it would blend with the crispy taco shell-

He was jolted back to reality as he bumped into someone and wobbled for a moment, the tray tilting dangerously to one side. The other person yelped, taking a step back.

"Oh! My bad." Oliver steadied the tray. "I was distracted by these delicious-looking tacos."

"It's fine." She laughed. "I was distracted too."

Oliver took a moment to size up the other person. Her hair was dyed a bright red and she was dressed in similarly vivid colors. Probably an extrovert. Clothes looked to be of high quality. Upper class, maybe? But her manner of speech sounded more casual than the children of the people his parents usually interacted with. She could be an interesting person to get to know, and maybe a useful contact in the future. Oliver grinned. "I'm Oliver. It's my first time at this taco place, actually-- have you been here before?"

"No wonder I haven't seen you around here before. I'm Maho." She smiled, fixing her posture. She stood like someone who was probably also trained in the military. Interesting.

"Delighted to meet you. I'd offer to shake hands, but, you know." Oliver inclined his head towards the tray of tacos. "I went with a basic cheese taco this time, but do you happen to have any recommendations for next time?"

"Number 8 is good. Great blend of cheese, beef, vegetables, beans, and salsa." She suggested, tilting her head slightly. "All their tacos are good, but if I were to rank them basic cheese would be all the way at the bottom."

Oliver pouted jokingly. "Guess the safe option isn't always best. Well, thanks for the tips! I'll be sure to try number 8 soon." He squinted at the tray and laughed. "Looks like one of my friends ordered that, actually. I might steal a bite."

"At least he has some sense to not get something basic." She grinned.

"Woah, did you just call me basic?" Oliver pretended to be offended. "Look, I know my clothing is kinda basic, but at least respect my food choices."

"Nah nah nah, if you're going to get food at least be adventerous about it. Try something that actually looks interesting, not something safe or basic." She made exagerated gestures.

Oliver narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Has anyone told you that interesting things can be dangerous?" Then he gave a short laugh. "Never mind. Forget what I said."

"I'm not goint to let you off the hook that easily. What were you going to say Ollie?" She put her hands on her hips.

Oliver ignored the question. "Ollie. Wow. That might be even worse than Ow. Ow is what that friend who ordered number 8 calls me, by the way - it's from my initials. But Ollie beats even that. It's like calling an umbrella 'umbrellie.'"

She snorted, in a failed attempt not to laugh. "Ow. Wow. I'll be sure to remember that. Rewind the tape, what were you going to say before?"

"Oh dear, not another person calling me Ow. Seems like I've gravely misstepped." Oliver shifted a step to avoid a person walking by, then refocused on the conversation. "I only meant that sometimes it's better to be safe in the light than to be drawn to the dark, interesting though it may be." Oliver made his eyes sparkle with mirth, as if it were a joke and a random piece of advice from a stranger at a taco restaurant, but he watched Maho's reaction carefully.

She nodded, looking curious as to what he was getting at. "Yes, but sometimes you have to go through the dark to reach the light."

"The light at the end of the tunnel?" Oliver gave a half-smile. "The tunnel seems interminable sometimes." He forced a laugh that sounded nearly natural. "Though I'm sure having tacos makes it a lot better. Speaking of, these are getting cold." Oliver stepped towards his table.

"Well, I'd hate you keep you from your delicious, basic taco." She laughed.

Oliver laughed as well, fully naturally this time. Then he grew serious. "If you have any further musings on tacos or darkness, I'm Oliver Windermere at the law school. Or I'll likely be back here to try that famed number 8."

"As interminable as a tunnel may seem, it always has an end." She replied, equally serious before smiling casually. "Don't worry, I'm a master at finding people."

A spark of curiosity flitted across Oliver's face before he said, "If you say so. Now, I will indeed enjoy my basic taco. See you!"

"A sure thing Ollie." She waved, and headed towards the counter to order.

Ellis had carefully arranged his furniture in such a way that he could stealthily watch people on the porch without them being able to see him. So, he observed Vincent's pause, and then knock. Interesting. It was always interesting to see whether a client chose to knock, look for a doorbell, call (or worse, text him) to let him know they were there, or just try the door since some people seemed to mistakenly assume he had a receptionist.

He strode to the door and put on a welcoming smile as he pulled it open and looked at his client. "Hello! You must be Vincent?"

"That's me." Vincent smiled. He briefly looked over Ellis. His red hair did not clash with his outfit, which was a rather fashionable one. So far he's passed first impressions.

"Nice to meet you!" Ellis flashed a bright smile and offered his hand for a shake. "I'm Ellis."

Vincent shook his hand with a radiant smile and a nice strong grasp. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ellis."

Ellis took note of both of those things. Vincent seemed confident. That was good. Unless he was just masking. Putting on a show for his new therapist. Oh well. They'd see soon enough if that was the case.

"Please, come on in," Ellis said, stepping back and gesturing inside invitingly.