“Oh dear,” Painter said （lowly）。
“What?” Yumi asked, her voice rising.
“She likes you.”
“Is that bad?”
“Never can tell with Masaka,” he replied.
Yumi settled down on the stool next to his. “You were right,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t…know how to be a person, Painter.”
“Well, maybe I was wrong. Because you need practice.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t need practice to become something I shouldn’t. I’m not a person, Painter.”
He frowned, looking toward her. “Of course you’re a person, Yumi.”
“No, I’m a concept,” she said. “A thing, owned by society. I would be better as a machine, like that box that shows stories in your room. If I didn’t think, if I didn’t feel, I’d do my job far better.” She gazed downward, concentrating on the counter. “The nibbles at freedom I had today are dangerous, Painter. They taste of things I shouldn’t want. If I let them control me, then what? I still have to go back. Take up my duties again. Do you think maybe the spirits sent me here to warn me? Or maybe…to test me?”
“No,” Painter said. “I think they sent you here as a reward, Yumi. So that you could taste these things. Enjoy them, for once in your life.”
She glanced at him, then smiled. And suddenly he felt ashamed for his earlier joy at her discomfort. Perhaps he should have seen it before, but this was a person who somehow felt more isolated than he did.
He’d thought himself alone. He’d barely understood the word.
Her smile faltered, and she averted her eyes. “I wish I could believe you were right. But the spirit that came to me, Painter…it was hurting. It needed something. This isn’t a reward. It might not be a punishment or a test, but it’s no reward.”
“You could still enjoy it,” he said. “While you can.”
She glanced back at him. And instinctively, he reached his hand toward hers. She looked like she could use something to hold. But…then he stopped, because he couldn’t touch her even if he wanted to. He blushed, feeling foolish.
A bowl clattered to the floor.
They both jumped, turning toward Design—who had just left the kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice the bowl of soup she’d dropped; instead she stood there slack-jawed.
“Storms!” Design said, staring directly at Painter. “Nikaro? Are you dead?”
It took Yumi a moment to register what had happened.
This strange woman with the white hair and the outrageously full figure was looking at Painter. She’d called him by name.
She could see him.
Someone could see Painter.
“Design!” he said, leaping to his feet. “You can see me?”
“Um…” Design said, glancing to the sides at the nearby patrons, who were staring at her because of the dropped bowl. “Nope. Nope, can’t see any ghosts here. Mortals hate talk of ghosts.” She raised her eyes and spoke louder. “Just an accident with my clumsy, inefficient meat-fingers! I did not see a ghost. Everyone, enjoy the noodles!”
“Design!” Painter said, pained.
Design nodded toward the ground in an exaggerated way. Then she crouched to begin cleaning up the noodles. Painter rushed around the bar, and Yumi—feeling awkward—grabbed some bar cloths and did the same, kneeling down.
This left the three of them all out of sight but perfectly audible— except maybe Painter. This method seemed more suspicious to Yumi. But she didn’t know how normal people acted, so maybe she wasn’t the best judge.
“Painter!” Design said. “How did you die? Did you choke on an overly large noodle?”
“I don’t think I’m dead,” he said, whispering for some reason. “A couple days ago, I started waking up on her world! I think it’s the star—like, I think I’m visiting it. Then when I fall asleep, I wake up back here—but I’m like a ghost, and somehow she’s here now.”
Design looked at Yumi, then stuck out her hand. “Hello! Would you like to shake meat-appendages?”
“Uh…” Yumi took the hand, then bowed. Strangely, Design didn’t bow back, but only waggled her hand a little.
“Nice to meet you,” Design said. “You’re not a ghost.”
“We haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on,” Painter said. “Or why I wear her body when I’m in her world, but she doesn’t wear mine when she’s here.”
“Uh, Painter?” Design said, nodding her head toward Yumi. “Yeah, that’s totally your body.”
“But…” he said. “It looks like her. Even to you, right?”
“Yup,” Design said. “But I can see the line of Connection from you to it. I’ve got this, um, strong Cognitive aspect? Hard to explain without numbers, and mortals get cross-eyed when I use those instead. I’m not really here, like I’ve told you, so I can see Cognitive Shadows even when they don’t want to be seen. Also, your body is a girl’s body now.”
“What?” Painter said.
“Who are you?” Design said, ignoring Painter and looking at Yumi. “You’ve got a storming strong Spiritual aspect, highly Invested in some strange way. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to rewrite his body with your soul and warp it to match your sense of self. Shrinking and reshaping the bones, stretching and shifting the muscles… Fun stuff.”
Painter’s face paled.
Yumi tried to take it in stride. “I…didn’t mean to do any of these things, honored hostess. It was done by the spirits because of some kind of desperate need.”
“Yeah,” Design said. “Um, that’s some seriously hard work you did. Bet you’re hungry.”
“Ravenous,” Yumi admitted. “Though not so bad today as the last time I came to your world.”
“Should get easier each time,” Design said. “The body will fight you less and waste less energy trying to snap back to looking like him. Still, I should feed you. It’s, like, my job. I’m employed!” She popped up from behind the bar and shooed Yumi back to a stool, though they’d barely cleaned up half the mess. Design did the rest quickly and efficiently, while Painter stood morosely nearby.
“I don’t want to be a girl,” he said.
“Oh hush,” Design said, quickly mopping the floor. “I’ve been pretending to be one for years now, so I’m an authority—and it’s really quite nice. Except for the sexism. But it’s hard to blame that on being a woman instead of on, you know, morons.” She paused, then smiled at Painter. “Don’t look so glum. Your body will probably snap back to your shape once she’s no longer attached to it.”
“Probably?” he asked.
“Definitely probably.” She handed him the mop, which slipped through his incorporeal fingers as soon as she let go of it. Which caused her to snicker. “What?” she asked at his offended expression. “Just doing some tests.”
She gathered the bucket and mop and stalked into the kitchen again. Painter rounded the bar, then slumped down next to Yumi. She, in turn, glanced around the room—but no one seemed to be paying much attention to them. Akane was gazing toward Yumi as if to check on her, so Yumi gave her what was hopefully an “I’m good” gesture.