Log Date:
	12/5/98

Log Cast:
	Neva, Tance, Leo

Log Intro:
	Now that Rosa Scardino has brought him more or less safely back
in from her trip with him into the Ranges, Tance Vokrim has hesitantly
embarked back onto cutting crystal by himself. He's desperate to get
some credits built up before the Passover he can feel coming -- the
sharp increase in his symbiont's demand for food is sign enough, even aside
from the increasingly nasty weather in the Ranges. Thus far, though, Tance's
only challenges while cutting his crystal have been thrall and outrunning
storms -- he's gone uninjured ever since his return to Ballybran, a bizarre
kind of luck for him indeed.
	He has no way of knowing that he's about to meet the challenge of
bumping into a young woman who at least temporarily is suffering from an
even worse loss of memory than what generally plagues him -- and who,
accordingly, is curiously free to make some deep-seeing observations about
him. And then there's Rosa's father....

----------
You walk into the lounge.
Singer Common Lounge
This is where Singers can meet and relax after a hard day of work. Chairs and 
  sofas are scattered around in conversational groupings. Several bright 
  stripes lead off to the various Singer accommodation quadrants. 
Contents:
  Tance, just standing there
  Shepherding Manual 
  Online Terminal 
  Shepherd Board 
  Planetary Brochure 
  Catering Unit
Obvious Commands ("." for list):
  .wander  .look  .wait  .pace  .couch  .pillows  .table  .catering unit
Obvious Exits:
  Level 11  Level 10  Level 9

Neva comes in from the lift area.
Neva has arrived.
Gingerly, Neva steps into the lounge; tense muscles relax in her face as eyes 
  survey the relative quietness of the room. After looking around for a 
  longish moment, she steps over to the catering unit, glancing over the menu 
  critically.
Neva spins the menufax around to display the beverage selections.
Neva peruses the selection of drinks, and orders a cup of coffee.

He _had_ meant to come in here, hadn't he? Tance stands in the middle of the 
  otherwise deserted lounge -- deserted, at least, until the newcomer arrives 
  -- and frowns bemusedly into space. The man stands there with one hand 
  half-shoved through his unkempt, graying hair, and a general look of 
  consternation upon his weathered countenance.

Rrrip. One packet of sweetner is opened, the contents streaming out into the 
  mug in a crystalline waterfall, and the empty pink-paper wrapper is tossed 
  into the disposal unit. The process is repeated, this time with a little 
  plastic cup of cream. One the liquid within has been stirred to a soft, 
  medium-brown, Neva picks up the mug, turns, and regards Tance. Someone more 
  confused than she? How surprising. "Hello," she offers hesitantly. "Ah--do I 
  know you?"

The man starts, brown eyes turning their gaze around to the source of the 
  voice. "What?" he rasps gruffly, sounding startled.

And startled, too, is Neva; she nearly jumps a foot, the mug in her hands 
  jostling but not quite dripping. "I... guess not." Thin hands clasp tightly 
  about the mug, the joints paling slightly. "I'm Neva," offers the much 
  younger Singer, before stepping over and sitting slowly in a nearby chair.

Neva
A thin woman--of course, in this guild, one will never find a pudgy singer, 
  but this person takes that to extremes. She is not tall, but lengthy legs 
  create the appearance of height; slender limbs are toned, lightly muscled. 
  Neva is posessed of the compact figure typical to those in active 
  occupations, only a slight curve at breast and hip, but well-defined. 
  Flame-touched waves curl just beneath small, round ears; wide, sage-green 
  eyes are rimmed with coppery lashes. Her fair skin is dusted with freckles 
  across almost-snub nose and soft cheeks, like sparks; slender, high-arched 
  brows are fiery against milk-white forehead. She seems young, perhaps in 
  mid-twenties--not even the finest lines surround her eyes, no marks that 
  might indicate a penchant for smiles, or frowns. Instead, her usual 
  expression is blank, perhaps vaguely worried.
Where brighter colors might be better suited to one with her complexion, Neva 
  has recently taken to somber, more conservative clothing. A carefully 
  tailored blouse of pale dove-grey suits her figure well, the lightweight, 
  smooth cotton accenting curve while blousing out enough to conceal the lack 
  of it. The tiny white buttons are accented by elegant embroidery in what 
  seems to be silk thread. Still, snug-waisted black slacks only accent her 
  lack of weight, along with the oval, silver-tone belt buckle, engraved with 
  a knotwork pattern of obvious Celtic influence, that emphasizes flat 
  stomach. Then, they loosely follow legs to where they rest around the ankles 
  of low-heeled black leather shoes, still unscuffed by daily wear.
 The scratches on her arms and legs are already half-healed. She received a 
  blow to the head, the impact site of which is bruised black and purple. She 
  looks around in confusion, seeming not to know where or who she is.

Neva looks at you for a moment.

Tance blinks a few times, startled anew by the young-looking woman nearly 
  dropping her coffee. Something that might be a blush crosses his features, 
  and he drops his gaze towards the floor, muttering sheepishly, "Sorry... 
  uh... I don't remember you, girlie, no..."

Tance(#3209POQce)
This man stands at about 5'10" in height, though the way he seems prone to 
  slouching over often disguises how tall he actually is. His height is 
  further confused by the state of his undernourished frame; from the look of 
  him, he probably hasn't eaten decently in several days. Despite a deep 
  coppery tan to his weathered skin, there's an unhealthy pallor beneath it, 
  suggesting recent illness or injury, and the brown eyes within that face 
  meet the galaxy with a wild, disoriented, and frequently anguished gaze.
Tance's hair has grown out into a shaggy unkempt mop that at one time might 
  have been a dark shade of brown. Now it's shot through with grey, and 
  lightened into paler yellowish streaks as well from exposure to sunlight. 
  His jaw, however, is bare, speaking of a recent encounter with a razor, and 
  leaving his full countenance open to view. He is currently clad in a pair of 
  form-fitting, dark blue trousers and a comfortably rumpled white shirt, the 
  collar of which is open at his throat to show a bit of tanned, leanly 
  muscled collarbone. Over the shirt he is sporting a dark blue jacket, also 
  form-fitting, with a short collar around the neck and several pockets on the 
  front and sleeves. 
 If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. 

You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones.

Once the mug is steadied in on one leg, fingers of her right hand still 
  gripping it, the left moves up, brushes the bruised spot near her temple. "A 
  crash, I think. Well, I mangled my sled, so I suppose it /must/ be that." A 
  spate of nervous, little-girl laughter, and then Neva's hand returns to cup 
  the mug. "I'm starting to get some things back, though. Little things. Like 
  how I like my coffee. But I don't recognize faces... or names. What's yours?"

The graying man stays silent, and stays standing there in the middle of the 
  room, too, as the youngster before him speaks. But when she's done, Tance 
  glances up, restless and disoriented, but not so much that he can't mumble, 
  "Um... Tance. My name's Tance..."

"Tance." The name is formed carefully by lips and tongue, but seems no more 
  familiar for that taste of it, and Neva shakes her head slightly, as if to 
  herself. "Will you sit down? Would you like some coffee? Or anything else?" 
  Never mind that Neva herself hasn't actually taken a sip of hers, yet. It 
  seems to be doing more good warming her hands.

"I... I was tryin' to decide why I came in here," Tance ventures, sounding 
  oddly shy for a man of his obvious years. But he cautiously approaches Neva 
  and her sitting place nevertheless, while casting unsettled glances all 
  around him.

"A snack? I've been ravenous all day," comments Neva. Her words are tentative, 
  soft, as a person holding out bread crumbs and hoping the birds will eat 
  from her hand. She smiles, friendly-like.

Leo comes in from the lift area.
Leo has arrived.
Leo saunters in, hands in his pockets.
Leo looks at you for a moment.

Tance seems to consider this with much solemn anxiety, and bobs his graying 
  head once at the young woman as he sinks onto a nearby couch. "Yeah," he 
  agrees roughly. "Hungry... real hungry..."

Finally, a sip taken from that mug of coffee, before it's placed on a side 
  table momentarily. "Any idea what you'd like? On me... I have the credit, 
  and certainly not much to buy with it." In that movement, Neva catches Leo's 
  entrance out the corner of her eye, and turns to smile that way. "Hello," 
  she offers.

Leo pulls out a free hand. "Hello!" he waves cheerily. He then looks at the 
  other singer, than a longer look, and yet another, then pulls something 
  small out of his pocket looking at it as if comparing. Then shoves it back 
  in a pocket and ambles forwards.

The notion that Neva might actually buy him food touches off a strangely 
  childlike wistfulness in Tance's otherwise mature visage, and he gives the 
  young woman the sort of look a starving puppy might bestow upon a nearby 
  person holding out a snack. "You don't gotta--" he begins, only to be 
  distracted in turn as her attention diverts to to the incoming man. Brown 
  eyes blink their bewilderment.

"I have thirty-five thousand credits in my account," scolds Neva mildly with a 
  smile--gentle enough to make it quite clear that she's simply not brooking 
  any objections. "Now, what do you want? I have to get something for me, 
  anyway."

Leo nods to the two of them. "Evening," he says. "Name's Leo," he says with a 
  look in Tance's direction. "Couldn't sleep, thought I'd might wander. If I'm 
  not disturbing you two, that is."

Leo
You see an older man, probably in his early fifties. His frame is fairly well 
  kept, with a surprising lack of a paunch, even if he is shorter than most. 
  (Approx 160 cm.)His hair is turning grayish/silvery, and there's a bald spot 
  starting to appear on the top that he persists on combing over. His light 
  brown eyes form the focus of a generally genial expression.
His dress is quite conservative, if well worn. Dark trousers, a gray 
  butten-down shirt, jacket and brown shoes form the entire outfit. 
  Occasionally he wears a plain hat.
Carrying:
Picture crystal

Tance blinks, twice, at the sight of a fellow who's apparently at least close 
  to him in age. There's no recognition in Vokrim's eyes as he starts to 
  mumble something, seems to think better of it, and finally just shakes his 
  head mutely.

Following suit, the younger Singer shakes her head, as well. "No, that's just 
  fine. Would you like something to eat?" Neva pulls herself up, taking a step 
  in the direction of the catering unit.

Leo takes a seat. "I'd love to. I mean I wouldn't, I just ate, but I'd..." He 
  waves his hands expressively. "You'd think after a few years I'd be used to 
  this."

Still sitting as though he's not quite entirely comfortable and might spring 
  back to his feet at any moment, Tance peers in bafflement at Leo and then 
  back to Neva. _Food,_ the concept registers, and on the very heels of the 
  thought, there is a loud rumbling from the vicinity of his person.

A few more steps, and Neva pauses in front of it, a hand raising to key in her 
  order. "What do you two want?" she asks, without looking back at either of 
  them, her eyes skimming over the menu. "Snack? Something more substantial? 
  Dessert?"

The crystal resonance is zinging through your body.

Leo stands up. "A snack, just. Though let me get over to use my dredit."

Neva spins the menufax around to display the snack selections.

Tance sinks down a bit on the couch he occupies, looking distinctly 
  embarrassed.

Dismissed with a small wave of her hand, Neva dials up the snacks, and studies 
  the selections. "Shall I just get something for all of us, if you don't mind 
  sharing? Or would you like something else, Tance?" Head turns, and a glance 
  is shot over her shoulder, towards the seated Singer, and then she pauses. 
  "Something wrong?"

"Passover," Tance mumbles indistinctly. "Gotta be Passover..." He doesn't seem 
  to hear Neva, and indeed, the man is starting to look strangely troubled.

Sighing softly, Neva looks back to the menu. "Forellan biscuits and Aldebaran 
  paste. I don't remember if I've had those before. Sound okay?" Once she's 
  asked that, she adds, "Yes, Passover's coming."

Leo settles back down. "That's right," he repeats. "Passover. You'll make it 
  through this one just fine as well, Tance."

The older Singer frowns, not looking entirely convinced of the assurances. All 
  he says, as he turns that plaintive dark gaze of his back towards the young 
  woman, is "Um... if you just wanna pick anything, girlie... pay ya back, 
  when I get enough claims..."

Taking the platter of biscuits and paste over towards her former seat, Neva 
  shakes her head. "I've plenty, and if I'd friends to share with, I don't 
  remember who they are. Anyway, it was only ten credits." She holds the 
  platter out towards Tance as she slides into her chair. "Try one?"

Leo settles back down. As Neva returns to the two of them. "By the way," he 
  says, "I didn't catch your name," he says to her.

"I'm Neva. Or at least, that's what my recording unit and my wrist unit and 
  everything else tells me, so I assume that must be it," replies the young 
  woman in an unpleasantly uncertain tone. "It sounds right, though, I guess."

That's undeniable hunger on Tance's grizzled face. He can't keep himself from 
  veritably lunging at the proferred platter, and he winds up seizing three of 
  the biscuits before finally seeming to recollect manners. The Singer then 
  jolts backwards, and scoots back hard against the back of his seat, blushing 
  redly. This doesn't, however, keep him from starting to wolf down the 
  biscuits.

Leo restrains himself by only taking one biscuit in each hand. "Does your 
  recording unit tell you which class you were in?"

No chastizement, no scolding; Neva smiles across, lightly, as if she 
  understands the hunger, though she's a bit slower in taking one and smearing 
  it with the reddish paste. She takes a bite, slowly chews it, savoring the 
  flavor. "Yes, I think I like this," she murmurs, and then lifts her head to 
  regard Leo. "2029. I /remember/ that. Silly things like that came back 
  first. I hit my head," she explains.

Leo ohs. Then looks at Tance. "I felt that hungry just, oh, half an hour ago."

Tance peers abashedly at Leo, then at Neva, caught in the middle of biscuit 
  inhalation. He swallows down his current mouthful hard, then mumbles, "I was 
  cutting," and eyes the rest of the platter longingly.

As she starts in on her second, Neva passes the platter over towards Tance. 
  "Didn't take the time to eat while you were out there? I'm told that's a 
  relatively common occurance." The biscuit is washed down with a sip of 
  coffee, before the mug is set aside again.

Leo clears his throat by swallowing, then asking conversationally, "Cut 
  anything good?"

"Yellow," mutters Tance in between making serious progress at making those 
  biscuits disappear. Most of his attention is on the platter, as if he's 
  quite chagrined at his eating manners, yet unable to stop himself. "Rose..." 
  His voice softens a little, absently, from mutter to murmur then.

Leo nods encouragingly, hand reaching out for one more biscuit. "That's right."

You feel resonance tingling in your bones.

Coffee cup cradled in her fingers, Neva listens and watches, smiling. "Yellow? 
  Well, you're lucky, then. What brought you back?"

"Prisms," murmurs Tance, his hand actually slowing and stopping in an attempt 
  to seize another biscuit. "Climbed for 'em... sunlight on the face..." His 
  head lifts a little, brown gaze going off into space, his features beginning 
  to go tranquil.

"It must have been beautiful," agrees Neva, retrieving another biscuit before 
  Tance eats them all. "How long did it take you to cut it?" she asks, as she 
  tears the biscuit apart in her fingers and nibbles on one half.

Leo helpfully picks up the biscuit Tance was reaching for, and places it in 
  his enthralled hand.

"Beautiful," the Singer with the graystreaked hair echoese dreamily in reply, 
  and that's all he says, his voice dropping off into silence, his face and 
  frame going very still.

Leo looks towards Neva as he waits.

Slowly, Neva's face creases in worry, and she glances over at Leo, eyes wide. 
  "What--?" Apparently, this isn't one of those things she's remembered thus 
  far.

Leo asks her, "Think he'll snap out of the thrall soon enough? He looks 
  peacefull."

Letting go of a held breath, Neva tilts her head and studies the thralled man, 
  a smile tugging the corners of her lips into a half-smile. "Yes, he does," 
  she murmurs softly. "But--do you think here is an okay place?"

Leo looks about. "Seems safe enough. He's not outside all alone on a sled, 
  missing the warnings."

Indeed, the Singer looks quite peaceful, his lined face relaxed and turning 
  almost boyish, for all that his brown eyes are alarmingly blank. 
  Nevertheless, despite the thrall that seems to have seized his mind, the 
  rest of his body has its own demands upon him, and there comes another 
  rumbling from his person.

"He should eat," says Neva quickly, as soon as that rumble becomes audible. 
  She leans over, placing a hand gently against his shoulder, shaking just 
  ever-so-lightly. "Tance?"

Leo's comunit beeps. "Always at the worst times," he mutters. "You'll excuse 
  me," he says in a louder voice to Neva. "Looks like I'm needed. Thank you 
  for the biscuits and the conversation. Maybe I'll return the favor another 
  time."

Neva glances over, smiling softly. "Yes, and thank you as well. See you 
  around, I hope," she offers.

Leo hurries off.

There seems to be no immediate response from the enthralled Singer; Tance 
  stares just up past Neva towards some distant point on the ceiling, a slight 
  upward curl of his mouth on one end at odds with his vacant dark gaze.

Leo walks up to level 9.
Leo has left.

Another, firmer shake, less hesitant this time. "Tance... come out of it." 
  Neva frowns vaguely. "C'mon. You need to eat. There's still a few biscuits 
  left."

A faint tremor passes through the older Singer, then. With an apparent effort, 
  his eyes drop closed and then open again halfway, making him look dazed, 
  sleepy. "Whuh--?"

With some relief, Neva smiles at Tance, removing her hand from his shoulder. 
  "You need to eat something," she offers, again, tapping the tray. "Have 
  another biscuit."

"Crystal," Tance mumbles thickly. "Where... I... where'm I at?"

"The singer lounge. We were talking, and eating biscuits, and you went into 
  thrall. Have a biscuit." Having repeated the words a few times, Neva pushes 
  one of the biscuits at his hand. "They're good," she offers, as if he may 
  have forgotten.

_Food_. Tance's stomach registers its presence, interjecting another low surly 
  growl into the conversation, before he does. But it doesn't take him more 
  than a moment to focus his gaze again on the proferred morsel. He 
  practically inhales it, but after he does, he lifts a liquid regard to the 
  woman before him. "Thanks," he mumbles abashedly.

Now that he seems to be in a little better shape, Neva returns herself to her 
  seat, smiling. "No problem," she dismisses the thank-you. "It seems to get 
  worse all the time," she reflects. "I should think about where I'm going."

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

Apparently, this older Singer isn't all that much of a talker -- and never 
  mind the dropping off into thrall in the middle of a conversation. He merely 
  peers shyly towards Neva as he gulps down the remaining biscuits within 
  reach, bemusement returning to his face.

Shaking her head slightly, Neva clears her thoughts, and then grins at Tance 
  as her eyes meet his. "That take the edge off it, at least?" she asks, 
  gently.

"Awful hungry," the man agrees, solemnly bobbing his head a time or two, 
  making loose tendrils of gray-brown shift ever so slightly across his 
  forehead.

"Still?" A peal of laughter, a bright smile--then, instantly, apologetic. "Oh, 
  I know, I've been all day eating," Neva adds hastily. "Do you want anything 
  else?"

Tance considers this, then gives another timid nod. That wistfulness that had 
  entered his expression before returns. "Y-you don't mind, girlie...?" he 
  blurts, his voice hoarse.

"'Course not." Neva pulls herself to her feet, stepping over to the catering 
  unit and entering another order. "I wish you'd call me Neva. I'm still 
  trying to get used to it again. Anyway, I'm glad I have /some/ use around 
  here..." She picks up the new tray, and returns. "Even if it's just making 
  sure that certain Singers don't starve."

"Neva," mumbles the older Singer. He pauses, and then admits ashamedly, "I 
  ain't gonna remember it."

The girl offers him the tray, smiling wistfully. "I know. Write it down, or 
  record it... or come talk to me every day." A grin, there, as Neva then 
  deposits herself in her seat. "Less chance of forgetting, then, right?"

From the look on Tance's face, you'd think he'd never seen food before. He 
  accepts the new tray with a look of positively melting gratitude before 
  applying himself to what's upon it. One end of his mouth quirks upward for a 
  moment in a ghost of a lopsided smile. "I... I got a datapad, I think..."

Crossing her legs in the chair, Neva retrieves her coffee, then leans forward 
  on her elbows. "Why not use it? I'm certainly going to start being /much/ 
  more religious in my entries..." A little, soft scowl. "I don't think I 
  realized how vague I was being until I /needed/ the information."

Tance's smile falters, slipping away; something darkens about his eyes. He 
  pauses int the middle of swallowing down a biscuit as if something about it 
  seems to suddenly strike him as entirely unpalatable, but he swallows it 
  down nevertheless.

Scowl shifts to almost sadness, as Neva looks closer towards the older Singer. 
  "Are you all right?" she asks quietly. "Is something wrong?"

"Can't forget," Tance mumbles then, his voice creeping up towards a higher 
  register, close to the tone of a frightened child. "Gotta record, but..." A 
  flash of pain traverses his eyes, and then he looks up to proclaim 
  dolefully, "Jade's gone now..."

It doesn't take much to guess that, whoever or whatever Jade was, he/she/it 
  was probably something rather important to that man's life. Neva nods, 
  quietly. "I think that... I would rather remember the pain /and/ what 
  happened, though, than just have this big blank space where everything used 
  to be."

Tance swallows hard, eying the food now with a strange mix of revulsion and 
  undisguised need. It takes him a very long moment before he manages to pick 
  up another biscuit and gulp it down, after which he mumbles in an extremely 
  tiny voice, "Yeah..."

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

"What was..." A stab in the dark. "..she like?" Hope the pronoun's right. 
  Neva's voice is hesitant, almost afraid to ask the question but too curious 
  to let the subject be.

The pronoun must be accurate, for Tance shows no sign of correcting it. 
  "Green," he murmurs sadly, "all over... real easy to remember..."

Which would explain the nickname, hmm? "Was she, now? What else do you 
  remember?" prompts Neva, watching him with wide eyes.

"Loved her," is the man's immediate reply. _That_ causes a strange shift in 
  his expression; somewhere behind the upset child that dominates his 
  expression, at least for the briefest of instants, there is visible a bereft 
  adult.

Softly, the young woman nods, with a faint smile. "I remember being in love," 
  she offers. "It's in my logs. I talked about him a lot. He's... dead, now, I 
  suppose. Or a vegetable in long-term-care. Sad... I've not been here long. I 
  suppose I barely knew him." Neva trails off, studying her hands for a moment.

Tance blinks a few times, staring now at the younger Singer with a rough kind 
  of sympathy beginning to creep into his expression. His mouth works silently 
  for a moment, before he finally offers, "The... symbiont... oughtta fix 
  _your_ head, gir-er... Neva...?"

"In time." A tilt of head, a quirk of shoulder. "And in time, it'll take all 
  the memories away again. I was never eidetic... but how do you look into the 
  eyes of a person who claims they're a friend and tell them you haven't the 
  faintest who they are?" Neva chuckles sadly.

Tance mumbles in plaintive tones, "It stinks."

Neva nods again, slowly. "Yes, it does," she agrees softly. "But what do you 
  do, except record it all and hope what you say makes sense later?"

The older Singer's gaze drops again, and he blushes, looking acutely 
  uncomfortable. He doesn't offer a reply.

Neva smiles a little bit, and peers at him. "Are you okay? Did I say something 
  wrong?" she asks, slightly worried but attempting to be vaguely comforting.

"I-I dunno why I'm tellin'... ya all this," is the muttered, embarrassed reply.

You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones.

A slight shrug--Neva herself doesn't understand, most likely. "Sometimes it 
  helps to talk to someone," she suggests. "I certainly haven't been able to 
  find very many people who.. understand what it's like, to forget."

Slowly, hesitantly, Tance nods. His gaze, however, stays shyly pointed 
  downward, hidden by the shock of graying hair draping across his brow.

For a moment, Neva just studies him, as one might attempt to understand a 
  sculpture, or a statue. "How old are you, anyway?" she asks, suddenly. 
  "There aren't many singers who've gone gray."

Tance can be seen to blink, then, his gaze creeping back up. "I... I dunno," 
  he mumbles, his features crinkling in attempted recollection.

Neva looks at you for a moment.

"It's strange, to think... I mean, you probably have a few years on my 
  great-great-greats. But... you don't look like it," offers Neva, watching 
  him. "You'd look younger if you dyed the gray out, maybe got a trim."

Tance blinks, attention grasped anew, as he stares round-eyed at the younger 
  Singer now. "Wha... whaddya talking about?" he asks blankly.

Giggling to herself, Neva shakes her head. "Never mind... it doesn't matter 
  much. It's just... well, you'd look younger if you darkened the grey, got it 
  trimmed neatly. You look like you've been out a long time," she comments.

Something about this concept seems to sit uneasily with the grizzled Singer. 
  "Don't have the credits for a haircut," he mumbles, starting to pinken along 
  his cheeks and glancing sheepishly somewhere across the room. He appends 
  something else in a barely audible mutter, something that _might_ be 'nobody 
  gives a karkin' damn how old I look anyway...'.

"If you keep cutting yellow, I'm sure you'll be able to, soon." Unbidden, a 
  yawn emerges, arms stretching languidly upwards and then re-settling 
  themselves in her lap. "I think I'm going to go take a nap," she says, 
  apologetically.

"My cutter," Tance blurts then, surging to his feet. "I... I remember, my 
  cutter, it was chargin', I gotta check it... I gotta go back out..."

Soft laughter--and a nod. "Yes, go check it. I'll see you around. Try and 
  remember me?" Neva pulls herself up, slowly.

"I... I'll try, girlie," the older Singer promises dolefully.

"Neva," she corrects quickly. "Remember that. N-E-V-A." Just in case it'll 
  help, she spells it, firmly and slowly. "Now... I'll see you later. And you 
  don't have to pay me back!" With that, Neva heads up to level 9.
Neva walks up to level 9.
Neva has left.

[End log.]