9. A Brighter Session
There's a new spring in Laramie's step on a hot autumn day in Las Vegas. In her white "ghost suit," Justine notices how Laramie has begun to bounce back from her magical accident.
« 8. Loquette Day | CONTENTS | 10. Building an Avatar »
The loquette feels hot against my chest as I push open the door to Justine’s office suite. A bead of sweat slides down my neck in the stuffy hall. The AC’s barely pushing back the midday heat. Justine’s in her office, waiting, all in white, in a cool, sheer bodysuit and no wig. She looks like some translucent faceless phantom.
I stop in my tracks. With this new loquette, I can see right through her gauzy form to the diplomas on the far wall and the watercolor prints. Details that were just blurry shades before. I try to say something, but no words come out.
Crap, forgot to sync my—
“Laramie, come in,” Justine says, her voice rising from her blank face. Have a seat. Let’s get your loquette paired up.”
I plop down on the comfy armchair, thinking the Bluetooth settings into view to connect my loquette’s tiny control button to her speaker. “Ah, I think that did it. Can you hear me?”
“There we are,” she says warmly. “Nice to see you again. Happy to ditch the data port today?”
“Oh my god, you have no idea,” I gush, my voice crackling to life. This loquette… it’s a whole new world. I had wine, Justine—real wine! And Chinese takeout—General Tso’s! I could taste everything.”
The weird and kinda awesome ghost suit Justine is wearing leans forward as if hanging on to my every word. I ramble on, caught up in my excitement.
“And coffee! With an almond croissant. It was so flaky that it got all over my shirt. But I didn’t even care because it tasted so damn good after weeks of those nasty nutrient patches. No more drinking by fucking osmosis… Oh, excuse my language.”
“That’s wonderful, Laramie, and don’t worry. We all get carried away sometimes,” Justine says, amusement in her voice. “Tell me more about what you’ve been experiencing with your augmented senses.”
I settle back in my chair, my loquette sticky against my skin, and let the words flow. For the first time in forever, I feel like myself again. Someone with a voice telling her story bit by messy, chaotic, coffee-stained bit.
Justine’s Face
My attention drifts around Justine’s office as I chatter on, the loquette’s enhanced visuals bringing everything into sharp focus. Subtle details pop out at me, like the grain of the wooden desk and the rug fibers beneath my feet. But the framed photos on the wall snag my attention, stopping me mid-sentence.
“Wait. Are those… you?” I ask, leaning forward for a closer look.
Past the translucent haze of Justine’s form, I make out a smiling young woman posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, her dark hair whipping in the wind. Another shot shows a grinning little girl with an Indian mom and a Caucasian dad, a typical happy family.
“From my college trip to Paris,” Justine confirms, a wistful note in her voice. “And that’s me with my parents, back in Oregon.”
“Oregon?” I echo, surprised. Somehow, I’d never pictured Justine having a life before… well, before she became like this. “What brought you out here to the Guild?”
There’s a pause, weighted with unspoken history. “It’s a long story,” Justine says at last. “My dad’s American. Hungarian-American actually. He met my mom on a business trip to Hyderabad. I had a pretty average childhood. Middle-class, nothing special. Never imagined I’d end up here…”
She clears her throat, and a staticky sound through the little Bluetooth speaker. “But enough about me. Let’s focus on you, Laramie. How are you adjusting to your new normal?”
I hesitate, sensing the deliberate subject change but letting it slide. “It’s wild,” I admit, glancing out the window at the bustling street below. I See everything so clearly, hear every little noise. It’s like… like I’ve been living in a pixelated world, and someone finally hit the enhance button.”
A laugh burbles up in my throat, and I test out one of the loquette’s bonus features. “I don’t sound half bad either, do I?” I say, my voice shifting into a posh British accent. “I wish I’d had this little trick in my theatre days. Would’ve been brilliant at auditions, yeah?”
Justine chuckles, the sound melodic despite its digital undertones. “Impressive,” she says, her voice morphing into an Appalachian drawl. “Y’all are a regular Meryl Streep, ain’tchya?”
We both crack up at that, the easy banter chasing away the earlier tension. But even as I laugh, I feel uneasy. Justine’s deflection, the photos that hint at a whole hidden history… it’s a reminder that everyone here has their secrets. Their scars.
And as much as I want to believe this loquette is my ticket to a shiny new life, I can’t shake the feeling that my story is far from over. The biggest plot twists are still lurking, waiting to blindside me when I least expect them.
Getting Myself Out There
“I’ve been thinking about reconnecting with some of the people I’ve met in the past seven weeks,” I tell Justine. “Now that I’ve got this loquette, maybe I can actually keep up with conversations, you know? Participate in activities without feeling like a total third wheel.”
Justine nods, her translucent form shimmering slightly in the afternoon light.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Laramie. Your friends will be thrilled to see you engaging more fully, and it’s an important step in your journey of rediscovery and empowerment.”
“Yeah, but... what if it’s weird? What if they treat me differently now that I’m not just the silent, invisible girl in the corner?”
“Change can be scary,” Justine acknowledges, her voice gentle. “But it can also be exhilarating. Embrace the opportunity to show your friends the real you, the you that’s been there all along but just needed a little boost.”
I nod, my loquette bobbing against my chest. She’s right. I can’t let fear hold me back, not when I’ve already come so far. And besides, if anyone can handle a little weirdness, it’s my fellow misfits and magic casualties.
“Okay,” I say, sucking air deeply into my pores. “I’ll reach out to them. Set up a game night or something. Baby steps, right?”
“Exactly,” Justine agrees. “Remember, Laramie, you’re the hero of your own story now. Don’t be afraid to write yourself a kickass character arc.”
I grin at that. Justine doesn’t usually swear. I’ve spent so long letting others dictate my narrative: the sideshow, the accident, this whole headless thing. But now? Now, it’s time to start scribbling out my plot.
And if that plot involves kicking ass at Pictionary with my fellow Magic Guild survivors? Well, I think that’s a twist I can definitely get behind.
What About Dave?
As our session winds down, my thoughts can’t help but drift to Dave—sweet, geeky Dave with his lopsided smile and an endless supply of obscure movie references. Things have been… different between us lately. It's a good different, I think, but still uncharted territory.
“Hey, Justine?” I venture, fidgeting with the hem of my sundress. “Can I ask you something? About… relationships?”
Justine’s suit shimmers as she leans forward into a sunbeam. Her voice is warm with understanding. “Of course, Laramie. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s just… with everything that’s happened, all these changes… I guess I’m wondering how it might affect things. With Dave Kreuzberg, I mean.” I feel silly even bringing it up, but Justine has a way of making every concern feel valid.
“Oh, I know Dave well,” Justine says slyly. “We meet once a week. You’ve come up more than once.”
“I have?” I’m surprised.
Justine nods, her bodysuit crinkling slightly. “We’ve been working together for a while now, collaborating on ways to help magical survivors like yourself adapt to their new realities. Dave’s technical expertise combined with my therapeutic knowledge has led to some fascinating breakthroughs.”
I lean back, trying to process this information. “So, all those custom gadgets Dave’s been making for me, like this loquette, you’ve been involved in that?”
“Guilty as charged,” Justine chuckles. “We wanted to make sure you had the best possible support system in place. Both emotionally and technologically.”
I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. “I just don’t want to mess things up, you know? Dave… he’s been there for me through so much already.”
“And I suspect he’ll continue to be,” Justine says gently. “The Guild encourages relationships between survivors, you know. Even between survivors and staff. It helps protect our secrecy.”
That surprises me, but in a good way. Knowing that Dave and I have the Guild’s blessing… it eases a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
“Thanks, Justine,” I say softly. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“You’d still be right here,” she insists, her voice brimming with conviction. “On your own path of growth and self-discovery. I’m just honored to walk beside you for a little while.”
I leave our session feeling lighter than I have in weeks, Justine’s words echoing in my mind like a mantra: Patience. Process. Possibility.
A Spring in My Step
As I step out of the therapy room, I’m relieved when the world doesn’t dissolve back into a pixelated first-person scroller. The loquette rests warm and comforting against my collarbone. With a quick thought, I open my calendar app, scanning the day ahead.
Physical therapy this afternoon. I grin inside, already anticipating how I’ll crush those exercises. Who needs a head to walk the balance beam?
I can’t help but do a little shimmy as I pass by the mirror in the hallway, my reflection catching me by surprise. I pause and look at myself. The blue dress hugs my curves just right, the soft fabric swishing around my knees. Shadowy black hose and flats complete the look. Practical and pretty all at once. But it’s more than just the outfit.
It’s the way I’m holding myself: shoulders back, spine straight, an invisible thread pulling my posture upward. And my neck, ending in that smooth, flat stem. I’m finally getting used to it. The point is, I look good. I feel good.
I do another little twirl just because I can.
My heads-up flashes an alert: an incoming message. I press it open.
DAVE: Ready to do dinner and talk about your avatar?
I can practically hear the hopeful lilt of his voice.
I grin, thinking out a response.
LARAMIE: Wouldn’t miss it for the world. PS: prepare to be dazzled by my new dance moves.
I hit send, and I swear I feel the loquette get a little warmer. Or maybe that’s just me, lit up from the inside out.