We pulled into town right behind the policeman, who, without turning, provided us a notecard about the rules. No children or even teenagers allowed within the city limits. No experimenting with avatars much at all, she feared. And yet, right before her, an apartment that was at the upper limit of their range at 200 per.
They could stay here for a time; disguise themselves as the local. But, yeah (she countered), this wasn’t going to really work long term. She looked down: was even *this* acceptable, this hamburger girl outfit as bazooka toting guardian Dinner Girl sometimes called it? Certainly not very human still, quite cartoonish, and, yeah, disguising the real person underneath, the one *still* married to Santa suit wearing Jeffrie Phillips. She had a feeling camouflage was only going to go so far in this town that Baker B. thought might be the seed of his sought after Middletown. This wasn’t Middletown. But, if not… then why did the Oracle point it out? *Must* be more here.
“Look, Kolya. There’s one of those realistic beaches you like to hunt shells on,” she tossed back like a tasty treat to a trailing toddler. That’ll keep him busy for a spell (she figures) while I try to find the source of that bewitching music in the distance. He may be underaged anyway, or at least his mind is with all the holes in it.
Holes, hmph, she contemplates. Like this town will have in its *mature* form, at least according to Baker. Master Baker? Jon Deere? What happened to his wings, then?
Yeah, just keep turning your head, copper, she thought while passing.
(to be continued)