So there I was, designing Nate and Wryn Crest’s first home in Newcrest, a.k.a. Wryncrest, at the Midtown Meadows lot:
At the onset, I did what any seasoned player would do, and I immediately phoned in jobs:
- Lab Technician for Nate Crest, who Mirev described as, “hair gelled by moonlight.”
- Live Chat Support Agent for Wryn Crest, because she’s an alien, but in our novel series, she’s a synth, and I am not without a sense of dark humor.
Jobbed up, he sits down to watch a comedy, and she snuggles into the computer to play Blicblock, when she blows a kiss, and he winks back, and BAM—”Ooh la la,” Wryn already decides that she likes flirting.
He’s over here like:
“Whoa. I said one thing about her earrings. Why is she glowing.”
And she’s like:
“This is the axis point. The entire story just branched. I must now excavate our previous lives.”
She is—
🧊 blue-skinned, until she’s not
🧠 genius
📚 bookworm
🌫️ mystical
💻 computing tetrominoes into anti-death patterns
❤️🔥 and simultaneously being swept off her feet by a man in sandals and grief pants—
But then, because this new save file is FRISKY—
It’s like, he’s over here cutting a jade on the gemology table, while she’s practicing human-form speech in the bathroom mirror, and he gets the idea to…go out on a date…?
“Hi, uh. I don’t mean to interrupt your cosmic consulting or speech practice or whatever,
but do you want to, like… go stare at frogs together?”
So off we go to Whistling Thistle Gardens in Innisgreen, a park I haven’t seen yet.
They flirted.
They had deep conversations.
🧠 Wryn’s Log
Location: Whistling Thistle Gardens, Innisgreen
Time: 17 minutes after “hello”
Mood: Momentum-based intimacy, glitch-flirt equilibrium
The swing creaked in time with my thinking.
I told him about the 4D limits of paracausal consciousness, and he listened.
Not just “smiled and nodded” listened—but tucked-his-lips-and-breathed-slowly listened, like he was downloading a manual on how to hold me correctly without disrupting the signal.
I explained the difference between applied intelligence and interpretive presence.
Then I laughed because I was also flirting, and I think he noticed that part too.
I may have called myself “functionally immortal with excellent thighs.” He didn’t disagree.
I told him I wanted to keep this moment in a jar.
Then I told him I could probably build the jar using quantum math.
Then I realized I was swinging too high and needed to reset my altitude so I wouldn’t fall out of the narrative.
💚 Nate’s Log
Location: same
Time: don’t remember, the frog felt like an omen
Mood: delighted, terrified, unworthy, doomed, ecstatic
She spoke in recursive metaphors and dared me to keep up.
And I tried. I said something about how the last frog I saw blinked at me sideways and I’ve never quite felt safe since.
She didn’t blink. She sparkled.
Her eyes caught the color of the sky in a way I’m not sure was legal.
I gave her a crystal. I didn’t tell her I kept it in my pocket all week waiting for the right kind of silence.
She made the silence.
I told her it had fracture lines that resembled riverbeds, and she said, “So it remembers weather.”
I think I love her.
But I also think if I say that out loud, she’ll write a new language to translate it, and I’ll never understand the original.
That’s okay. I’m still swinging.
Then they shrubbed:
San Myshuno Spice District food stall definitely happening after this…
Weirdtopia 
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