"So this is a cool gadget."

The message link had shown as Renfield Turnbull.

Lise Mason was not Renfield Turnbull.

Artemis is somehow still marveling at that several minutes later.

"It is called a PADD."

"Well, I hope he lets me keep it. This is cooler than all that Pear stuff Jade's bunch bring through the portal. Very Star Trek."

Artemis ducks his head, hiding a matter-of-fact smirk behind his hand.

"That it is. Can I help you with something, Lise?"

"Help me? Help me. Dude. Have you never just gotten a call from a girl? You know, to talk?"

"...no."

"You're lying to me."

He stops to think a moment. His faint grin is a private one. "Actually, I think I am."

"Uh-huh. Who is she? Is she okay with sharing, or do I have to chase her off?"

"--what?"

"Hah, that got a great look. Down, boy. I'm not going to have it out with your girlfriend."

"I don't... I don't have..."

"Ssh. It's all right, kid. Tell the blush to come down a notch or I'll have to, like, adjust my monitor here."

"--all right?"

He's at a loss. There's literally nothing about what just happened that Artemis understands, he can't shake the feeling he somehow managed to do something wrong even though she just did all the talking, and it's stressful just how tempting it is to merely sever the link and pretend this never happened.

Lise pats the screen like she might his shoulder, and Artemis sighs.

Silence reigns, despite his mouth's greatest intention of finding something to say.

"Er." Not articulate. Not at all. He tries again. "What prompted you to call?"

"Er? Er. Har dee har." She wiggles her fingers at the camera and Artemis is confused again. "They said you were sick. You don't look sick. Are you sick?"

She asks the question as though answering it is a fabulous offer, not to be missed, nodding and grinning prettily at the other end.

"That was nosy, huh? Sorry. Sometimes I can't help it. Teenage girl and all. It's coded. Comes with the fresh wave of hormones and the change in cup sizes. --whoa there, breathe! Breathe, Arty!"

He honestly only swallowed wrong.

Really.

She's calling him Arty again.

"Air goes in! Then back out! Repeat as necessary."

"I'm-- aware--" Somehow his coughing is turning into laughter. "--of the standard procedure!"

"Then you got an equipment malfunction!"

They dissolve into shared laughter for a little while; somehow, that feels the most natural of any of their interactions. When it fades, he finds himself less... awkward.

"I'm sick."

She smiles at him; it makes his chest feel strange.

"Yeah?" She props the PADD on something and leans forward toward the screen. "What's wrong?"

He taps his temple. "Equipment malfunction."

The conversation has faltered again.

Artemis misses the strange stride they'd found, even though it only lasted a few minutes. Lise seems unconcerned.

"So when do you get back?"

"I don't know just yet. Soon."

"We should do something."

"Do something?"

"Yeah. Something. A movie. Something to eat. Whatever."

"Oh." She's like Holly. She has a way of making him inarticulate. It's not a thought he wants to entertain.

"You're so strange, Artemis. I've met shy guys. You're not shy. You're strange. It's a dinner date. Did you even play with other kids when you were little?"

For whatever reason, he decides to be truthful.

"No."

She snorts. Finally, something irritating about her. He'd been wondering when he'd find something. "We'll fix that."

Artemis links his fingers, avoiding the steeple, and leans forward. "You mean to fix me."

"Mm-hm."

"Do I get to select my own wardrobe?"

"Mm... maybe." Teasing. Cute.

"And I take it you plan on selecting the venue, time, date, and duration?"

"Of course."

"Do I have any say in the matter at all?"

"Yep. You get to say yes or no."

"How generous."

"It is. Well?"

He pretends to consider. Unlinking one finger to tap at his own lips as he mulls it over. The answer is relatively simple. He's on point of delivering it when a weight settles beside him and promptly lights up a cigar.

Artemis looks over to find...

Short.

Uniformed.

Round.

Dark-skinned.

Elf.

Julius Root waves his fungus cigar in greeting. Artemis blinks and looks studiously back at the PADD screen, damn determined not to have a bloody full-on delusion while negotiating a date. He knows he looks stiff. He knows he must look troubled. He's ignoring a rather painful and foreboding hallucination. He tries to answer with whimsy even so.

"I think perhaps the answer is yes."

"Uh. Great. It's a date. Who's your friend?"

When Artemis looks again, Commander Root is smiling.