Limitless Evolution As a Snake

The cow lady placed a repair bill in front of me before I could leave, proving that business partners developed excellent timing whenever you looked capable of escaping.

Actual club takings had finally been counted against wages, supplies and opening costs. Fifteen hundred in net money went into the shared reserve, then five hundred came straight back out for damage from our extremely educational first few nights.

The reserve stood at four thousand. That wasn’t my private spending money, and she made the distinction with the calm expression of someone prepared to explain it using a chair if ordinary words failed.

”I appreciated the financial update,” I told her. ”It gave my apology a lovely sense of measurable personal growth.”

”Your next apology could include bringing the performance frame back without bending it,” she said, sliding the mermaid’s photograph beside the bill.

Old Mate admired her efficiency and suggested charging customers to watch me receive invoices. I told him we already had enough humiliating entertainment without selling tickets to my bank balance.

Before planning the retrieval, I owed Dazza a visit. I had promised walks and feeding, and discovering a new theft didn’t make the teeth thing less dependent on the idiot who had named him.

Bridget came with me to the surface depot in a hired cart that cost eighty. Dazza’s second holding day added another hundred, leaving ten thousand six hundred and ninety available in my private account.

She stayed in the protected observation room while I checked the decontamination report and exercise lane. The creature had been cleaned and surveyed on arrival, with no remaining contamination above the bay’s permitted level; the psychic hazard remained very much his own contribution.

The exercise run used the same lined barriers and active suppression grid as the holding pen. Its meter had passed the pre-opening check, and the operator controlled both gates from outside rather than trusting my confidence as a security system.

I entered the far end with a ceramic feeding bowl and a measured bag of scrap. Galaxy Brain kept the mental pressure clear when Dazza emerged, but I still watched the grid and kept Bridget behind the barrier.

He rushed toward the bowl, stopped badly and slid into my coils with the enthusiastic lack of brakes I recognized from several dogs and most of my recent decisions.

”There was my good boy, or girl, or portable dental emergency. We were going for a walk, and you were going to pretend you understood what that meant.”

[System: He’s already ahead of you, mate. At least the little bastard knows the difference between food and a romantic partner, even if he thinks both categories include your fucking car.]

I had never dated a car, and the vending machine incident had been strictly professional.

The depot supplied a short training lead with a metal clip. Dazza ate the clip before I finished attaching it, leaving me holding the useful half of nothing while Bridget laughed from behind the observation glass.

I looked at the operator. He looked at the creature, looked at the empty end of the lead and wrote something on the damage sheet with the quiet patience of a man who had already received a deposit.

We abandoned the clip and used the enclosed lane, the feeding bowl and short movements. Dazza followed the scrap, paused when I stopped and occasionally presented me with bits of metal he had apparently kept tucked among his tentacles.

One piece matched the fence from yesterday. I praised him for sharing before Bridget reminded me through the speaker that returning stolen property wasn’t usually rewarded with more stolen property.

”He’d brought a gift, sweetheart. You couldn’t judge a puppy by the resale history of his emotional support fence.”

He leaned against my side with enough weight to make me adjust carefully. Beneath the impossible teeth and eyes, the behavior felt startlingly simple: he wanted the food, wanted the attention and became restless whenever I moved toward the exit.

I stayed until he settled. We practiced coming toward the bowl and waiting while the gate changed position, earning small pieces rather than pretending one good moment meant he could wander into a nightclub.

Bridget watched without losing her practical concern. When Dazza returned to the holding pen and the door sealed, she met me outside the lane and quietly said she could see why I liked him.

That mattered more than I expected. I kissed her hand, promised we would find a proper long-term place and paid another ten for the murdered clip, reducing my available balance to ten thousand six hundred and eighty.

We returned to Ami with Dazza still safely housed at the depot. I checked the next feeding time instead of assuming the universe would handle the boring parts of ownership while I enjoyed the dramatic ones.

At the club, the mermaid had obtained the fundraiser’s loading schedule from the actual storage release record. The frame would stay in a surface warehouse overnight before delivery to the charity stage.

Lukas marked the dry route on our map. Lyra and Cherry called to say the casino’s locksmith was scheduled, the original keys remained secured and they intended to visit us after the appointment.

That gave me an idea involving four people who could move objects through obstacles, one very distinctive stolen frame and a warehouse crew who probably expected another straightforward collection.

Bridget recognized the expression before I explained. She asked whether this plan required her to wear anything ridiculous, then seemed disappointed when I said it mostly required everyone to understand distance.

Nobody had asked me to attend, which suggested my uncle still believed possession could be arranged by printing a convincing poster.

Old Mate pointed out that four people with my skill choices could create a much larger mistake than one. I told him that was the kind of ambition I preferred to hear from my management team, just as the fundraiser advertisement changed to promise a live appearance by Matthew Vane.