[b]Brown![/b]

It takes a lot to be a human. Every day the cleaning, brushing, shaving, makeup, dressing. Personal time is tight and putting effort into appearance is so unrewarding. Taking the time out to get a tattoo is...

She picks up a sharpie from the office supply cabinet and draws a fish skeleton on her arm. It'd look fake on a human, but against her artificial skin it looks like a decal. 

Then she goes for the warden's door. Raises her coffee cup. "You fish?" she said.
"Hell yeah I do," he said.
"Cloud or farm?" she asked.
"Cloud!" he laughed. "Why do you think I joined the force?"

The enormous water reservoirs of the Cloud keep having fish mysteriously released into them. People with access - Cloud Angels, cops, paying "tour" groups - offer the community service of throwing their lines into the tanks to try and clear them out. Legitimate fishing farms are much nicer, more curated experiences designed to emulate old earth, but there's an authenticity to Cloud fishing - standing amidst massive industrial equipment, hearing the distant roar of the pipes, the lurching motion that makes waves flow across the surface, the faint sense of the illicit about the whole thing. Only sometimes does a citizen have a fish fall out of the sky into their face.

"You hear there's a Pink Snapper pod in Tank 4?" said Brown, sipping her drink.
"Get outta town," said the guard, though he was interested. "I'm surprised to hear that from you. Not many androids into fish."
"I'm half telescope on my mother's side," said Brown. "Gives me the patience for it." He laughed. "Mind if I -?"
"Hah, sorry, I still haven't seen you before -"
"I'm Warden Knoplier's lawyer," said Brown. She gestured at her lawyer badge.
"Oh! And what're you doing here?"
"You really asking?" said Brown. 
"Aw shit, really?"
"You [i]really [/i]asking?" said Brown. "Look, buddy, give me a dollar and I can fill you in, but then you'll [i]know[/i]."
"Yeah, I get it," he said. "Shit."

[Notice 0/1 Disguise 0/1 4+4 [b]8[/b]]

[b]Orange![/b]

"Oh don't worry about any of that that - I think you figured it out. I'm sure of it!" said Orange. "I'll do my best to apply it! Let me take one more try!"

Her writing takes a [i]nosedive[/i]. It's not even writing any more, barely on topic. Orange writes like an insecure gossip - fascinated by what everyone said to everyone else, desperate to be liked. She tries to talk about herself in a way that is flattering and cool, while also humbly undercutting herself so she doesn't seem like she's bragging. She can barely stay on topic at all. She'll incorporate sentences from Pope whole, diligently trying to reflect lessons learned back to him in a way that's at once flattering and indicates that she did not connect to the substance of what he asked. 

The issue here is that writing is an expression of thought. November's colours have internalized certain habits and skills from each other, but they cannot finish a thought on their own. Orange can [i]only [/i]take into account the social angle; it's all she's interested in and she regards objective facts as vaguely annoying externalities. She's extremely focused on the social dynamic between herself and Pope and is trying her best to make him like her by demonstrating traits that she thinks he will find praiseworthy. 

"This is something I'm uniquely capable of," she said after an hour of this, suddenly serious. "Leaning into failure as a communication tool. Does this help you understand?"

[b]Fiona![/b]

You dive into a world of colour. 

Unbound from the omnipresent layer of grime, dust and imperfect lighting that saturates everything in the physical world colours can become something more. More real than real. In this world Green has built, every colour is in relation to every other colour; each highlight is the centre of a storm, each shadow runs like oil. 

She has built a planet here. Mountains and valleys and endless black-trunked, pink-leafed trees, thick with cherry blossoms. The clean, dark rivers are heavy with clumped petals and lily pads. And above...

The stars run in rivers. Flashes in the void, an endless waterfall, glyphs in heaven. Distant suns burn in different colours, red and blue and pink, so close and large that they might crown the moon. 

Pink waits under one of the trees, staring out at the landscape. At first she seems her normal self, wearing a breezy sundress - but no, both of her arms are sleeved not with fabric but with glittering metallic tattoos. They form an intricate pattern of machinery, like the arms of a mecha painted onto her body. She smiles and waves. 

"She built all of this place down here," said Pink. "Harvested the raw material out of defunct MMOs. There are dozens of planets up there like this. I could never..." she sighed. "No, I don't want to undercut this. She's incredible. But she's getting more and more withdrawn into this space, and tetchy when she isn't here. We're all a bit afraid of her, is the thing, and I want you here because I think you're the most capable of dealing with that."