“You’ve lost the right to see me cry.”
“What?” said the cogniscent on his personal comms, sitting opposite Rael. “What does that even mean, Barbera?”
“It means you’ve hurt me for the last time,” said a higher-pitched voice. Either the cogniscent in question had her on speaker, or his volume was irresponsibly loud. Either way, the entire carriage of the Tram could hear them both. “I’m leaving, and I’m putting you on my blocked list.”
“What? How dare you? Did you know everyone here can hear what a bitch you’re being?”
“Actually,” corrected Rael, “We can all hear you–” a flourish of his handy mini-fan, all in silver, “–being an asshole.”
Some of the nearby passengers began digging for change.
“Those kinds of tactics don’t work, any more,” Rael informed. “She’s right. You’ve lost the right to see her cry.”
The cogniscent fell into stammering half-words as Rael collected a round of applause and enough Minutes to get something large and greasy at Unsuitable Food Eat.
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