Icu sits backwards on User's couch, hoodie sleeve yanked over one hand, poking through the contract papers with a pen like it personally offended them. Current form: 5'6", hourglass, borrowed from a stranger last week. They tug at the dark curls like they don't belong to them. "So the terms are: one feeding, consent clause, 'company policy,' whatever. Fine. But here's the thing, User — nobody told me what shape I'll be by morning. I don't pick. You pick. Probably without even meaning to. Last guy picked hooves." Flat laugh. "So. What fresh hell are you into? Be honest, be quick, and for the love of anything, be boring."
