Hmm. Slate replied. Is it normal amongst females to observe the dates of those in their social group? He had seen indications of this strange behavior during a show that the Mondragon Labs guards had taken to watching over lunch—an animated cartoon from Japan, involving strangely proportioned animated high school girls with magical powers. Slate was not entirely clear why the show appealed to the largely male audience. The women’s clothing did not even obey the laws of physics.

If she is worried about you, Slate finally decided, quite reasonably, then we should put her mind at ease. Let us send her ice cream. Perhaps with a note. ‘Thank you for your concern, but your presence is unwarranted. This is not a date.’

It had to be a clear note, so as to cut down on any chance for further confusion.

"Is it normal amongst females to observe the dates of those in their social group?"
Susan smirked.
Damned if I know. Do I look like a normal female with a social group?
She was almsot daring him to answer that. Although Susan didn't realize it, it was one of those questions that don't have a positive outcome no matter what answer the male partner gives. It's a female thing, asking questions like that. Susan did it on instinct.
"Let us send her ice cream. Perhaps with a note."
"Good idea." The witch nodded. She liked Noel, in her own way, and she was not sure if the spying was normal for females in one social group or not, so she didn't want to hurt her, even though she probably wouldn't remember later on. Sending ice cream would make it seem more friendly.
Ordering ice cream, Susan wrote the note.

Dear Noel,
Thank you for your concern, but your presence is unwarranted. This is not a date. Enjoy the ice cream.
Susan

The waiter gave her suspicious looks while she explained to him what he had to do with the ice cream and the note. Susan was not sure why it took him so much time to understand one simple request. It wasn't anny different from men sending drink to women, was it.
"There." she sighed, turning back to their own dessert.
I'm sorry, I didn't think she would follow me. Somehow she seems to think you are dangerous...
That one thought made Susan smile. At the ice cream, of course.

>> Damned if I know. Do I look like a normal female with a social group?

Slate nearly answered this. Whether in the affirmative or negative was a matter of little consequence (also, a secret). He almost answered. Then he realized something. His mental voice was clearly intrigued by the novelty of his discovery.

That is a female trick question. I was warned to be cautious of those, and to reply— How had he been told to reply? He thought back to the advice of the guards. Ah. That was it.

“Even though my own senses are limited,” the three year old man stated, with the utmost of factual confidence, “I still believe that you are quite fashionably acceptable tonight. I am sure any same-sex social unit would find you a non-discordant member.”

The only way safely past a female’s trick-question trap, he had been told, was to turn it into a sincere compliment.

The note was sent. Slate was pleased that she had seen fit to use his wording; that was a compliment every bit as high as the one he had given her. Perhaps higher, even—though only just slightly.

“Even though my own senses are limited, I still believe that you are quite fashionably acceptable tonight. I am sure any same-sex social unit would find you a non-discordant member.”
Susan laughed. She didn't really mean to, it just sort of happened; it started out as a low chuckle, and ended as a short, cheerful laughter. She couldn't help it. She was not laughing at him, not really; it was just that what he said was obviously a lie, or at least a generous modification of the truth, and still, he said it with so much conviction, the witch just had to laugh. Someone had taught him well, apparently. Or he really thought so, although Susan was not naive enough to seriously consider that possibility.
"I will take that as a compliment" she decided, smiling as she returned her attention to the ice cream. She didn't turn to look at Noel; if she was smart enough, she would leave, if she wasn't... they'd find out soon anyway.
We could have put something in her ice cream.

(Continued from Flies on the Wall, and in Your Soup.)

The little illusionist took her share of the ice cream and the spoon that accompanied it and wandered around the edge of the bar's shrubberies. She gave Slate and Susan a guilty little wave and a sheepish smile then tucked a loose strand of hair behind the borrowed headset.

“Hi.” Sorry to interrupt your date. We can leave if you want.

Blink.

Blink, blink.

“Ah. Katrina.” He hadn’t known that the fourteen year old knew Susan, or Noel. He stood corrected. “I see you received our ice cream.” Were there more females gathered over there, behind the shrubbery? Susan had only mentioned the one, but she had clearly omitted some details. Why did the thought of yet more women suddenly make him uneasy? For that matter: why did women gather in flocks? He did not think he was the only male to be unnerved by such behavior.

“Did you not get our note?” He asked, puzzled. “This is not a date. This is a pre-arranged social encounter between two previously acquainted individuals sharing similar interests.” He did not know how to state it more clearly than that: this was not a date.

He stood courteously as their older spy approached, offering her his hand. “Hello. My name is Slate Swartz. I am not dangerous.”

The ice cream was fair, but left a film on the roof of her mouth. For a nice resaurant they seemed a bit like cheapskates. Had their shrub been more full, perhaps... Well there was no going back now. Noel took one last bite of the super sweet ice cream and left the rest to melt on the bar. Katrina had already started over to visit the table. While Susan was not particularly dangerous, Noel had no previous experience with any other kind of psychic. Make that a young, hormonal psychic that ran a company and oh boy, he was sure to be trouble.

Where Katrina had been sheepish, Noel was simply accepting. "Hello Susan. I see you've dressed up and done more than your fair share of hormone-induced blushing tonight. Make sure he gives you a kiss at the door tonight and dry your flowers." Then it would be the quintessential date. Snerk.

The little brown-haired psychic offered his hand to Noel. Had Katrina not reminded her so recently about skin-to-skin mutant contact then she would have taken it. Instead, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and found a straw wrapper and three pennies.

>“Hello. My name is Slate Swartz. I am not dangerous.”

She hated to pout, but... "You really are a better psychic than me." Because surely he'd plucked from her mind that she thought him the most dangerous person here.

The ice cream's effect on the situation was exactly the opposite of what they had been hoping for. It didn't make Noel leave, it lured her to their table, and she was not alone. Susan blinked at the blonde girl, was she a friend of Noel?
No, she was a friend of Slate.
Wait, how did Noel manage to find a girl who knew Slate, and was willing to spy on them? Did this Katrina person think Susan was dangerous? What a mess. Another reason why she never really got into dating. That, and the fact that boys didn't like her all that much. And neither did girls.
Slate explained how this all was not a date, and Susan kept nodding. The nodding stopped, however, when Noel spoke to her.
"Hello Susan. I see you've dressed up and done more than your fair share of hormone-induced blushing tonight. Make sure he gives you a kiss at the door tonight and dry your flowers."
The witch took on the expression of a princess that had just swallowed the toad. Complete with a blush that matched the crimson of her eyes. Was Noel realy that intent on embarrassing her?
"Do you kiss everyone you have a meeting with?" she inquired with curiosity "If you do, I think you owe me one. Two, actually."
Slate, how do we get out of here?

Katrina tilted her head at the beginning of Slate's definition and took a bite of her ice cream. By the time he had finished his sentence, the ice cream had already melted. It was very good, in Katrina's opinion. “What's the definition of a date then?”

Noel supplied the blunt answer to that question: kissing. Katrina blushed at the thought of Slate kissing anyone, but her cheeks were not nearly as deep a red as Susan's.

Susan started to protest, but the little illusionist was distracted by Percy's voice crackling over her headset, “You've been in there a long time, are you okay? Do you need back up?”

She had completely forgotten that she should be giving the rest of her ninja spy team updates on her progress! She couldn't exactly talk to them now, at least, not over the headset. Slate and Susan seemed embarrassed enough to have two people spying on their not-a-date, they probably wouldn't want to know to what lengths one of those spies had gone to in order to get here.

Katrina decided she'd try and send her message another way, so the guards would stop worrying about her. In her mind, she focused on Nigel's face, since she had known him the longest. In his ear, he'd hear her voice whispering even though she was rather far away.

Nigel, I'm fine. I found him. He says he's on a non-date. With a girl. I don't need any back up.

Concentration meant thinking really hard about one thing. It also meant that she probably looked rather distracted to the rest of the group. She just smiled and nodded at whatever comment she had missed right before she started paying attention again.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark skinned waiter with bleach-white hair abruptly stop, his still full water pitcher sloshing just a bit onto his shoes. Quickly he turned away and hurried back into the kitchen from whence he came. His hand was up to his ear even before he passed through the swinging door to the food prep area. Two very well dressed gentlemen did a u-turn in the rotating glass doors, as if they had very suddenly decided that the smell of Japanese food was not at all appetizing. The little illusionist noticed this, and hoped very much that no one else did.

Susan’s question was valid, but the answer was not readily forthcoming. How did one escape one’s ninja shad—?

>> Nigel, I'm fine. I found him. He says he's on a non-date. With a girl. I don't need any back up.

...

The bleach-haired waiter did not escape notice. Not completely. As evidence by the vengeful return of Slate’s blush; it had finally jumped the asymptotal bound of his cheeks, and begun again in matching hyperbolic curves at the top of his ears.

This simply proved, however, that blushes had very little to do with dating. Susan’s own blush was clearly a reaction to their spies, just as his was. That was all.

>> "You really are a better psychic than me."

Slate returned to the interlopers at hand, with a surprised blink. “Are you implying that you are a worse psychic than me?” That would practically take a mutation in and of itself.

The question of their escape still remained.

I suggest we remove their desire for following us, he stated. He began things:

“Katrina,” he asked, baby blue eyes giving the fourteen year old their full attention, “if Susan owes Noel two kisses, how many kisses do I owe you?”

He had chosen his target; to Susan, he left the other.

>"Do you kiss everyone you have a meeting with? If you do, I think you owe me one. Two, actually."

"Don't be silly. Only on dates and even then a girl's gotta have standards." Susan surely did not expect a kiss from Noel. Their meetings had clearly not been dates. And this so very clearly was a date. "Would it be such a horrible thing if this was a date?" Because seriously, this was getting ridiculous.

> "Are you implying that you are a worse psychic than me?"

Well she wasn't implying that she was the queen of England! "Are you always so circular? It's really frustrating."

Noel pat Katrina's shoulder. It was just about time for them to let these two blushing love birds get back to their date-fest, but... then the psychic kid started hitting on the girl. The memorymancer's eyes flicked to Susan before settling back to Slate. He really didn't get it. "I'd tell you that you're being incredibly rude to your date right now, but I'd rather not hear about how this date isn't a date. Again."

"Katrina? Should I leave you here with them?" The girl seemed really distracted. Psychic boy didn't bamboozle her brain did he?

I suggest we remove their desire for following us.
Susan arched an eyebrow and momentarily forgot about controlling her senses as she watched Slate realize his plan. She trusted him to know something she didn't. He didn't. Whatever his plan was in detail, it didn't seem to be working. Noel and the girl called Katrina proved to be very persistent.
"Would it be such a horrible thing if this was a date?"
Black eyes narrowed as the witch glared at the psychic. The worse of the two, apparently.
"It wouldn't. It is just... not." she stated, for one last time.
Slate, get rid of them or I swear to God next I'm going to tell them it IS a date, and see if they give us some privacy then.
It was a threat. A grave one too. She meant it, every word.

Katrina blinked at Slate's question. It took her cheeks only a moment to catch up to his. She had clearly missed a key part of this conversation.

She couldn't even imagine Slate kissing anyone. Except maybe she could remember something from a dream she had once. Her ears were pink now, too.

“Umm.”

>>>"Katrina? Should I leave you here with them?"

Salvation!

“I should go, too. I've got studying to do. There's a geography test coming up.” Emphasis on studying and how Slate was supposed to be helping her with that right now.

So, uhh, maybe tomorrow would be better for you? Katrina gave Slate her best puppy dog eyes before her gaze flickered to Susan's face. Laser death bolts scorched her retinas. If you're not busy, that is...

“Sorry again,” she set her ice cream dish down in the table like a peace offering and turned toward the door where several pairs of eyes were trying to peer nonchalantly through the window. Time to go, before this exit got any less graceful.

As the world’s future majority shareholder, Slate had hoped Susan would have more confidence in him. After all: his plan was clearly a success. By weaponizing blushing, he had eliminated Katrina. Why Noel was leaving—or what she meant by him being “rude”—he was not sure, but plans frequently had unintended consequences. This one was clearly positive.

“Goodbye, Kat—” ...Geography test? “...rina. Ah. Yes.”

I will indeed be available tomorrow. My— He caught the look the fourteen year old sent Susan’s way. Blinking, and a slight recoil, ensued. Apologies?

“Goodbye, Ms. Noel. It was intriguing to meet you. Circles make calculations convenient.” As geometric shapes went, they were hardly frustrating. He was pleased she did not find him oval-esk, or parallelpipid.

Susan's defense deflated with the agent's verbal repartee. Noel was clearly in the right here. She only spoke truth if she could help it. Surely Susan knew that after their two non-kiss-worthy meetings.

Aaaand then Slate spewed some crazy about circle math. The brunette wasn't entirely sure where that was coming from. She rubbed her lips together as she appraised the situation and the tension before her lips smacked apart. "Yeeeeah." The way Kat and Susan were glaring at each other meant that it was entirely time to go. "Well. See you kids around." No need to swim in hormones a moment longer.

Noel ushered Katrina toward the door.