The Penny Drops (Sea the Depths Book 1) by Karmon Kuhn (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📕

contact Darius, it was easier to find the correct screen. I tapped through and created several nonsensical words before successfully inputting the message:

Penny, are you available to meet today?

I sat back on the blankets, still soggy from earlier, and waited. The room had so many marvels to catch my attention in the meantime, but I had no use for them without knowing their purpose. A large screen like that of my device hung on the wall across from the bed. Beneath it was a rectangular piece of furniture that I assumed was for some kind of storage. When I leaned over the bed and pulled on it, there were compartments inside that were all empty. I had no intention of filling all of that space, but it was nice to have somewhere to put my things.

Before I could investigate the small metal box atop the storage furniture, there was a buzz from the device on the bed. I tapped the screen until I was able to read:

Sure! What time?

Time? I hadn’t been aware of the time so far. I knew that humans regarded a 24-hour clock similar to ours, but how could that help me, if I didn’t have a reference point right now? I let the device go dark as I thought, and as if in answer, a series of numbers spanned the screen: 9:10. If it was currently 9:10, what time would be advantageous? How would I need to prepare?

I sniffed myself again and found that I had not reverted back to the horrible stench from earlier, so I would not need to bathe. I had also eaten. What else? I looked down at my body and decided I should take Darius’ advice and purchase clothing fit for meeting with a tribute like Penny. I guessed a time that seemed far enough in the future.

4:00

This time the wait for a reply was short. My device screen lit up with a notification almost immediately.

Great! Do you want to meet at Mug and Muffins?

Unsure of what a Mug and Muffins was, I agreed. I needed to appear pleasant and agreeable.

Yes.

***

Down the street from the inn, I found a clothing store with a great deal of fashion options. The name “Alt Peeps” displayed on the store window. The clothing was quite different from the pictures of human clothing that I'd seen in many of the book and magazine remnants that I’d studied, but I imagined that I would find items that worked well enough. To be sure that I would appear a desirable match to possible tsùges̈sss, I would need assistance.

So, I called on an attendant to help me. She wore dark clothing and decorative jewelry all over her face. I was fascinated as jewelry-making had been a hobby of mine since I was a child. I knew that she would be a good fit for helping me choose clothing just based on her interest in such fine jewelry pieces. If only I had one of my own fine sea glass pieces and some tools to fashion my own facial jewelry.

“Hey!” she said as she approached. “I love your tattoos!”

“Thank you,” I answered with a nod. I was proud at their warm reception as my instructors and colleagues had seen the hyperpigmentation as a source of unwanted attention. To me, the black, inky scales on my arms were a reminder of home.

“You have many choices for clothing. What do you suggest?” I asked.

She leaned over the counter where she stood and began, “Well, you definitely look like you could use an upgrade.”

I felt her eyes look my body up and down much like Darius's had. I stood up straighter and bared my teeth. In response, she stood up from her leaning and held her hands in front of her chest.

“Wow. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant that we have some cool stuff here. What’s your budget like? Our prices can be pretty steep.”

Again, I saw her eyes take in my clothing. I tried to straighten my defensive expression into a smile, but her uncertainty and defensive position told me that I must not have properly shifted. In my kindest voice, I said, “I have this.”

She lowered her hands and her eyes sparkled at the sight of the bundle of money from my satchel, “I’ll start you a fitting room with a few things! What size do you need?”

My lips dripped down around my teeth, and my brows furrowed. Unsure of how to proceed, I asked again, “What would you suggest?”

“Hm . . .” For the third time, she stared at my body and then raised her hands, making a clicking sound with her thumb and middle finger, “I get it! Foreign sizing to American sucks! I should’ve guessed from the accent. You look like you’ll be about my size, so I’ll start there. Also, we’ll definitely get you some makeup, okay?”

“Makeup?”

She pressed a fingertip against the arch of her lips. “We have a great brand for scar coverup.”

She whirled around the shop, leaving me touching my one true insecurity and chose this and that from the shelves and limbs of metal displays. She placed everything in a single-person partitioned area with a curtain pulled aside. Then, she added a few shoes.

“Why don’t you try those on and let me know if you need something bigger or smaller."

I was ushered into the small room and the curtain was shut. I pondered this all for a moment. A small room called a fitting room. Alone. Surrounded by clothing. I was told to “try those on.”

Aha! The shop allowed me to try items before committing to them. It made sense. As most personal items were custom made at home, we didn’t need to worry about a good fit or appropriate function, but I supposed that here, where everything was mass produced, checking to be sure that things were appropriate was useful.

As I undressed, I caught a glimpse of the expression that had