AT:M 95

“What? The records are probably burnin’ behind me, and the stuff’s worthless since the standard changed.” The mowril officer grinned. “And I’m winning.”

The young female warrior beside him stared straight on. “Because you make up rules.”

“And you have scary huge paws! Vlerj. Like a kit-smasher,” he appealed to Sirra, who politely ignored the exchange, prompting him again about nurses, trucks, and how long they’d been at the bank.

“Yep, five or six, and a couple trucks. No idea what they were doing, and don’t care.” The mowril looked at each other and flattened their ears. “Truck full of comfort dolls way back here? Just freakin’ weird, stay-away stuff. Not my Folk, not my bank. No offense.”

Sirra waved the comment aside, lining up the clues to paint a clear picture.

“Have you seen any sapphires?” she asked.

Both mowril considered. “Nah. Not a hint of blue all day.”