Deana walks to the living room, and does not look up at the ceiling; painted like the sky, but shifting like sunset (or sunrise?) — broader and higher than Daniel's apartment, it took some time to coax the painter into finding the right balance of not too fiddly and detailed but not too blobby, blue into violet with clouds kissed with greys or pinks. (Maybe should have done the basement instead, but the ceiling is so much lower, and he's really only in there to sleep or fuss around during the day.)

She sits down on a sofa, slightly off-center, and waits. Passive thanks to mind-control, but still eager thanks to the part of her brain that Daniel hooked into when he decided on her. I'll understand soon. I'll know soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

He encourages this, as he gets a glass of water. You're almost there. On second thought, he tries the fridge, and lucks out with a can of soda as well.

Mushrooms first. Nothing glamorous about it, eating spindly, gilled plants, sipping Diet Coke in between; she has done pills, a little bit of coke in university, but this is very hippy-dippy and her subconscious mind is at first riled in a bad way by the idea of raw dogging shrooms. Aspartame and carbonation help. There's no rushing this bit, it has to sink into her before Daniel decides to feed her more or stop, so he just sits back in a chair and looks over to Armand, hand extended. Luring.