I want to live in a society, not an economy

Some questions for the resisdent humans.

Gender transition is broadly socially acceptable and medically supported in Jovia, though political attitudes on it vary. The common conservative attitude is that there are three genders: male, unisex, and female; and the only legitimate goal of gender transition is complete surgical sex reassignment. Working reproductive organs can be grown with an individual's DNA, and the most normative way to transition is "match" your sex organs with your chosen gender. Obviously it gets more complicated than that in practice, though, because not everyone is interested in "matching," nor can everyone who transitions take on the risk of major abdominal surgery. There is also an overall perception that the older you are when you decide to transition (or god forbid if you transition more than once) the more undignified it is, and the more inconvenient it is for the other people in your life. So Gillie had a very normative transgender experience for Jovian culture, except for her surgery aversion; while Mel had a very normative medical transition but had to deal with a lot more social friction.

Because of that L-bend it's more safe for Gillie to stick a swab in her ears than it is for you. She can't stab herself directly in the eardrum.

Idrisah has way more books than the average Jovian because she's a history nerd who is interested in stationary and manual writing, relatively niche hobbies.

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IM SO EXCITEDDD FOR ARTFIGHT OMGGGGG!! Which team will you choose? Miami Dolphins vs Evil Intimidating Horse vs Fake Smile Girl!!!!

A little bit for Monica, she's my wife

A little bit for Erica, for her strife

My books all go to Rita, cause she reads

My greenhouse goes to Tina, she plants trees

The furniture is Sandra's, on my lawn

Jewelry for Mary, she can pawn

Ashes go to Jessica, that's my plan

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be over here.” He didn’t think he remembered an introduction to anyone in that dress. It was a memorable sort of a dress. “I believe I ran into your mother inside?” he ventured, because he ran into so many mothers.

“She’s not here,” she said, which was not what he wanted to hear and which he absolutely could not handle at the moment.

“Right,” he said, trying to recover, pretending as if he’d just remembered something. “Your father–”

“We haven’t met,” she interrupted. “I’m not anyone.”

“Oh thank god,” he said, abandoning propriety to collapse onto the bench, dropping his head between his knees. “Thank you.”

“Too many people?” she said sympathetically.

“I’m really bad with faces,” he admitted.

“A lot of people are,” she assured him.

He dragged his hands down his face. “I just confused a Duke with a waiter.”

She bit her lip. “As long as you aren’t rude to waiters, you should be fine,” she said.

“I wasn’t rude,” he said. “I’m never rude. It would have been better if I was rude.” He buried his face in his hands. “I tipped him,” he said, anguished, muffled by his palms. Why had he been dressed like a waiter?

She burst out laughing, loud and with her head tipped back, overwhelming the empty garden. He separated his fingers to stare at her.

“Sorry,” she hiccuped, which immediately descended back into snorts. She laughed like she was hunting for truffles.

“Thanks,” he said, though he almost did feel better. “I’m feeling very supported in my time of need.”

“There’s only one thing you can do,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes, trying to dab at them to not destroy her makeup. Reflexively, he offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted. “You have to flee the country. It’s the only way.” She checked the handkerchief for signs of smeared eyeliner. “Leave your family. Change your name. Get a new family. Never tell them your dark secret.”

“I think my old family might notice if I got a new family,” he said, now resting his chin in his hands, elbows balanced on his knees.

“That’s why you have to burn your house down,” she said matter-of-factly, now holding his handkerchief in a neat fold in her lap. “Just burn the whole thing. Everything but your favorite hat. You leave the hat on top of the ashes for your family to find. ‘This must be him’ they’ll say. 'He would never have left his favorite hat’. It’s the perfect crime. Once it’s done, you become a pig farmer. Anyone comes around asking questions, you feed them to the pigs.”

“You seem like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he observed. “How are your pigs?”

She looked him over sidelong. “Hungry,” she said primly.