<p>May had, as she always did, dotted her nose against eir cheek, licked at eir nose a little too wetly, and said, “Good luck, have fun, say hi for me, and do not die,” and then ey stepped from home to arrive in front of the squat wood paneled coffee shop. The same sign proclaiming “Open 24 hours” fading in the sun. The same chipper baristas. The same sparklingly clean espresso machine. The same couch in the corner.</p>
<p>The same thing, month after month, stepping into the coffee shop to order the same coffee — delicious as always — and wait for the same True Name to arrive.</p>
<p>Their standard greeting would be for Ioan to stand and bow — ey was always there too early — set up a cone of silence, and share a bit of chit-chat before settling back down on the L-shaped couch, each to work on their own projects.</p>
<p>The only thing that seemed to change was the topics they talked about and True Name herself.</p>
<p>She was always smartly dressed, she always smiled brightly to em, always ordered the same mocha with extra whipped cream, and would always seem to get dabs of it on her nose-tip, but over time, the skunk had slowly picked up some ineffable quality about her that Ioan could only ever describe as ‘stressed’ or perhaps ‘harried’. It wasn’t in her grooming, for her whiskers were always neat and orderly, the longer fur atop her head well brushed, and her claws neatly trimmed. It wasn’t in the things she talked about, for she always had some interesting bit of news about any of the three — four, if one counted Artemis — Systems out there.</p>
<p>It was, ey decided, something to do with her eyes, her cheeks, the way her hands moved. It was in her voice, in her mien, in her bearing.</p>
<p>Once a month, ey’d meet True Name for coffee, and each time, she seemed that much more worn down, carrying that much more tension in her features, looking just that much older.</p>
<p>When ey first described this to May, the skunk had spent a silent minute staring out into the yard, or at least the corner visible from her beanbag, then stretched out on her belly, draping over the cushion. “Have you asked her, my dear?”</p>
<p>Ioan had shaken eir head. “It never felt polite to.”</p>
<p>“Some day you should,” she had said. “Though it is my suspicion that she is, as you have said, losing her easy confidence. She is struggling with the fact that she must constantly dump energy into keeping up the appearance of always being so competent.”</p>
<p>Ioan had leaned back in eir chair, ey remembered, and stared up at the ceiling. “That certainly tallies with what she’s said in the past.”</p>
<p>“She is the type of person who will always take more upon herself, more and more and more until she cracks,” May had murmured, quiet enough that Ioan had to strain to hear. “That she has been at this for more than two and a quarter centuries and the strain is only now showing is a testament to her strength.”</p>
<p>Ever since that conversation, that conversation would rise to the fore of eir memory whenever ey met up with the other skunk for coffee. They would have their conversation, sip their coffees, and then get down to whatever projects they were working on, and there would always be a small portion of eir mind dedicated to squaring what ey knew of her with just how old she was.</p>
<p>What ey’d not managed to bring up in that conversation, however, was that ey seemed to have some deep-seated desire to find a way to help. Ey wanted to find what it was that was wearing so much on True Name and find a way to ease it. There was a problem there, and problems were made for solving, yes?</p>
<p>It was something about em that May doubtless knew, but which ey’d never shared with the skunk, because ey knew that her response would either be the gentle teasing that she was so good at or the gentle inquisition that she was equally adept at conducting. She’d ask em where the feeling stemmed from; was it from within eir mind, or within eir heart? Was it related to all problems? Was it because True Name looked so much like her, eir partner? Never mind if it were a problem that ey could not solve, as was almost certainly the case, what would ey do if it was a problem she did not want solved?</p>
<p>Ey knew she’d ask em those questions because whenever ey asked them of emself, ey heard them in her voice. Even when ey’d asked Sarah, eir therapist (or, well, all three of their therapists), there was some subconscious overlay of the skunk’s lilting voice floating above the question, and ey’d find emself dropping contractions and leaning on the anaphora that the Odists seemed stuck with.</p>
<p>“You seem particularly lost in thought today, Ioan.”</p>
<p>Ey jolted at the sudden intrusion of a voice on eir thoughts, then smiled sheepishly at True Name. “Sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t mumbling to myself.”</p>
<p>She grinned. “Not this time, no, though your lips were moving, so I suspect you were not far off.”</p>
<p>Shaking eir head, ey capped eir pen, tucking it into a pocket and closing eir notebook on one of the place-marker ribbons. “I don’t doubt it.”</p>
<p>“What was on your mind, if I may ask?”</p>
<p>Ey hesitated, considering eir options. The desire to fix, to help, to aid and assist, still hung around em, but it’d be impertinent for em to just offer that out of nowhere. Instead, ey said, “Something May said. About you, I mean. Hopefully that’s not weird.”</p>
<p>The skunk laughed. “It depends on what she said, does it not? Though I am flattered to have been in your thoughts. What did she have to say?”</p>
<p>“That you’re the type of person to take on whatever’s in front of you, even if your docket’s already full. I was trying to piece together how much of that applies to the rest of the clade, too.” After a moment, ey shrugged and added, “And myself, for that matter.”</p>
<p>True Name looked up to the ceiling, head tilted thoughtfully. “I do not think there is any disputing that I will load myself up with responsibility to the point of overloading. I remember some of that from before I was forked, though I do not think Michelle was of quite the same temperament. She took on more than she could handle more out of a sense of social obligation than…whatever it is that drives me.”</p>
<p>“Determination? Persistence?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “Perhaps. What is it that Dear says so often? “I do not make art because I know why; if I knew why, I would not need to make art”? It is like that for me. I do not strive because I know what drive </p>
