Rose breathes a sigh through her nose. It's him, alright. No one else can be this frustratingly evasive, except perhaps herself. It runs in the family.

She rubs a hand over her face. "As much as I'd like to explore your new found proclivity for projecting your sexuality issues onto me, along with yet more terrible sports analogies, I'm still floundering with the basics." The hand drops.

"But okay, bad dystopian novel. I gathered that much myself. And time shenanigans are fully in evidence. I ran into Anna earlier; she said she knew you, and another version of me who was middle-aged. Was she from my far-flung future, or is something else at hand? And how long have you all been waiting around for this game, because I've only just arrived."