"...we're talking past each other. The things I hear you saying are that my world isn't more real than yours, which I have conceded; that the Erogame and your Femininity are entities from outside my world's paradigm, which I had already accepted; and that your metanarrative is qualitatively different from the sort found in my world, which I have heard nothing in particular to support. How about you?"

"Oh. Uh. The thing I want to say is that I don't have enough information to decide whether my metanarrative as expressed by my—powers, so to speak—is qualitatively different than yours, but that I don't have any reason to believe there is any limit to how meta you can get and the relationship between my metanarrative and yours is gonna be defined by whoever's writing our story." Though Pete's starting to think this might be a Backchannel situation.

"I think whoever's writing our story should be shot in the street like a dog. Anyway, how did this conversation start, explaining my deal? I can cut anything, including abstract concepts, into two equal halves or, with effort, two arbitrary pieces. Also I can perform many though not all actions with thoughtless perfection, in the manner of a true King. Also I can instantiate my regalia, the garb and the sword and the crown, though the Erogame very considerately burdened me with an erotic magical-girl transformation sequence to do so."

               Erogame 🤝 Me
magical girl transformations should be sexy

Oh sick he managed to actually say that, his confidence that this is a side fanfic has increased to 80%.

"—I wonder if you're already considered to be safe enough to be let out of baby jail, I wanna go back to the main bar and see if I can find a book or something with your world's whole entire everything in it."

"...you know, I can tell you did something utterly fucked there, but what I heard was The Erogame is just like me, magical girl transformations should be sexy. Which is a perfectly respectable assortment of noises to make with your mouth, unlike whatever you actually said. Oi, 𓊗, am I good?"

The cell door unlocks, and a six-year-old with a gun enters the office. He nods to 𓊗 and hops several feet off the ground to perch on the desk, swinging his legs idly.

Pete gives 𓊗 and the six-year-old a wave and starts to lead the way back to the main bar.