<Oh good, glad to hear it. I see no reason we shouldn't get along fine.>

<Excellent.  Give me control for a minute, please.>

And what is she going to do with it?

Maybe look around the hotel room or something; probably hum a bit, quietly.  Mostly she just wants a concrete sign of good faith from Ispalt.

<All yours.> She lets go.

Colley looks around the hotel room and hums a bit!  Quietly!  Fixes a stray hair in the bathroom mirror, takes care not to look at the traits and location of Ispalt since there's a higher chance of that successfully nauseating her now.  Stretches.

Ispalt waits quite quiescently while this is going on. Nothing she needs to do right this minute.

<Do you like music?>

<I do now! It does seem like the sort of thing that is easier to enjoy if you're good at it.>

<I wonder if we can play things more complicated than either of us could alone, if we each take one hand, or something - can you do that or is it all or nothing - >

<Ooh, I could give you one hand no problem.>

<I probably don't know any of the instruments here but hopefully they aren't so different that none of what I know carries over.  Or maybe experts will be easy to find.>

<Find, yes, get in copying distance of, harder. We can get concert tickets.>

<Oh good.  Do you have any idea what day-to-day life is going to look like for us?>

<Not till I get a job. Unhosted Yeerks can't do very much - some knowledge work but we're a lot slower that way. So I don't have a previous career to expect something based on. If they don't have a strong opinion I might try to tell them that we should just be a musician, it's believable enough on top of the high homeless vagrant thing, the story'll be that I'm keeping you off whatever your drugs of choice were.>

Colley really really hopes she can still be a musician.  <Will we need to change my hair, do you think.>  It's currently a soft red at the roots and blonde at the tips with a short gradient between them.  <Or is there a way for the humans here to get the same effect?>

<Gooood question. Google 'hair color' or something.>

She does that.  She has to hunt and peck for the letters but she got the language too and was paying attention to Ispalt's computer use.

<Yeah, I guess we can say we dyed it and just have to let it grow out from here and redye it at realistic intervals.>

<Okay.>  Some of the hair pictures have hands in them.  < - Woah, what's up with these nails?  Is there nail dye here?  I want to dye my nails.>  She starts the process of typing 'nail color' into the search bar.  <Also we should probably learn some local songs if we're going to show off for job-assigning people, or at least write lyrics in this language for one I already know.>

<Good thinking! We can probably get nail dye, whatever that is.>

The results inform them it's actually nail polish, and it comes in So Many Colors.

She googles 'songs' next.

This provides children's songs and also a random Beatles MP3 in the first few results.

Children's song!  - Oh, dreadful.

<You don't happen to know more about this part than me, do you?>

<No, but I don't like it either. There's a few billions of these guys, probably they have something good.> She grabs the arm to poke the Beatles result and gets Eleanor Rigby.