>Okay, I've waded through all that nonsense. Shall we message Calliope, Crocker-chan?

Alright! No more messing around. Time to message Calliope, like you told Roxy you would.

But of course, first you have to do the thing you were thinking about earlier. Take that thank-you photo in front of Calliope's gift!

Posing peacingly in front of your cyan-tinged Colombina, you are the undisputed maestro of swag topped with a savory slathering of class. You snap a quick selfie so you have it at the ready to send.

What a strange thing for Calliope to have dreamed about. What zany connection could you possibly have with this mischievous, gossipy, amorous tricky-servant character from the Commedia dell'Arte, you wonder wikishly. Why would Calliope dream about you in association with the masque which represents the wife of Pierrot and the playfully elusive lover of Harlequin?

Well, not everything has to mean something, you reckon, especially not when it comes to dreams. You guess this is what dreams were always like for people who don't have dreamselves to dream for them. Not everything has to be connected to some kind of weird metanarrative only intelligible via knowing facts about masked Italian clowns.

Right?

>Ensure selfies are adequately poppin'.