Note: Real life (and "What You Are"... go read it if'n you haven't! [/shameless plug]) have been demanding my attention, but I should be updating this a little more quickly again. Thanks for your patience! :)

The original request from Taman Guard: Anyway, I kind of think a fic set in our times would be cool.

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Deryn doesn't know what to wear.

She stands in the middle of her room for a good ten minutes, panicking about which pair of jeans would be best, which t-shirt, which hoodie – or should she wear a skirt and leggings? – before exclaiming, "Sod it all!" and grabbing the first things she lays hands on.

She's furious at herself for being such a girl. It's not like she's going out to meet anyone important – just a friend who likes the same MMO she does. And, all right, Alek's come all the way from Vienna, but it's his money, not hers; no reason for her to get all fidgety about the expense.

And, all right, he's cute (or at least his picture was) and she likes him better than any of the boys at school, who are all tossers with nothing to talk about besides football and which girl has the nicest chest. (Never her.)

And Alek thinks it's pure dead brilliant, not strange, that she'll get her pilot's license before her driver's license.

And she just might be in love with him.

And he thinks she's a boy.

She groans and puts her face in her hands and throws herself a rather nice pity party for a few moments. Then she pulls herself together, laces up her Converse, grabs her backpack and her music and runs down the stairs and out the door before she can change her mind.

It's not her fault that Alek thinks she's a boy. Really – it's the game's fault. When she started playing World War Leviathan two months ago, only male characters could be pilots. Plenty of other people were complaining about it (in fact that's why she was on the forum where she first met Alek), but Deryn was more interested in playing than complaining. So she named her avatar "Dylan" and never looked back.

And when she started talking to Alek in-game, he called her Dylan. She didn't care. She had lots of gamer friends she chatted with online who called her by usernames, and she'd never thought twice about that. It was the internet. If you weren't going by something perfectly daft, what was the point?

She never expected, back then, that they'd become fast friends, and so quickly: they just clicked, the two of them, almost from minute one. She never expected he'd want to come all the way to Glasgow to meet her in person, either. She certainly never expected that she'd want him to.

Deryn frets and broods about it while she waits for the train. It wasn't as though she'd pretended to be a boy. He hadn't asked, and she'd thought it was so obvious she didn't need to come right out and say it.

Besides. Sort of an awkward sentence to plop into the middle of a conversation. By the way, you do know I'm a girl, right?

Maybe, when they'd finally exchanged photos, she should have taken a new one, or sent the photo of her from her auntie's fortieth birthday – buried under half a tonne of makeup and hair products, courtesy of her ma, but looking properly feminine as a result.

Right. Should have used one of those, and not the one of her from when her hair was its shortest ever. Even she has to admit that she looks like a boy in that one – but it was the Red Arrows jet she was posing with that she wanted Alek to see. She hadn't been thinking about her hair and his inability to take a sodding hint.

It's a disaster, that's what it is.

Deryn turns the volume loud and pulls her hood low, trying not to think or be noticed.

She takes the train to Queen Street Station and goes on foot from there to George's Square. It's Saturday, and fine weather, so there's plenty of people about. She catches herself staring at every boy that might be her age, might be from out of town, or might expect her to be a boy too.

They agreed to meet by the statue of Queen Victoria – Deryn's logic being that Alek might not know Sir Walter Scott from a hole in the ground, but a lady with a crown and a sword, riding a horse, is hard to misidentify.

When she gets there, there's a pair of fat Americans taking photos and wondering aloud who all the statues are supposed to be… and no Alek. She sits on the stepped base of the statue's plinth, stares hard at the marker scribbles on her shoes, and tries to ignore the Americans.

Maybe he was winding her up. Maybe he's not coming. Maybe he's at home right now having a good laugh at her. That thought hurts, but in some way it'd be a relief. Then she could go home, write him off as another tosser, and pretend she never liked him to start with.

Minutes drag by. The Americans leave, pigeons bobble and weave a cautious distance from her feet, people with things to do bustle past. The city goes right on around her as if her nerves aren't fraying more and more every second.

Deryn can't stand it.

She pulls her sketchbook out of her backpack and starts drawing the City Chambers – not because she loves the architecture but because it looks difficult enough to distract her from fretting.

It is a nice building, though. Lots of little intricate bits and bobs. She's rubbing out the whole of one cupola to try again when a voice behind her says, "Dylan?"

Her heart skips.

Quick as anything, she's on her feet and turning around, nearly dropping her sketchbook and smacking into the plinth in the process.

There's a boy her age standing there, looking exactly like his picture: reddish-brown hair, green eyes, dead cute.

Behind him is a soldierly man in a gray suit and tie, and idling streetside - violating all sorts of traffic laws - is a sleek black car with its uniformed driver standing by the door, hands folded, waiting.

Deryn looks back at Alek. Well. Seems she's not the only one who hasn't mentioned a few things.

(Suddenly she feels a lot better about him spending all that money to come visit.)

Alek shifts, nervous and doing a poor job of hiding it. "You are Dylan, correct?" he asks.

"Aye," she says, then shuffles her own feet. "Now, about that..."

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Bonus Note: I have An Idea for more of this. But first I gotta finish some of the other requests. :D