Jenny laughed. “You guys are all the same.”

“Trust me luv,” Gates replied, sporting the infamous grin that had soaked panties from here to the Medusa Cascade, “you’ve never met anyone like me.”

“Trust me luv,” Jenny said with a smirk, “I bet I have.”

Gates gave her the once-over. She was human, possibly of Asian descent, maybe 22 years old. Short black hair that looked like she cut it herself. 5’ 6”, 140 pounds. Judging by her accent and clothes (leather jacket, skirt, tights, oddly accessorized with a pair of aviator goggles and a white silk scarf) Gates guessed she was from the 21st century. By the scuff marks on her motorcycle boots, Gates figured her for a traveler. And judging by her attitude, Jenny had seen and done a lot for her twenty-plus years.

“So, you done checking me out or what?” Jenny asked impatiently.

Jenny was what men in earlier centuries would refer to as spunky.

Gates liked spunky.

“Almost,” he said. “Give us a little turn so I can see what the rest of you looks like, yeah?”