And the characters want out.

Aunt Betta rubbed her tired eyes. Accounting, in other names, was still accounting. This was one part of trading she did not really enjoy. It was a necessary evil, she told her often, even when the numbers did not add up and turn into gibberish after multiple calculations. She was a perfectionist, wanting her numbers to be perfect. Numbers seemed to have minds and spirits of their own. A miscalculation, an error, would mean that she would have to go through it all over again. Sometimes, just sometimes, enough was enough. She thumbed the digi-ledger close and took a long sip at her dark coffee, a special blend from Tertullian VI. Even relaxed, she mentally rummaged through the things she had to do. Ah, Min Feng’s report. There it lay, a small digi-pad.
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I feel like Aunt Betta now. Yeesh. Words become a gibberish blur. :P