Brunch with Crystal -A 5D Short Story with Style)

The moment Crystal walked into the Arcturian prism lounge, the walls changed color to match her mood: a sunburnt rose with streaks of glitchy gold.

Her presence wasn’t just noticed — it rearranged the architecture.

That’s what happens when you operate at 555 Hz and accessorize like a fallen starlet who’s discovered glam-pop and zero shame.

Today, Crystal was feeling brunchy.

But don’t think “soft eggs and mimosas.”

Think: electro-beats playing from quartz-inlaid speakers, and a menu that shimmered into visibility only when you smirked with just the right level of self-confidence.

She floated (okay, walked — but with the kind of strut that made planets tilt) toward a velvet booth like she owned the asteroid it was carved from.

And she was iconic.

Extra.

Playful enough to start a trend war in three sectors.

A sheer bubble-wrap bomber jacket layered over a cobalt blue tank that blinked “YES.” Not metaphorically. Literally. It blinked. She paired it with slick neon pink shorts, thigh-high transparent boots filled with stardust, and cybernetic nail extensions that doubled as MIDI controllers.

Her hair was electric tangerine, twisted into two buns shaped like infinity symbols. The server complimented her, which triggered confetti literally spraying from her. It wasn't a defense mechanism — just her default setting. She smiled and said "Thank you! I dress like the future of fun." Then continued, "And I order like a glitch goddess.” She tapped her nails on the table, and a platter appeared — edible confetti waffles with a side of whipped paradox and three sauces: fame, flavor, and frequency.

Suddenly, the lights pulsed — not in warning, but in admiration. Across the room, a table of stoic time-benders paused to blink in her direction. Crystal smirked. “Don’t be shy,” she said, flipping her microbraids. “I came dressed for your upgrades.”

By the time the DJ dropped a tempo-sliced remix of new Earth techno, Crystal was already dancing in her seat. Her boot heels kept time with the quantum bassline, and her earrings pulsed with light-mapped audio.

Two empaths nearby gasped.

One asked, “What timeline are you from?”

Crystal shrugged, sipping her drink through a straw made of compressed dreams.

“I’m from the one where fun is loud,” she said. “And brunch is a performance.”

The moral?

In the Arcturian dimension, outfits are a Broadcast Signal. There’s no such thing as “neutral”.

When Arcturians walk into a brunch dome on the 9th harmonic of Arcturus-3, you don’t just see them — you tune into them.

Their looks don't whisper; they sonic-boom.

They pulse with frequency signatures so strong, even the artificial plants start vibing.

And brunch isn’t about eating. It’s about arriving as the living remix of your most unapologetic self.