Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 77

"I'm helping!" said Will, knocking The Creatively Titled The Artist away. I'd put inverted commas around the word 'helping', myself. Oh look, I just did.

He squeezed just below her camera.

"That's not bent," said The Creatively Titled The Artist.

"It's fine," said Will, not for the first time failing to press all the right buttons.

The Creatively Titled The Artist bumped him out the way, re-taking control.

"You need to let him finish," said Libbi, still seething with residual pain.

Will found a gap between the large man's arms and tried again.

"Will!" said Libbi.

"OK," he said, stepping back, hands in the air. He grabbed a refreshing can of <famous drink>. In fact, he couldn't believe just how tasty it was. Anyone trying <competitor drink maker> was missing out.

"That bit wasn't damaged," said The Creatively Titled The Artist. He pressed a thumb above her camera. "But this was."

Libbi closed her lens at the relief. Her whole metallic body seemed to droop. "Your hands are like heaven," she said. "Thank you so much for helping."

"Sure," said Will.

"I meant The Creatively Titled The Artist," she said.

"Happy to, Libbi! You know that."

"But do you need to get back to your wife?"

He shook his head. "We're done."

"I'm so sorry," said Libbi. "I hope my advice didn't ruin it for you."

"No no," said The Creatively Titled The Artist. "She's the one that gave me the ultimatum. Either find a suitable job or I'm out. I tried to explain what you said, about my passion for what I do, how I live it, breathe it, but she didn't understand. Or didn't want to."

Will almost related. It took him a moment to accurately substitute The Creatively Titled The Artist's love of sculpting to his own, far more interesting, affair with gaming. There's no way he could be with someone who didn't respect that, if not outright encourage his game playing.

It only served to remind him of Paige, and his embarrassing misreading of her romantic interest. Did he actually have those kinds of feelings for her, or had he just never cared about anyone before? Had he simply projected society's expectations of what that constitutes, vis a vis requisite normative relationship foundations?

<Insert a picture of a cute little cartoon character coughing.>

Sorry, I've been reading up on gender studies and the psychology of relationshi--

<Aww, that poor character's coughing again. Look.>

OK, so I've thought about reading up on those fields. If the editor wants to exchange this for more appropriate and accurate language, now would be the time.

So Will didn't think in exactly those terms -- there may have been a missing vis and an extra huh? around the place -- but it was the general gist. Sort of. In the back of his mind. Maybe.

"How do you feel?" said Libbi.

"I don't know," said Will.

"I didn't mean you," said Libbi.

"Surprisingly good," said The Creatively Titled The Artist. "Like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders."

Libbi seemed to become more serious at this point. But Will was in his own world, aimlessly walking a circuit of the small apartment until he came upon the remains of a dead mouse. The smell reminded him of home.

"I'm sick of being in this body," said Libbi.

Will was about to respond when he heard a loud knock at the door.