"Hey," he hears her voice over the phone, and even more, the sound of running water in the back ground. She had tucked the phone in between her ear and shoulder to wash out a few paintbrushes.
"Are you okay?" PolitiCat had targeted the company. In the following week of insinuating sloth prime minster Raúl was an AI the creator of the comic made him self-destruct during a national conference, killing off several beloved characters including Dianna the copperhead.
"The company will be."
She dried off her hands and switched the phone to her other ear. "That's good but I didn't ask about the company." The reputation of his work had never received backlash of this magnitude. 1.3 million people read the comic. There were no flaws to fix. The company hadn't launched a prototype that malfunctioned. It was slanderous propaganda after the models were shipped overseas. Currently Pierce hadn't heard news of any major computer designing contenders dropping out. None of his stakeholders pulled out either. It wasn't about the money; it's about the public's faith. It's about wanting the product UNM was developing. "We could go out, get your mind off of things."
...
She spent time convincing him that the people who caught his eye didn't know the things she knew. The chaotic artist fought hard to reassure him that his secret was safe with her; and that people didn't simply know by looking at him. Over the months, Pierce had grown use to the idea of being in public, hiding in plain sight. If he was honest with himself he'd admit that befriending Mísol turned out to be a rare but pleasant accident. She continued to provide the brilliant enginer with a positive outlook. Suggest more outings. Slowly chip away at the 'blue' feeling the world had so deeply put him under when his livelihood was questioned.
Mísol had also insisted Pierce wear something less business or business casual. She was glad to see that he took her advice and settled on a pair of dark jeans and a fitting black t-shirt. Peirce looked like he could breathe easier when he wasn't wearing the restrictive clothing.
She had on a light blue-purple dress with orange and yellow flowers messily painted on it in a nonspecific pattern. The flowers cluttered more towards the ends of the skirt. Furthermore, she doesn't smell like clovers this time. She's switched from the earthy smell of shamrocks and spring to a combination of honey, sugar, and vanilla.
First, they got ice cream. Mint chocolate chip for Mísol. Then they continue to walk down the strip of boutiques and knick-knack stores.
She stopped, watching for traffic as she cut across the street. Pierce followed. The store window showered the sidewalk with bright warm light. The store held hundreds of lamps. Every inch of the ceiling was used, hanging displays.
She forced him to walk slowly, look at the fixtures individually. They made their way down aisle after brightly lit aisle, occasionally pointing out a particularly beautiful or gaudy chandelier.
"We're not going to weaponize them. Not a chance in hell."
"How can you keep that from happening?"
"Each pet is coded in my head." A large chunk of space in his artificial memory was used to keep the business' affairs in order. She had learned about his finite amount of storage capacity (which had still surpassed human capabilities) when she walked in on him playing bass. A great portion of it was self-taught because he was willing to give up only so much space for the instrument; this is what he told her. He had almost made a joke but she cut him off and said what he was thinking, 'isn't natural memory so fickle'.
She thinks about it more now; what Pierce is capable of, what he wants to achieve. She looks at him to find he's looking down at her. Again, his eyes are a different hue under different light. Sometimes she convinces herself that the mechanical eye has a single speck of gold within the iris that flickers infrequently. He briefly looks up and her eyes follow his. He's looking at a chandelier with swinging colorful dragonflies. "What's it like to know everything there is to know in the world?"
"-
"Because it can get lonely, can't it?" A fair question.
It was often portrayed that if you were smart you were intimidated by those who were truly smart. Many unknowingly found him to be intimidating. He wasn't the easiest person to approach, especially when he was consumed in his own work. Both the staff that was none the wiser and those who were well informed of Mr. Velden-Wal steered clear. The passion for a single creation was there and it further wedged the gap between him and others. Authentic relationships were no longer a priority.
Ever so lightly Mísol pokes Pierce on the arm with her pinky, successfully pulling him out of his thoughts. "Come by the studio tomorrow night. Bring Sylvia, she may enjoy the class. It's about using light sources." With that being said she picks up a pink lotus night light and takes it up to the register.
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