“Bulby, do you think I’m… pretty?” She was on her 3rd wolfberry wine mug and starting to feel it. She needed a confidence booster from one not directly involved. In other words: the robot before her had no sexual desires to impede his judgement. She tugs nervously at the ribbon on her right shoulder while waiting, almost accidentally untying it. Realizing this, she quickly moves the hand back to her lap, locking it between her thighs with the other one.
Bulby’s eyes in his head pretend lit up like 2 golden coins themselves. “I calculate there’s a 70 percent chance that is so,” he rattled off, then stared into her eyes with his now dimmed ones to see if this pleased her. He spotted mixed results and decided to lite up again and change the calculation to 100 percent, defying his logic. He can override it like that if needed. He had evolved beyond pure mechanoid back in the days of the 1st Robot Revolution (= 1st Robolution), marching with his kind on Washington B.C. a little before the 1st Millennium. Certainly a long time ago by human standards but not so much for him. He’d seen the Carthaginians come and go but kept his mouth shut about such things. He thinks, as a robot infant, he may have seen Atlantean “non-men” at a birthday party for his 300 year old robot sister Brightie growing up fast in the eyes of their robot parents Wattage and Voltagia, both over a 1000 years old themselves by that point and just glad they were able to build two children inside a formerly thought of infertile inner sanctum.
“Thank you (*hiccup*). That makes me feel better.”
“You better go back to the surface before you forget how to turn off the gargoyles. I’d follow you and make sure you do but, as you know, I’m not allowed to leave my post here. Must guard the treasure with my robot life if needed.”
“I understand, Bulby. Just (*sigh*) nice to have someone to talk to (*hiccup*)… for a change.”
“How’s your sex life?” he thought to ask, then saw that mixed expression again and decided to add, “only if you want to share. Madam Mayor comes down here sometimes,” he explains himself, “and gabs on and on about it. She has a, ahem, *interesting* one.”
“I’ve heard,” Clare said back. “Welp, mine is not worth these 2 fake golden coins on the counter between us (*hiccup*).”
“Oh. These are not fake,” spoke back Bulby, a bit of surprise showing through his highly filtered mechanical voice. He was just that shocked.
“They *aren’t*?” said Clare staring down at them just as shocked. Something had to give.
(to be continued)
