Books And Covers Thereof (1.6)

>How is a "fucking" robot different from a regular robot?

Kitty’s not really certain.  Perhaps one of those sexbots she’s heard about rich perverts owning has gone haywire?

Really, the whole topic of romance in the post-postmodern world is a bit of a psychological minefield, as far as Kitty’s concerned.  There’s no real standard of conduct, the only official marriages are political, and romantic relationships vary wildly behind closed doors whether it’s with the toaster or another flesh-and-blood creature.  It’s all very weird and complicated.

Really complicated.

Every time anyone has asked her out, she’s generally responded by staring at them wordlessly in horror until they gave up and went away.

Most of the time, anyway.

...What was she doing again?

“Please let me in?” pleads the man outside, breathlessly.

Oh, right.  That poor sod.

“Hello?  Ma’am?  Hello?  I don’t want to die.”

>Tell him to seek refuge elsewhere. You don't want a giant robot wrecking your biz. He should probably run to the cops.

“Look, sir, I know exactly what’s going to happen,” she begins, calmly.  “You’re going to come inside-”

“YES!” shouts the man in triumph.

“...and then the robot is going to follow you in-”

“...No!”

“And then he is going to, as the kids say these days, ‘wreck my biz all up in here’.”

The man looks at you like you’ve just been afflicted with a case of Yog-Sothothitis.

“...No one says that?”

“Kitty!”

“I don’t want my Library wrecked by a robot, no matter how woefully gargantuan or whimsically miniscule.”

“Kitty!  Psst!”

“It won’t be wrecked by a robot if it doesn’t see me!”

“Kitty!  Hey!  Kitten!  Over here!  Hi!”

It occurs to her that there is now a woman in a sundress waving a lightly gloved hand at her.  Her skin is slightly tanned, her hair is black with natural blonde tips, her lipstick is pink, and she’s wearing round, pink rimmed sunglasses.  She is holding a pink umbrella and an equally pink purse.

Oh god, Annie.  Is it really that hot today outside the Library?

She smiles brightly at you with two rows of lovely white teeth.  “Hi!”  she whispers again, with great enthusiasm.

You wave back with a tense smile.

The man blinks, and looks back and forth between you.

“Can I come in?” says the woman.  “You’re not busy, are you?”

“No, no, of course not.  It’s early yet.”

The man’s exhausted, red-rimmed eyes widen.  “What?  Just like that?  Why does she get to come in?”

“Are you my best friend?” Kitty replies.  Annie gives a little squee behind the man.

“...Huh?”

“Then please step aside and let her in, okay?  Thank you.”  Kitty pulls the door open wider and Annie walks forward.  The man abruptly holds out an arm to stop the princess from entering.

“Excuse me?” says Annie.

“Yes, excuse her already,” replies Kitty.

“But-”

“Sir,” says Kitty, flatly.  “If I let you in, then I have to let everyone else in.”

“That sounds reasonable,” says Annie.

“Even the giant death machines.”

“Of course, of course.”  Annie nods sagely.  “If you didn’t, that’d be racism.”

“Well, obviously.  What kind of message would that send about the kind of establishment I’m running?  I can’t just have people think I’m some sort of racist towards deadly appliances.”

“Robots love reading!”

The man looks at Annie.  Then he looks at Kitty.  Then at Annie.  Then at Kitty.

“Are you both insane?”

“Yes, I am.  I’m very agoraphobic.”

“She hates agoras.”

“Can’t stand them.”

The man turns and begins weakly pounding his head into the wall.

“I think we broke him,” says Annie.

“That was kind of fun,” says Kitty.

“Do you hear something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, it sounds like some sort of awful mechanical shambling noise.”

Kitty and Annie both turn down the street, watching as a large, lumbering figure lurches around the street corner.  It walks slumped over, weighed down by several nasty looking barrel-shaped contraptions on it’s back.   It’s covered head to toe in iron plating, with small gaps hinting at colorful wires underneath.  A thin, swivelling head sits on top, one large electronic eye covered by a green lens.

A green dragon of European design has been painted on it’s chest and arms.

“...Oh,” says Kitty.

“Told you.  I’m no liar!” hisses the man.

“Inside!” hisses Kitty, grabbing him by an old, well-worn collar and pulling him inside.  Annie follows quickly, pulling the door closed and locking it.  Both women support the man on their shoulders, on either side of him.

“I think I owe you an apology, sir,” says Kitty to the exhausted look man.  “Though I’m not really kidding.  I think you and the robot ought to sit down and have a good talk about your grievances with one another if he comes by.”

With one flowing movement, his eyes roll up into his head as his arms gently but quickly and rather gracefully slide out from around either girl, until he finally lands on the floor.  Flat on his face.

“Ow,” murmurs Kitty, sympathetically.

“I think you owe him a new nose, too,” adds Annie.

What will they do?