cut away, clear away

Well, you weren't alone. The Kress twins were accompanying you in a strange demonstration despite being far too esteemed to still be in the room. You had mentioned they could leave you to gather the stray favors, take down all the banners yourself…but they seemed to have a bone to pick with leaving you alone when the sun went down. Otto quickly mentioned he needed to speak with the owners, somewhere between the deals of the next speech and hosting a luncheon for investors to their company. It was a matter of scientific status alongside the talking heads, after all.

Maybe they were afraid of opposing parties’ scouts picking you out, often mentioned in the same breath when it came need for an assistant to the twins. Maybe they just had a problem with letting go of the stronghold they had over you as the leader in your domain of political scrap-begging.

“Care for a dance, Mr. and Mrs. Kress?” You asked, one foot upturned in a bow. From a dark corner, they merely grumbled at you. “...Right.” You quickly resigned when there wasn’t any answer to go from, spotting a broom against the wall against the corner of your eye.

At first, Otto turned away as you descended to the floor. It was an impossible diversion of their attention, though, since Arora was now facing towards you as you took the stick with one hand. You started twirling on the polished surface, letting go of any embarrassment or even recognition of the sad display you were putting on. Escapism, your old friend; a loving touch in the void’s meeting as you started humming to yourself, imagining the floor filled with fellow couples again.

“Deplorable footwork.” Otto tried to break the visage you were in with a comment, but you merely smiled at the favorable dream away from them instead. You felt right doing it the way you were. In a comforting ring of reality, the only people seeing you dance were them. Did their gilded opinion matter to you – you alone – despite the status, despite working under them?

The hum to yourself broke from under the shell of your breath. “Sing me to sleep, the lullaby of the leaves…” You dipped the broom, smiling like you would a [girl/suitor]. Of course, you wished there was flesh under your palm, a neck under the ginger hold of your fingers in the other hand, but you instead [rested a hand against your slacks/fanned your dress with the empty hand in a curtsy].

“…[He/she looks / They look] so alone.”

That did snap your attention back to the real ballroom, the empty chairs off to the side as you heard the pity in Arora’s voice. Still, you squared your shoulders and kept going without a glance out of the fog you put yourself in. The hiss of the broom following your footsteps whisked you away from the scrutinizing eye.

“You put your head in the clouds because you’re merely half of what you desire. You know that, don’t you, [boy/girl]?” Otto then asked, and you replied, “Yes, but I don’t have time for seeking companionship, sir. I’m focused on…” You swallowed, “The duties of commission.”

He huffed at that, and you now realized a shadow was cast against your back. You still didn’t give them the satisfaction through a revering glance back, the broom in one hand as you stepped into another turn. When you did, though, your eyes spotted the blot of royal purple mere inches away from you.

Stopping, your eyes cast to the floor as you figured the jig was up. The broom was held more akin to what it was now, hands on the top of the stick in waiting, and you braced for more scrutiny. It was almost a part of the deal being their second- third hand man.

Instead, Arora’s arm reached out, tipping your chin up as she asked, “Did you ever learn to dance properly, [Mr./Miss] [L/N]?” Your smirk fell, and you answered, “In my privilege, Mrs. Kress? No, I didn’t.” Otto’s eyes glazed over with something new, something less cold and unreserved as he hummed, “I have a mind to think you wouldn’t be able to…but,” As Arora’s hand left your face, he extended his own, “If you’re to work alongside us, you might as well try on the duds of old money.”

You cocked your head at him, and Arora chimed in, “We can’t change the caste, but we can show you a thing or two about ballroom dancing. I knew Otto wouldn’t resist for long-“

“Don’t flog me, Arora. I just can’t stand a half-soul with so much vision to the person.”

He spoke as you gave him your hand, and he quickly extended in a proper ballroom stance with you. Arora’s own hand was on your shoulder, and all you could do was stare up with that sought after devotion you fooled yourself into believing you didn’t feel when in the presence of the Kress twins. They weren’t used to it, either; almost ignorant of it despite knowing they fed off it from the moment they had met you, decided you’d fit nicely under their wing.

Then again, there seemed to be a reignition of their usual pride now that your focus was on them again; on the visage that was less fabricated with another set of hands in your own. Otto even reminded you rather quickly.

i sometimes feel silly to read it with a (mostly metaphorical, i promise) hand down my pants when it's considered one of the best dystopian short stories written (in this humble sicko's opinion) with all these talks of humanity/the loathing of it by sentient technology/speculations on its eventual downfall due to playing with the fire that is artificial intelligence, and the big thoughts of AI as a whole that's written well before the dawn of it irl!! but also...

why did you make your death machine so cunty, mr. ellison? 🎤 why did you choose to voice your special he/it in question in most iterations because no one else would do it justice like the author himself, and why in THAT way too with the silly noises and maniacal flair?? 🎤🎤🎤