It’s a weird place to have a gallery, an old church, but Noir doesn’t feel up to digging around to find out what turn of events lead to this. And there is a certain kind of familiarity that eases his mind as he slips in through an unseemly back door with a very lax security system.
It’s old though, Noir isn’t gonna hold that against it too hard. He has a pretty good idea what kind of budget they’re working with. Local contemporary art doesn't exactly get a lot of recognition.
The office is pretty bare, and far enough up he should have some chance of slipping out in case anybody shows up unexpectedly. Judging by the dust and smudgy windows it isn’t exactly the most frequented place by whatever cleaning firm they may or may not have employed. And there’s a functional power outlet, colored scrap paper and a chair by a table so really, what more can he ask for? It should be a safe spot for the afternoon. Thank whatever scrap god for everything closing early on Saturdays here.
The light’s shifted when he slogs out of the stupid system reboot he’s been putting off for an uncomfortable amount of time, but at least it’s cleared up some of the error messages. It isn’t just the about half an hour of absent time that accounts for the change though. Somebody’s standing in the doorway, blocking the dusky light from the hallway window.
“These really would be lovely in patterned paper,” the floaty jerk from the spaceport says, holding a folded green dinosaur he’d made earlier between two pointy fingers.
“Yeah, well,” Noir answers, letting the annoyance slip through the filter “you’re welcome to make them that way, but I’m not doing that.”
“Lux models weren’t coded for crafts,” they say, tilting their triangle screen towards him. The blue glow reflects off the table, making it look vast and cold. The orange tinted mirror lenses in the mask would make for a murky mix if he wasn’t used to cutting it out. His white balancing is pretty solid. “It’s called a hobby, it’s something people do if they’re not working or being creepy.” Noir says.
“Of course you are,” he grumbles.
The silence stretches on for a couple of long seconds. “What’s your angle, why not just report me and get it over with?” Noir adds, eyeing the open door more than the stupid too-tall black bot in front of it. He could make a run for it, but with his power level tethering on the wrong side of 50 and the leg… he knows he wouldn’t get far, realistically speaking. He doesn’t need the danger assessment merrily suggesting likely scenarios for that action. Not that that’s stopping it.
“I told you before, you’re worth more to me free than captured,” they answer, with a slight thrill to the voice like it’s somehow funny. Noir can’t spot the joke.
“Ok so what’re you getting out of not just letting me go?” he asks, not really willing to do this conversation but knowing full well it’ll happen whether he wants it or not.
“Watching you is interesting” the black bot says, those stupidly finely crafted hover fingers of theirs doing a small flick that has no right looking so elegant. “And my human hasn’t shown up at the appointed time.”
“And what am I getting out of going along with this?”
“The security system maintaining its belief you’re nothing but a slightly eccentric human not a rogue recalled model that’s probably up to no good.”
“You know I’m not up to anything” Noir grumbles, annoyed.
“I do, but it doesn’t” the matte black bot answers and Noir swears it sounds cheerful even though the tone is bland.
“Damn it,” Noir says, and if he could sigh for real he’d have done so.
“Also, staff and some guests have already arrived, so all the exits are either manned or blocked off. Basically you’re stuck here till you’re found or you can help me help you.”
Noir groans, the sound rattling in his speaker. “Fine,” he hisses and folds his arms, refusing to face them.
Being escorted by somebody who’s made creepy comments at you is weird, but Noir has got to admit they were right about the place being hard to get out of on his own. Private events, damn it, he forgot how renting out is one of the ways to earn some much needed money. The mix of contemporary art sculptures and what looks like designer-types would be curious, if Noir hadn’t been in attendance for similar events enough times for the novelty to wear off.
>>Stay nearby, a message pings him, and he doesn’t need to wonder who this time.
>>I stand out, he writes back, skimming the attendance
>>Not too much, there will be presentations in 17 minutes, people will be too distracted to notice. May I help you blend in more?
Noir does turn his head at that, looking at the bot with its hover arms folded at its back, a nice low key pixel face in place. They’ve toned down the blue light to a soothing subtle dark blue. Showoff.
It’s a long moment of wondering what they have in mind before he answers.
There’s only so much they can do with Noir’s clothes, but somehow the black bot still manages to straighten things out just so, and even though Noir resents them getting so close, it’s better. Nobody seems to pay any mind to the fuzzing, there’s several others who have bots tagging along once he starts looking for it. Right. Rich people and borrowed or plain mandated company models.
“Sir, what refreshment can I get you?” They ask after quietly greenlighting Noir’s look. He tilts his mask, like he’s thinking.
“Coffee,” he says out loud
>>What’re you really doing here? He asks quietly, in text, safe from prying ears.
>>Officially, accompanying a representative from my current employment
>> Not really, I’m accompanying a representative, and I’m here on behalf of my current employment.
>> Pretty sure that’s called lying.
>> Riiight, Noir writes, and takes the cup he’s handed. Even through the mask he can pick up on the rich notes from it, hanging in the air. It’s not your standard low grade substitution. He strangles the small huh, but not fast enough for his companion to tilt its screen a little.
“Good quality,” he says out loud, because that’s the more human reaction than getting into base readings.
“I’m glad to hear the accommodations are to your liking Sir,” they answer in voice.
>> That’s interesting, they write, but don't add more to it. Noir wonders what that’s about, but doesn’t ask.
The presentations are pretty varied, Noir listens without putting much attention to it, recording them for future perusal and-or trade. It’s nice he gets to sit at least, in a shadowy back row section to the side.
>> Here, his unrequested escort writes, gently prodding his shoulder with a small square.
Noir stifles the shudder as he takes it, he’s not interested in that kind of unwarranted rattling around. His wiring is twisted up plenty already.
>> What’re you up to, he writes back
>> Spare power cell, you can borrow it, they answer, and Noir twists his mask to see them stand by the side, the matte black and blue-green glow standing out among the shadows where most of the attending bots are lingering. They’ve folded their arms at their back again, the screen blank.
He should say thanks, probably, but he doesn’t like that they know.
>> What’s your name, he asks instead, to distract himself from the thought.
>> You can read my ID from the user logs
>> No, your name stupid. I don’t call myself Lux Industries model 3.7 production number 130947-900315909 alga. I’m Noir, get it? Try again, what’s your name.
Even though there’s no reason to, he still shakes his head at it. He could look, see when they were made, Noir has a suspicion. But that feels rude at this point and he has no real desire to see if he’s right.
>> Ok, I guess a nickname is a step up at least, I’m not calling you by serial number. Please tell me it doesn’t stand for something dumb.
>> I regret asking, he writes, and he isn’t sure why that feels so funny to him, but he’s glad he can cut the sound of the laughing he wants to do.
“Urgh, these evening events are hell on my back,” the guy on his left complains and Noir nods as BB quietly fills him in on who it is in the background. “Food’s good though, they finally sprung for some decent catering, about time,”
They’ve been hanging around for 143 minutes and Noir’s given up asking if he can just go already. Looks like these humans aren’t planning to pack up anytime soon, Noir pities whatever cleaning company has to deal with the aftermath, but at least they’ve all been shuffled away from the art.
“I need some fresh air,” Noir says to the small group of people, and they laugh at the not particularly subtle smoking break code and let him slip off.
Nobody’s remarked on him not actually eating or drinking, his black shadow just slips in and spirits things away when he drifts off for a new group. Noir is tired, his energy level has dropped noticeably, and he can feel himself running hotter from having to keep up the charade.
A woman approaches and Noir wishes something would break his cover just so he can avoid more small talk at the same time as he’s terrified this time he’ll slip up.
“Sir,” BB slips in, gently catching Noir’s elbow and he realizes that something in his leg has probably given out. He was swaying. He turns his head and sees the way several faces in various stages of masked turn to face him. Shit.
“Excuse us, Sir is feeling unwell,” BB says, all calm and efficient. No heart in it, Noir thinks to himself, but the nearby people nod, or shrug, and turn away again.
Too much to drink gossip. Noir’s tense joints loosen up and he’s very nearly grateful as BB leads him towards the exit, finally.
>> You can let go of my arm now, Noir writes
>> We’re outside, you’ll run
>> You literally just made sure my face didn’t get acquainted with the floor. My legs aren’t up to running, and you know it.
>> I wanted to thank you.
Noir would blink, if he had the ability. He twists in the grip, enough to watch that annoying hover triangle face. BB is using the improved Lux pixel smile again, and Noir doesn’t know if he should take it as an insult or a really badly implemented compliment.
>> You can thank me by letting me go, you’re done with me, aren’t you?
>> You’ve been very helpful, they write, that blue-lit smile mirroring in his scruffy lenses.
>> I just wanted to get out, Noir writes, feeling like he should definitely not ask how being talked at by humans is helpful.
>> I wouldn’t actually have turned you in, you’re too interesting BB writes, then adds
>> Don’t get yourself caught by somebody else.
Noir doesn’t linger to answer that, he scampers off when their grip loosens. Before he gets out of range and puts up some stronger walls, one last message manages to trickle in.
>> You can return that power cell next time we meet. You need it more than I do.
He can feel its weight in his pocket, cold and snug, and he hates knowing they’re right about needing it.
He hates knowing they probably will meet again at some point even more.
