sixwordstories | (no subject)

There's an unusual complaint.

[Sorry, she's going to stare at her reflection in your skin for a long moment now.]

What are you?

Alien, metal, a star--non-violent.

*... except when he is. mostly harmless?*

If you're a star, how are you existing on a planet without major gravitational pull issues?

[The thought of him being violent had never crossed her mind, honestly. This is her being tripped up, by the way--easily distracted and secretly wanting to polish that metal skin.]

*mmm, polishing.*

Extremely advanced technology. I'm not expecting you to believe me.

Why wouldn't I believe you?

Denial is odd.

*his turn.* The tripping--were your legs paralyzed or injured in some way?

I meant more catching myself in odd or repetitive or inappropriate thought patterns, rather than physically tripping.

...I see. Do you know why?

Yes. Which means I should be better at self-correcting.

That depends on quite a few things.

What do you mean, exactly?

Is what you do harming anyone?

No. Not really. No.

Then... Mistakes happen.

I know they do. But I should be improving.

You aren't at all?

Not as much as I should. I suppose we could count the fact that I haven't literally begun to polish you as some improvement, but the urge is very strong.

Am I not clean enough?

Certainly, you're clean enough. But you could shine better.

I wouldn't think so.

Aw, in what way?

Catching myself falling back on patterns and programming when in doubt.