"Smith… where are we going?"
The former Agent was positively gleeful, and while that amused Solace to no end it also made her very nervous. She'd never seen the AI this… well, cheerful before. She hadn't even thought he'd learned how to be cheerful yet. And yet here he was, tugging her out to his car like a … well, like a teenager about to go to the prom. It was very disturbing.
"All in good time," he smirked. "All in good time."
Solace shook her head, settling for at least displaying amusement. She couldn't, after all, ask him why he was actually showing signs of emotions. She wasn't supposed to know what he was. "At least tell me why I'm dressed up so fancy." That was another thing. He'd apparently arranged for all of this, and while she probably would have been more impressed if it had been real fabric and real money that had paid for it, why had he gone to this much effort? What was going on here? And above all…
Why did she feel so sexy? Dressed in this blue concoction that he'd probably created out of thick Matrix air, shimmering and sweeping down to her high-heeled feet, she actually felt beautiful. Elegant. She'd never felt elegant before; she'd never really wanted to. There had been no need. In her previous life she had been everything she'd described to Smith, plain, a little weird, a little withdrawn. Once in the Resistance she had been shy, hesitant, but also efficient and willing to work. Nowhere in there had been any room for sexy, or elegant, or anything to do with a life of enough leisure to afford clothes like this and go to restaurants like…
La Verite?
"What's going on?" Smith had said before that the restaurant was owned… run? Managed? By a former co-worker. Which could mean anything from another Agent to … what? Another AI, another program? A human working with the Agents? At the time she'd thought it had meant one of the former, but now that she was there she just wasn't sure. And she was starting to feel as though she was about to be presented to someone, which was making her distinctly nervous.
The fluttering in her stomach as Smith took her hand to lead her out of the car like a princess was not helping.
"I thought it was about time that you met some of my … former co-workers."
"Not 'old friends?'" she teased. More for her own reassurance than out of any real humor, but it sounded good.
"We were on good terms, although I am not entirely sure the term 'friend' is appropriate." That smirk just wasn't going away. It made Solace wonder.
"Ah," was all she said. They went up the tall tower… skyscraper, it was a skyscraper. Why had her mind substituted that more romanticized word? Possibly it was only the romance of the evening, although that in and of itself was a concept to make her blush. Romance with an Agent. Such a lovely and heretical concept. Smith escorted her as though he had been trained in royal manners and bearing from birth, and she wondered if she looked very plain beside him. She wondered what the people who passed by them, some of whom were giving second and third glances, what they must think. She wondered if some of them weren't human at all.
So much nervous tension. She thought she was going to explode.
"May I help you?" the maitre'd asked in his unctuous, accented voice.
"He is expecting us," was all Smith said, causing Solace to wonder yet again what the occasion was and what 'his' real name might be.
"Of course. Right this way."
The maitre'd led them into the restaurant and straight past the tables, past the musicians and the dancers. Heads turned as they walked by, and Solace could hear the conversation speed up and quiet down simultaneously. Gossip, she surmised, was flying. But about what? And who were these people? There were familiar faces at the head table, which was indeed where they were being led. The somewhat handsome gentleman in the center, presumably the man they were to meet. The woman at his side was the same, which seemed to indicate that she wasn't the nightly escort. The striking albino… or simply pale… twins in the corner, leering at her. She ignored them as best she could, but there was something unpleasant and dangerous about them that made her wish for a sidearm. The looks they were giving her were less refined, less hidden versions of the look the man at the head table, the man in charge was giving her now. It was a very powerful and very male look, that went from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes and evaluated everything from her beauty to her expected intelligence and her social status and posture. Solace decided right then that she liked none of the three men.
"Monsieur Merovech." Solace filed the name away for future reference, and the fact that Smith had an impeccable French accent. It gave her a shiver of… something, and she didn't want to look too closely for fear that she could put a name to the feeling. "This is Solace."
A simple introduction, for which Solace was deeply grateful. The man… Merovech… stood, taking her hand in the usual fashion and brushing his lips over… the palm. He wasn't supposed to do that. Her mind clouded over for a split second.
"Enchante."
His voice was a pleasantly accented murmur, and he seemed to take delight in watching her reaction to his somewhat forward gesture.
"Enchante," she murmured back, not entirely sure it was accurate… or maybe it was too accurate. 'Enchanted' was a good word to use when describing this man. Enchanted, spell-bound, and neither of them were reassuring concepts.
"You will join us," commanded the supposedly French program? Solace wondered. "You will join us for dinner and fine wine and, I do hope, fine conversation."
"Conversation with Solace is always fine," Smith said. The woman in question suppressed a grimace of annoyance, suddenly feeling as though she had been catapulted back to the Renaissance or, worse, a circle of Victorian bohemians, all convinced of their own bloated self-importance and inflated cleverness. When the man and the woman descended from the head table to what was apparently a smaller, private table for dining off to the corner Solace chose to sit with the woman rather than endure Smith and Merovech fighting over who could be the smoothest at flirting with her.
"Men can be so tiresome," the woman said when they had seated themselves. It was apparently an old argument, because Merovech threw her what seemed to be a habitual glare, to which she sneered in reply. "My name is Persephone," she held out her hand.
"Solace, as you know," she smiled, shaking the other woman's hand gratefully. Not a helpmeet or a concubine, then, or if she was a concubine she was a very clever sort of a one. "And you are…?" she asked, glancing over at the man who called himself Merovech, hoping her meaning was clear.
"His wife, unfortunately," she sighed. "It is a cruel necessity, but believe me it is necessary. Otherwise …" Solace had the feeling she was going to say she would have been long gone, but didn't, possibly because it would not have been politic.
"I understand," she nodded, and in a way she did. If the man, Merovech, was a program, then Persephone was also most likely a program, and bound by the limitations of her creators to remain married to this philandering prick. At least Persephone seemed clever, and nice enough in her own way.
"And you are…?" Persephone asked, smiling, imitating Solace's tone and implication and glancing over at Smith as though there was something there…
"Oh no!" Solace laughed. And she wondered how accurate her own protestations were. "No, there are no entanglements between us. Not in that sense, anyway." Unconsciously she found herself adopting the high-class, convoluted speech that Merovech and Persephone were using. It was… odd.
"Ah…" Persephone smiled as though she could see something Solace didn't. It wasn't any more reassuring than the other man's… Merovech, she had to think of him by his name, even though it didn't sound like it was his real name. Persephone's smile wasn't any more reassuring than her husband's kiss. What were these two?
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked after a bit, worried, but trying not to be overly belligerent. She knew, instinctively, that she did not want to upset either of these two. Not unless she could pit them against each other, and even then she wasn't sure she wanted to do that. She wasn't sure she'd survive the fallout.
"Simply that when a man looks at a woman as Smith looks at you when you don't watch him, it usually means that there is an… attachment."
Solace felt her right shoulder suddenly become very hot as the blush crept up her cheeks, certain that Smith was glancing at her at that exact moment. They were all sitting around the small table, so that she was opposite Merovech and Smith was opposite Persephone, but even so she knew, somehow, that the Agent (and her mind wanted to rephrase it so that it was 'her' Agent) wasn't looking at Persephone. A thousand images flashed through her mind, the gestures and looks Smith had given her, every last interaction between them scrutinized and re-scrutinized in an instant. She looked over them all for signs that Persephone was right, and found herself staring at the other woman in barely disguised shock and even a little fear and worry.
"Don't worry about it," the other woman said in her flawless, accented voice. "It needn't become a problem between you. Unless Merovech intends to make it a problem, which he undoubtedly will. He is a habitual womanizer."
That last was clearly intended for Merovech to hear, and he scowled at her briefly before turning back to his conversation with Smith. Persephone smirked.
"You mean if he decides to make Smith jealous," Solace sighed. Perhaps she could learn something about poise under pressure from the other woman. "Men are fools."
The woman… Persephone… laughed in what sounded like genuine amusement, and looked startled at finding Solace actually amusing. "They are indeed." She raised her glass. "A toast to the foolish and tiresome nature of men."
Solace ignored Smith and Merovech's incredulous glances with grace and aplomb. "To the foolish and tiresome nature of men," she agreed. "And our endless patience and toleration."
The two women laughed. The men threw them incredulous glances and then proceeded to ignore the women as much as they were being ignored, themselves. Solace giggled. It was … odd… to be amidst AIs, or at least two people who she felt almost certain were AIs, and yet not to feel out of place. To be amidst computer programs created by other computers who were, ultimately, created by humans. And yet to feel very little difference between this company and the company that she normally kept, that of other humans. The biggest differences that she felt were the differences of class; Persephone and Merovech were so obviously of a higher station than Solace had ever been used to. It was like dining with kings and queens. And yet, she felt no concern from the fragment of her consciousness that told her she was dining with other AIs.
"And how long have you known your Agent Smith?" Persephone inquired, setting them off again.
The conversation shifted slightly, always seeming to come back to the subject of relations between men and women. Solace thought that perhaps Persephone was, on some subconscious level (did AIs have subconscious levels? Subroutines?) trying to seek advice from others about her own obviously failing marriage to which she was doomed to remain a part of. Solace gave her what help she could think of, but it was an area in which she had very little expertise, and all of it having to do with Smith. Dessert arrived without them having reached a conclusion, and everyone sat back a little from the table, the unconscious yet unanimous decision to put aside idle chatter for a bit. Solace felt a little bit of dread settle in her stomach, and she didn't know why.
"You must try the dessert," Merovech said as the servants cleared dishes and brought around slices of cake. "It is exquisite."
Solace arched an eyebrow at him and slipped her fork into the cake, taking only a tiny bite. It did look rather delicious, and artistically topped of course, but something about the way the other man had invited her… the feeling of dread increased, and any number of old fairy tales involving apples and pomegranates and other assorted fruit ran through her head.
Smith and Persephone stared at Merovech in what looked very much like horror, and not a little bit of fury.
The former Agent was positively gleeful, and while that amused Solace to no end it also made her very nervous. She'd never seen the AI this… well, cheerful before. She hadn't even thought he'd learned how to be cheerful yet. And yet here he was, tugging her out to his car like a … well, like a teenager about to go to the prom. It was very disturbing.
"All in good time," he smirked. "All in good time."
Solace shook her head, settling for at least displaying amusement. She couldn't, after all, ask him why he was actually showing signs of emotions. She wasn't supposed to know what he was. "At least tell me why I'm dressed up so fancy." That was another thing. He'd apparently arranged for all of this, and while she probably would have been more impressed if it had been real fabric and real money that had paid for it, why had he gone to this much effort? What was going on here? And above all…
Why did she feel so sexy? Dressed in this blue concoction that he'd probably created out of thick Matrix air, shimmering and sweeping down to her high-heeled feet, she actually felt beautiful. Elegant. She'd never felt elegant before; she'd never really wanted to. There had been no need. In her previous life she had been everything she'd described to Smith, plain, a little weird, a little withdrawn. Once in the Resistance she had been shy, hesitant, but also efficient and willing to work. Nowhere in there had been any room for sexy, or elegant, or anything to do with a life of enough leisure to afford clothes like this and go to restaurants like…
La Verite?
"What's going on?" Smith had said before that the restaurant was owned… run? Managed? By a former co-worker. Which could mean anything from another Agent to … what? Another AI, another program? A human working with the Agents? At the time she'd thought it had meant one of the former, but now that she was there she just wasn't sure. And she was starting to feel as though she was about to be presented to someone, which was making her distinctly nervous.
The fluttering in her stomach as Smith took her hand to lead her out of the car like a princess was not helping.
"I thought it was about time that you met some of my … former co-workers."
"Not 'old friends?'" she teased. More for her own reassurance than out of any real humor, but it sounded good.
"We were on good terms, although I am not entirely sure the term 'friend' is appropriate." That smirk just wasn't going away. It made Solace wonder.
"Ah," was all she said. They went up the tall tower… skyscraper, it was a skyscraper. Why had her mind substituted that more romanticized word? Possibly it was only the romance of the evening, although that in and of itself was a concept to make her blush. Romance with an Agent. Such a lovely and heretical concept. Smith escorted her as though he had been trained in royal manners and bearing from birth, and she wondered if she looked very plain beside him. She wondered what the people who passed by them, some of whom were giving second and third glances, what they must think. She wondered if some of them weren't human at all.
So much nervous tension. She thought she was going to explode.
"May I help you?" the maitre'd asked in his unctuous, accented voice.
"He is expecting us," was all Smith said, causing Solace to wonder yet again what the occasion was and what 'his' real name might be.
"Of course. Right this way."
The maitre'd led them into the restaurant and straight past the tables, past the musicians and the dancers. Heads turned as they walked by, and Solace could hear the conversation speed up and quiet down simultaneously. Gossip, she surmised, was flying. But about what? And who were these people? There were familiar faces at the head table, which was indeed where they were being led. The somewhat handsome gentleman in the center, presumably the man they were to meet. The woman at his side was the same, which seemed to indicate that she wasn't the nightly escort. The striking albino… or simply pale… twins in the corner, leering at her. She ignored them as best she could, but there was something unpleasant and dangerous about them that made her wish for a sidearm. The looks they were giving her were less refined, less hidden versions of the look the man at the head table, the man in charge was giving her now. It was a very powerful and very male look, that went from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes and evaluated everything from her beauty to her expected intelligence and her social status and posture. Solace decided right then that she liked none of the three men.
"Monsieur Merovech." Solace filed the name away for future reference, and the fact that Smith had an impeccable French accent. It gave her a shiver of… something, and she didn't want to look too closely for fear that she could put a name to the feeling. "This is Solace."
A simple introduction, for which Solace was deeply grateful. The man… Merovech… stood, taking her hand in the usual fashion and brushing his lips over… the palm. He wasn't supposed to do that. Her mind clouded over for a split second.
"Enchante."
His voice was a pleasantly accented murmur, and he seemed to take delight in watching her reaction to his somewhat forward gesture.
"Enchante," she murmured back, not entirely sure it was accurate… or maybe it was too accurate. 'Enchanted' was a good word to use when describing this man. Enchanted, spell-bound, and neither of them were reassuring concepts.
"You will join us," commanded the supposedly French program? Solace wondered. "You will join us for dinner and fine wine and, I do hope, fine conversation."
"Conversation with Solace is always fine," Smith said. The woman in question suppressed a grimace of annoyance, suddenly feeling as though she had been catapulted back to the Renaissance or, worse, a circle of Victorian bohemians, all convinced of their own bloated self-importance and inflated cleverness. When the man and the woman descended from the head table to what was apparently a smaller, private table for dining off to the corner Solace chose to sit with the woman rather than endure Smith and Merovech fighting over who could be the smoothest at flirting with her.
"Men can be so tiresome," the woman said when they had seated themselves. It was apparently an old argument, because Merovech threw her what seemed to be a habitual glare, to which she sneered in reply. "My name is Persephone," she held out her hand.
"Solace, as you know," she smiled, shaking the other woman's hand gratefully. Not a helpmeet or a concubine, then, or if she was a concubine she was a very clever sort of a one. "And you are…?" she asked, glancing over at the man who called himself Merovech, hoping her meaning was clear.
"His wife, unfortunately," she sighed. "It is a cruel necessity, but believe me it is necessary. Otherwise …" Solace had the feeling she was going to say she would have been long gone, but didn't, possibly because it would not have been politic.
"I understand," she nodded, and in a way she did. If the man, Merovech, was a program, then Persephone was also most likely a program, and bound by the limitations of her creators to remain married to this philandering prick. At least Persephone seemed clever, and nice enough in her own way.
"And you are…?" Persephone asked, smiling, imitating Solace's tone and implication and glancing over at Smith as though there was something there…
"Oh no!" Solace laughed. And she wondered how accurate her own protestations were. "No, there are no entanglements between us. Not in that sense, anyway." Unconsciously she found herself adopting the high-class, convoluted speech that Merovech and Persephone were using. It was… odd.
"Ah…" Persephone smiled as though she could see something Solace didn't. It wasn't any more reassuring than the other man's… Merovech, she had to think of him by his name, even though it didn't sound like it was his real name. Persephone's smile wasn't any more reassuring than her husband's kiss. What were these two?
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked after a bit, worried, but trying not to be overly belligerent. She knew, instinctively, that she did not want to upset either of these two. Not unless she could pit them against each other, and even then she wasn't sure she wanted to do that. She wasn't sure she'd survive the fallout.
"Simply that when a man looks at a woman as Smith looks at you when you don't watch him, it usually means that there is an… attachment."
Solace felt her right shoulder suddenly become very hot as the blush crept up her cheeks, certain that Smith was glancing at her at that exact moment. They were all sitting around the small table, so that she was opposite Merovech and Smith was opposite Persephone, but even so she knew, somehow, that the Agent (and her mind wanted to rephrase it so that it was 'her' Agent) wasn't looking at Persephone. A thousand images flashed through her mind, the gestures and looks Smith had given her, every last interaction between them scrutinized and re-scrutinized in an instant. She looked over them all for signs that Persephone was right, and found herself staring at the other woman in barely disguised shock and even a little fear and worry.
"Don't worry about it," the other woman said in her flawless, accented voice. "It needn't become a problem between you. Unless Merovech intends to make it a problem, which he undoubtedly will. He is a habitual womanizer."
That last was clearly intended for Merovech to hear, and he scowled at her briefly before turning back to his conversation with Smith. Persephone smirked.
"You mean if he decides to make Smith jealous," Solace sighed. Perhaps she could learn something about poise under pressure from the other woman. "Men are fools."
The woman… Persephone… laughed in what sounded like genuine amusement, and looked startled at finding Solace actually amusing. "They are indeed." She raised her glass. "A toast to the foolish and tiresome nature of men."
Solace ignored Smith and Merovech's incredulous glances with grace and aplomb. "To the foolish and tiresome nature of men," she agreed. "And our endless patience and toleration."
The two women laughed. The men threw them incredulous glances and then proceeded to ignore the women as much as they were being ignored, themselves. Solace giggled. It was … odd… to be amidst AIs, or at least two people who she felt almost certain were AIs, and yet not to feel out of place. To be amidst computer programs created by other computers who were, ultimately, created by humans. And yet to feel very little difference between this company and the company that she normally kept, that of other humans. The biggest differences that she felt were the differences of class; Persephone and Merovech were so obviously of a higher station than Solace had ever been used to. It was like dining with kings and queens. And yet, she felt no concern from the fragment of her consciousness that told her she was dining with other AIs.
"And how long have you known your Agent Smith?" Persephone inquired, setting them off again.
The conversation shifted slightly, always seeming to come back to the subject of relations between men and women. Solace thought that perhaps Persephone was, on some subconscious level (did AIs have subconscious levels? Subroutines?) trying to seek advice from others about her own obviously failing marriage to which she was doomed to remain a part of. Solace gave her what help she could think of, but it was an area in which she had very little expertise, and all of it having to do with Smith. Dessert arrived without them having reached a conclusion, and everyone sat back a little from the table, the unconscious yet unanimous decision to put aside idle chatter for a bit. Solace felt a little bit of dread settle in her stomach, and she didn't know why.
"You must try the dessert," Merovech said as the servants cleared dishes and brought around slices of cake. "It is exquisite."
Solace arched an eyebrow at him and slipped her fork into the cake, taking only a tiny bite. It did look rather delicious, and artistically topped of course, but something about the way the other man had invited her… the feeling of dread increased, and any number of old fairy tales involving apples and pomegranates and other assorted fruit ran through her head.
Smith and Persephone stared at Merovech in what looked very much like horror, and not a little bit of fury.