"Okay, I take it back."
"Can I get that in writing?" Iris teased her father. The two were standing (well, maybe just Iris,) proudly behind a bake sale table, with only one tray of her peanut butter blossom cookies and sugar cookies left to sell on it.
The sale had gone amazingly, and donations were through the roof for the Michigan Humane Society. Markus and Genevieve (one of the best volunteers from the Society,) had gotten some luck, too, on their table right beside the Manfred's. Iris was hoping that in the next hour or so the tables would be empty and the group of volunteers could close up shop. The heat was beginning to fester, and they'd been out all morning.
"Oh, wait, I have an even better idea!" Iris pointed to the small corral of kittens by the door of the center. "That little tiger-lookin' fella has been staring at me all day."
"Iris." Carl said.
"Dad?" She blinked sweetly.
"No."
"Awe, c'mon!" She pouted. "I get that we can't have the puppies," her voice goes three octaves higher as she looks at the assortment of pit bulls and retrievers that the society currently housed, "even though they are so dang sweet and adorable and so lovable." Carl stared at her, unamused with the pouting.
Iris cleared her throat and continued on. "But cats are really easy to care for!"
"The answer is no."
"All the hard work we've done and not one little, itsy bitsy, tiger kitty reward?"
"No!"
Iris huffed, playfully dejected as she stared longingly at the kittens. There weren't that many, which she was happily surprised with, but she wanted to scoop them up and take them all home. What's one more mouth to feed? It's not like they couldn't handle the costs of a cat.
"How much for the oatmeal raisin?" Iris heard at the table beside hers.
Genevieve answered happily and sold another two baggies full of them before tapping out and heading to the bathroom, leaving Markus by himself to tend for the table. Iris gave him a thumbs up as another customer pulled up. The first one he handled by himself all day.
"Would you mind if I go say hello to my little kitten friend?" Iris asked her father.
He nodded and pulled his wheelchair closer to the table. "Only if you don't smuggle him out of the corral."
She rolled her eyes but agreed she wouldn't, and took a couple quick steps to get to the kitten action.
"Oh, hello beautiful!" She squealed at the kitten, and she graciously picked her up by her middle. She brought the little, small, precious fur baby close to her chest and began to pet her, grinning widely. Iris always was an animal lover, even if she never had any growing up. She would take any kitten time she could get nowadays.
Iris looked up at the board of kittens up for adoption, and mentally corrected. He is a small, precious, fur baby. His name is Horace and she loved him. She checked out the bake sale tables, where generous lines were forming, and held up Horace like Simba from the Lion King at her father. Carl gave a very strong shake of his head, and gestured back to the corral. Iris took a hand and pretended to wipe away tears from her face. What a bastard.
"I want to speak to a human." Flew through Iris' ears, and she frowned.
"Sorry, Horace," she whispered sweetly to the kitten, set him back in the corral with his little kitten buddies, and stood.
"I am well-versed in the selling of baked goods, ma'am. Is there a specific flavor you particularly enjoy?"
Oh, this is going to get ugly. Iris felt nerves rise, like a rock in her stomach dropping, as she walked over to the bake sale.
"I said I want to speak to someone real." A customer raised her nose at Markus, glasses perched on the edge as she looked down at him. Short blonde hair cropped above her shoulders, slightly turning gray, brown eyes seething at Markus at she waited impatiently. The deep-set frown lines in her skin showed Iris just what kind of person she was. She was the embodiment of the person to ask for a manager at any slight inconvenience. Or stir up her own trouble, it seems.
"Is there something wrong?" Iris asked cautiously as she sauntered up to the table beside her android friend. Markus' LED was blinking yellow furiously, trying to understand the situation at hand. Iris rested a hand on Markus' forearm, just behind the table so the woman couldn't see and start screaming her head off. Just to show him he has support.
"Yes, I want to be sold food from a real person, not a hunk of plastic." She glared at Markus, and Iris' insides flared in anger.
She tried to keep civil. "Markus is perfectly capable of selling you a cookie. He understands sales well."
"I don't want to give my business to filth like it. Its kind is the reason there are so many homeless in the streets. It takes away jobs from hard-working Americans."
Markus stared hard at the woman, perplexed at her words. Iris pressed her lips in a thin line. It was bound to happen, sure, but she was hoping Markus wouldn't have to see such anti-android hate in person. Well, they had a good two months without seeing it. Iris would have to count her blessings.
"Ma'am," Iris said calmly. She would not let this woman get the best of her. "If you do not wish to be served by an android, you should leave. We will not tolerate such backwards thinking." She looked out to the lines that had slowly become a crowd around the table, and raised her voice. "In fact, if anyone has that same thought—"
"Iris." Markus muttered softly, and his hand grasped at hers, pulling her away from the people.
Her face was hot, meaning it was probably red with fury. She could feel herself set into a deep frown at the android as he dropped her hand and walked easily to the side of the society's building. It was only a few steps away, but far enough so the people couldn't hear the pair. This time, Iris' true emotion shone through her words as she spat, "What, Markus?"
"I'll leave." He said simply. She stared at him, mouth agape. "If the shelter will get better sales without an android present, then I will not be present anymore."
"Markus," she started, the name flying quickly. "You don't have to do that. That musty old bag of farts can leave. There are more people willing to buy from an android."
"And what if they aren't enough?" Markus asked. His features wrinkled with worry, as if he was troubled by the situation. He didn't want to leave, but he would to help Iris and the shelter. He understood how much it meant to her.
He was conflicted. Iris didn't think androids could feel conflict. It shouldn't have been in their programming.
"Then I'll donate the rest." Iris shrugged with more force than necessary. "I don't care. I hate their intolerance. The world is changing and these wrinkly suits should, too."
"Iris." Markus said calmly. "It's okay. I'll go back to the mansion, and wait for you and Carl to return. I'll clean the studio to busy myself."
Iris huffed like a child. "It's not fair."
His features softened, as did his voice. "It doesn't have to be fair. I am an android; I feel no emotion. This situation does not harm me, it harms the shelter more."
With the way he was speaking, Iris couldn't tell is he was saying that for her comfort, or for his.
"Fine. I'll see you back home."
"Of course." He nodded. "Remember that Carl needs to take his medication at four thirty today. Please be home before then."
Oh, right, dad. She forgot he was there. Iris looked over to him and found him selling a couple cookies, though every few seconds he would turn to look at the pair. Of course he would, he's out of the loop. Carl hated being out of the loop. She'd have to fill him in later. "Sure thing."
And with that, Markus took his leave and walked to the sidewalk, Iris' eyes trailing him until she couldn't see him anymore. She took a deep sigh, closed her eyes, and recharged her thoughts.
With her blood pressure evening, Iris walked back up to the table, the horrible woman still there, waiting. The sound of her foot impatiently tapping against the ground almost made Iris scream. But she didn't; she tried to be better than that.
"How many cookies would you like?"
"Good turnout today."
"Yeah, I guess." Iris hummed softly. As soon as the taxi stopped, she stepped out of her side and stood on the street, her mind wondering.
"Made good money, I heard." The taxi driver commented. He opened Carl's side and grabbed the wheelchair from the back, setting it up on the sidewalk for him.
Carl nodded. "And some of those kittens and puppies are going home. Aren't you glad?"
"Mmhmm." Iris replied. She and the driver pulled her father from the taxi and eased him into the chair. As soon as her father was situated, she gave the driver cash (plus a little extra for helping her father in and out,) and he was on his merry way.
She lit up a cigarette as her father grasped at the wheels of his chair, the stick dangling from her lips as they began their ascension up the winding path.
"What's wrong, little flower?" Carl asked her softly. One of Iris' hands crossed against her chest, grabbing at the bicep on her other as she thought aloud.
She shook her head and grabbed the stick from her mouth. "I just… that lady—"
"I know. That was quite a scene she caused." He looked up at her, stopping his movements. And for some god-forsaken reason, he smiled at her. "You have such a strong will, Iris. I'm proud of the way you handled her."
"Dad," she muttered, puffing at the cigarette. "I was ready to yell at everyone for her intolerance. I was just going to make it worse. I mean," she shrugged non-committedly, "she deserved it, but still. That could have been handled better."
Carl shrugged, and began to push at his wheels again. "Maybe. But at your age, I would have caused an even bigger scene than her. I was a loudmouth and I used it, damn it."
"Oh, you were that guy." Iris teased lightly, chuckling.
"Yup. I'm an old, wrinkly hag that was that guy."
She knew where she got her humor from. "At least you have a few redeeming qualities."
The two were in front of the door as Carl asked, "Such as?"
"Well," Iris gestured to herself, "You helped make me. That makes the world a much nicer place, don't ya think?" She added a wink at the end for effect.
Carl gave a hearty laugh. "Sure, let's go with that."
The alarm for their door chimed, and a robotic voice rang through their ears. "Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Carl Ander Manfred. Welcome home, Iris Wren Manfred."
The door swung open for them, and Carl zoomed through them easily. Iris stayed behind to finish her cigarette, so she pulled them shut after her father made his way through.
Okay, maybe just one more, she thought. I deserve it, after the day I've had.
Once she finished her third cigarette, she stepped on them, pocketed the butts, and headed inside. Her first mission was the trash in the kitchen. The second mission was her father's medication in the fridge. Then maybe she'd have a glass of wine and make themselves dinner, and just relax for the rest of the night. She also had the makings of a clay elephant in her kiln. She could check its progress before bed.
Iris grabbed at a specific vial and individually packaged syringe from the fridge with ease, before turning swiftly and almost knocking into Markus' chest.
"Shit!" She yelped. Markus took a gracious step back, giving her space.
"My apologies." He said, blinking at her. Then he cocked his head to the side. "You've had cigarettes again."
Iris rolled her eyes, turning her back to him as her fingers worked on the syringe package. "I'm a smoker. I smoke them."
"Miss Manfred," he started and grabbed at the vial, opening it quickly for her. "I have stated before, cigarettes are immensely bad for your health."
"You sound like my father." She tried to tease, but her voice fell flat. Her hands worked at the plunger of the syringe, filling up the middle quickly with Carl's' evening dosage. "We all have our vices."
"Such as?" Markus asked, sounding curious. Iris handed him the syringe and the pair walked together to the stairs. Markus must have put him in his room while she was outside.
"Well, my brother likes Red Ice. Loves it, actually. Then you have me, who can't go a day without my cigarettes. And dad? He used to be an alcoholic." Iris sighed, staring up at the steps. "Fuck genetics. We were doomed from the start."
"Why don't you quit?" Markus looked over to her. She took a few steps up the stairs, letting her hand crawl up the railing. "Your father did. You can, too."
She shrugged. "I've tried before. Sometimes the need is just too strong. Like today. After little miss, 'fuck androids,' I just needed a break from everything. They help clear my head when I can't think straight."
The two finished their ascension in silence, only the pounding of their feet ringing through the mansion. At the top, Iris could hear the sound of the tv on in her father's room, an older movie playing with the volume up high so Carl could tune out the world.
"By the way," Iris looked over to Markus, and they stopped moving. "I didn't like you leaving the fundraiser today."
Markus nodded. "It was an unpleasant situation. I took what was deemed the best course of action from my software. I hope the sales continued after my absence?"
"Yes, but that wasn't really necessary, Markus. I don't think I would do it again."
"Then I hope there isn't another situation like that."
"Me too." Iris agreed with a soft nod. And she added, "But if it does happen again, I don't want you to leave. You did nothing wrong; you shouldn't have to be so compliant."
"I am always compliant. I'm meant to make your life simpler, not more difficult. It would have been troublesome to stay."
"Maybe so." Iris thought about it; those people will never change. They can't handle the new and improved, so they draw the line in the sand and complain to the high heavens. No matter what Markus did—sell cookies, help her father across the street; hell, even just washing dishes—someone would be there to complain. And while it made Iris' blood boil, Markus was probably right. It's easier to walk away and avoid further conflict than to give these assholes something to complain about.
So, Iris would just have to move on. Tonight, she'll have a glass of wine and relax, and that will be that.
"It's four thirty, Iris. Time for Carls' medication." Markus began to walk swiftly, and she followed suit. Just let today go.
"Hell yes! He's perfect!" Iris exclaimed to herself. She spun the small, un-glazed clay elephant in her hands gingerly, making sure there were no imperfections in sight. Absolutely none. Not a scratch, not a dent. And he held his shape perfectly.
"I take it little Dumbo came out okay?" Carl asked her. He was hard at work in his mechanical chair, about seven feet in the air with an easel in hand and purple paint splattered on the ginormous who-even-knows-what-dimensions-it-is canvas along the wall of their studio.
"Yes!" She squealed happily, and held up the elephant out to him so he could take a better look. "I mean, his ears are regular ephelant size, but look at this cute little fella!"
Markus blinked by the door, looking to the pair from his spot. "I believe the term is elephant, not ephelant, Iris."
Iris and Carl both laughed knowingly at that. Iris set the clay beauty on the table and began to explain, "I know, Markus. It's just that—"
"When she was little," Carl interrupted, a smile of nostalgia gracing his face. "She couldn't pronounce elephant correctly. I got ephelant every time I asked what type of animal they were out of a book, or on the television, so—"
"When I finally could pronounce elephant correctly, dad was actually sad I figured it out."
Carl laughed even more, staring down to her from his chair. "It was too damn cute. So ephelant stayed. A little family joke between the two of us."
"I see." Markus' LED spun in yellow for a moment, and Iris watched easily, her smile still on her face from remembering the ephelant mayhem she caused in preschool. Then Markus asked, "Leo didn't participate in the… ephelant joke?"
The smile dropped from Iris' face, and Carl looked down at his easel. Markus immediately felt the shift in the Manfred's moods, the cortisol levels in the room shifting downward.
"Well…" Iris started softly. "Leo didn't exactly… grow up with us."
If Markus could feel regret, that's what would be coursing through his system. He didn't want to upset the two, shouldn't have upset the two. He was supposed to keep the pair happy. Then Markus's system told him that, since he was taking care of them, he should know more about their history. An automatic override, even though he would rather let the thought go.
To match the somber mood, his voice level was set lower than normal as he continued. "Why?"
Carl spoke for the pair. "I was a shitty father, Markus. Leo grew up with his mother, not me. She wanted to keep him. And at the time, I was a young, hot-shot artist. I didn't want any responsibilities tying me down. So I just paid child support for him."
"Then he met my mom." Iris took over the story. "And when mom was pregnant, she didn't tell him. Not until I was born. Mom died barely an hour after giving birth to me."
"And while I was young and traveling the world, I couldn't have her put in the foster system. I couldn't have that on my conscience. I took her in, and settled down, right here in Detroit. We've been in this mansion for years."
Iris jerked her thumb at the door of the studio. "There's still little drawings on the wall from when I went loose with a couple crayons."
Markus was glad to see the edge of Carl's lip quirk up; the beginnings of a soft smile. "I was pissed when you started doodling. Then I thought, 'Hell, maybe painting IS a genetic trait.' You went with it, for a bit. Making little scenes and trees, hyper-realistic. Then you went straight to ceramics in high school and never looked back."
"Sorry, dad. I can't make a Picasso, but I can make a mean ephelant." Iris stood proudly with her small elephant in hand, her fingers cradling it.
"That you can, my dear."