Lush, green, weak. Orianna wondered why the humans took such care of these plants. Impermanent as well. There is no use in tending to something that will only die in a season anyways. Why grow to care for something that will perish?
It would be better if Orianna ended these plants immediately. The humans would be happy to be free of watering and weeding such pests. Instead of flowers, the humans could plant some new, easily sustained, high yield vegetables. They would rejoice; Orianna was sure of this.
And yet, her hands froze as she went to pick them up. Their colors assaulted her eyes. Individually the flowers were nothing, but together they produced a chromatic battery ram against the efficient symmetry of the garden.
With an even greater resolve, Orianna dug through the soil, tearing out all of the weeds.
“Mom! The robot is messing up your garden!” A little boy called for his progenitor. Or was it a girl? The aesthetics were impossible to grasp, too difficult to codify.
“You… are wrong. I am bringing order to your garden” Orianna rotated her head to face the child, all the while continuing to rip out the plants. The child picked up a rock on the street and tossed it towards Orianna. The Ball, a large metallic sphere with a telescopic optical lens, wildly jerked behind Orianna to intercept the stone. Orianna knew it did not matter. There was no possible way for an unrefined mineral to scratch or damage her metallic frame.
“Tell him,” Orianna looked to the Ball as she held up a mangled flower “this is without purpose. It is better this way.”
“You aren’t even making any sense! The stupid garden isn’t supposed to do anything. It’s just supposed to look nice. Can’t you understand that?”
“No. You are wrong. I do understand. Clothes… you wear them. I wear them too, on occasion, but not for the same reasons.” Orianna picked herself up, out of the garden and walked over to the child. Her head careened to the left, her voice picking up randomly, attempting to hit the same notes as the child but failing miserably.
“What are you talking about?”
“Humans grow cold. Their flesh easily ravaged. I do not feel the cold; my body will never scratch or tear or fester. But still, I wear fabrics. I have noticed… humans breathe slower, they blink less, they do not fear to look upon me when I wear clothes. This,” Orianna crushed the pestilent growth within her hands “does nothing. You toil to preserve life which does nothing. You deny yourself sustenance and replace it voluntarily with a parasite.”
“I don’t care, stupid. Just get out of here! My mom is going to be really angry if you keep doing this.” Even in the most advanced, progressive city in the world, Piltover, there will always be those people adverse to change.
“We go.” Orianna looked to the Ball as she gave a light hop into the air. The Ball swooped beneath her and folded her legs to balance perfectly. It would not stop bothering her. These flowers had no purpose. Orianna knew hers: “to be the perfect daughter; to be the perfect weapon.” Simple and efficient.
To please her father, Corin, was a simple task. First Orianna would retrieve the daily newspaper. Father Corin will never voluntarily leave home, but as a man of science enjoys being kept up to date with the news. The papers at the newsstand read “"DEMACIA & NOXUS GO TO THE FIELDS OF JUSTICE.” She picked up a copy as the Ball released coins from a slot and into the salesperson’s hand.
Next Orianna would make him tea, brewed from leaves in their garden, a proper, efficient garden. The first few times Orianna made tea the leaves brewed for too long. Apparently this produced a “bitter” taste. Orianna did not understand, the nutritional value was the same regardless, but to see Father Corin ease into the cup without hesitation, to know that he completely trusted her judgment, presented her with a positive feedback.
The Ball chirped, signaling that they had reached their destination. Orianna was home. She walked through the door, slightly busted up, the paint chipped slightly.
“Father Corin, I am home now.”
“Orianna? Where have you been? It feels like ages since we have last met.” Corin was a small man, barely even five feet tall. Orianna towered over him, so she crouched slightly to embrace him. It was a tool she used to put him at ease. A tool she learned from Corin himself. The first time she performed it her chest pressed so hard into his chest that it cracked one of his ribs. Orianna has perfected it since then.
“It has been exactly eight days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 13 seconds since our last encounter.”
“Where did my girl grow to be so smart?” His face pulled upwards, revealing the wrinkles at his eyes.
The correct answer was that Orianna was precise due to the clockwork used in her design. Instead she gave the meaningless, incorrect one that made Father Corin happy.
“Father Corin is the smartest man in Piltover. I am my father’s daughter.” Father Corin was pleased by her response and he slouched back into his workshop chair. “Here is the paper; I shall make tea.”
Orianna had made it to the faucet when she heard an anguished shout coming from the other room. “Blasted Demacians! Those pigs think they can bully us all around. First they take Noxus’ marshes and then what’s next? They say it’s for peace, bah! The most evil men hide their actions behind what is ‘good’ and what is ‘best for mankind.’ Who are they to decide this?” Orianna had worked her way back to the workshop. Father Corin’s face was red, tears were streaming down his face. Orianna reached out to steady his head and looked into his eyes. There were fragments of dust caught, nothing to agitate his corneas.
“How long Orianna… how long before they come for us? What if they say my Techmaturgical disrupting shockwave technology is opposing world peace? What… what if they come for you?”
Later that night Orianna hopped on the Ball and whizzed away to a familiar house. She buoyed up to the second level and punched through the glass window. Sliding down the windowsill into the dark room, Orianna heard a high toned wail.
“Robot? What are you doing in my room?” It was the child from earlier, the one who grew angry about the flowers.
“You were right. I cannot control other people. I cannot decide what is best for them; they must be allowed to be foolish. I will fight on the side of Noxus.”
“What the Hell are you talking about? Get out of my house!”
edited 8th Jul '12 11:32:05 PM by BlueChernabog
I know what makes them tick...