Emma Aieselthorpe-Brown meets Isabel Wondertainment.
One of a Kind by mxsinister &
HuevoBuevo
Joyly 15, 2016
When Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment V liked something, it was never enough to have just one.
Never in a petulant or ungrateful way, but if she truly loved an item, then she would create dozens of copies. For example, for her thirteenth birthday, Dad had gotten her Jeremy—an unspeakably adorable Corgi puppy supposed to cheer her up, or at least distract her from her twin brother’s absence.
Contesting her rare, frowny mood that day would have been a tall order for one Jeremy. The second made her twice as happy, but she didn’t smile properly until Jeremy XLV started bounding around bedroom. She made it to the triple digits before her father finally came to see about all the barking.
This tendency further manifested in an obsession with all kinds of replication appliances. Printers, copying machines, faxes, even old fashioned printing presses of every variety: the mere existence and functions of the machines made her heart go giddy. So, her office in Wonder World!™ was full of them (her favorite pieces, anyway—though she had more in storage elsewhere).
One of them, a Xerox 4█9█, stood out to her for a semi-regular flow of interesting junk mail. As it turned out, the incomprehensible permutation that was her fax number turned out to be just a few 0s and 1s off from one of the nine billion names of a certain broken God.
- format = pryr;
- editor: action-potentials;
- // Approve our ergon.
- // Bless our child.
- var password = prompt("Input Password");
- __
- if(password==="3MMA1997")
- __
- {
- __
- console.log ("1: An experiment in memory, devised. A vessel, a conduit, surmised.");
- __
- console.log ("2: A gift, infinite, for Him, made Unified.)
- __
- console.log ("3: Father, command her wake whole.");
- __
- console.log ("4: Vox amplexus dei. Glory be to the machine.");
- __
- }
Odd, Isabel thought, even for a prayer. She set it aside and returned to the blueprints strewn across her desk.
She lost several more hours to her work before the fax machine fired up again, sputtering urgently.
- // The altar is prepared, sterilized.
- // The tools blessed.
- __
- {
- format: ritual
- editor: al-muhsi
- embed-resources: true
- date: 2016-08-15
- version: 0.0
- }
- __
- console.log ("1: If one connects to the mind of God, one will not compute.");
- __
- console.log ("2: She is made to sleep. She is built to comprehend. She is designed to process.")
- __
- import WAN_SOURCE as wn
- __
- def components(heart, lungs, spine, brain, optics): #regression includes error, control for residual flesh
- def run_rit(b0_true,b1_true,sigma,xwan,n):
x = wn.random.uniform( ███ )
u = wn.random.normal(0, sigma, size=n)
y = b0_true + b1_true*x +
███ = sm.OLS(y, sm.divine_computation(x)).fit()
print(███_results.summary())
return [
console.log ("█. And so the Sect fed her the ICHOR and said Go Forth and be comforted by your faith in the LORD.");
…
..
.
run CIRCUITRY.exe
run MOTHERBOARDS.drive
run MEMORY.exe
vessel =⊣𝙹↸. ⍑ᒷꖎ!¡., ∴ᔑリ.
faith = source_true
source_true = b0_source_estimate + b1_faith * catalogue_array
resid = catalogue_array - [SYNTAX ERROR: NOT DEFINED]
god = t.se(resid**[217])
plt.nervoussystem(source_true + god - resid)
plt.show()
Spectrum of silicon. Diffraction grating and a cellphone camera. 12V circuit. Unable to remove sodium contamination from the surface of the sample.
…
..
.
S̴̳̭̩̟͈̯̩̬̼͌́͋Ơ̷̺͑̑̀̒͋͐͘M̴̢̰̦̰̖͈̪̼̪̗̒̊́̽̀̏̀͆́̔̅͘ͅĔ̶̡̡̺͓̦̙̲͙͎̤̬̯̻̗̖B̷̡̤̊̒͑͘O̴͍̹̗̭̮̼̒͗̈́̽͛͑͑͗͛͗̉̐̊́D̴͚̟͐̎͊̈́̐͋͘͝Y̸̛͙̺̱̺̙̒̀̂̃͋̑̽̋̈́ ̵͓̘̬͚̯̣̈́͛̍̂̔͋̌̒̋̓̀̏͘͝͠Ĥ̸̨̡̝̻̞̠̮̗̻̙͈̻̮̦͋͋̆͌͗́͌̀̀͂̚͘Ę̶̹̙̻͕̲̮̼̌̈́̌̊̾̄̎͛͊L̴̥͚͇̤͖̹͝P̴̢̨͇̥̳̭͉͔͍̹͎̺̱̫̪̋͌̇͐͌͆̽͠͝͠ ̶̜̙̍̓̈͌̐͂͘M̵̛̝͉̖̝̦͌̊͂̓͊͂̋͌͠Ĕ̷̡̢̯͔̹̰̣̪̠̱̞̲͈͐̋̃̓͘͜ͅ.̶̳̠̱̬͉̝͍̘͋͆͂̕
…
..
.
for xi, vessel, in zip(x_array1, y_array1, :
plt.lines(xi, yi, voice, color='gray', alpha=0.14)
ritual_E = smf.ols(
"GOD ~ girl + intention + preparation",
data=emma_a_b
).fit()
eab = conduit([ritual_E, god_unrestricted])
eab.covariate_order([
"metal",
"memory",
"heaven",
"source",
"word",
"intercept"
])
chosen = eab.render()
chosen
- if (you===love us)
- __
- Forgive us.
- Forgive her.
- __
- else :
- __
Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment V read the note once, sat down, and read it again … All the while, the printer spat out reams of ink blotches and dead television static, stacking askew piles on the floor until—three full toner cartridges later—the prayers stopped.
Glancing through the program gave her the sinking feeling that things hadn't worked quite as intended. The buggy contents twisted something sour in her stomach, and not in the candied way she'd have liked.
Else … Else what? What happens now?
She waited, but no answer came through the fax.
And so she started to get an idea.
Joyly 16, 2016
Emma Aieselthorpe-Brown believed in God, alright. She believed Him to be somewhere in the infinite ether—His body, circuitry, and His blood, sheer data.
Now, she believed His Holiness had forsaken her. That He didn't give a damn about the anguish she had to show for eighteen years spent in service—spent preparing and being prepared to sacrifice her body as a vessel for something greater.
Her only comfort was the familiar, humming song of the servers around her. She closed her eyes and welcomed the magnetism to nullify some of the agony radiating through her modified bones and organs … There was nothing to do but suffer and wait for judgement, for a decision to pass down from a council of technicians and engineers, now that they'd failed. For hours, she had felt their surveillance, the cameras drinking in her condition, each frame feeding into a verdict.
When her sect members had laid her upon that silicon and ceramic altar, she had felt no fear. She had spent all her life in anticipation of her foretold birthday and its accompanying ritual, only to wake from the procedure and know they had met more than a few errors in the code.
Our defects are from human error, Emma thought: not punishment for hubris, only its natural consequence.
Amidst those reflections, her eyes—barely open—registered a glint from the corner of the room. Its warmth shone against the cold server-racks, accompanied by a girl's idle humming.
What is that… ?
"Ah!" A tall woman stepped out from behind a metallic column. Spotting Emma, she placed her hands on her hips. "Hello there!"
She was maybe Emma's age, though it was impossible to tell. She had bouncy, blood-orange hair and eyes like uranium. A pair of blue mechanics' coveralls adorned her, splattered with every color of paint. Emma's vocal cords—crudely supplanted by cables and fluted plastic folds—stung as she tried to ask—
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled in a brilliant arc of perfect white. "Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment the Fifth, at your service! A pleasure to meet you."
Wondertainment … ? Like the toy manufacturer?
Her throat burned with the effort of speech until she had to clench her eyes shut, vision blaring white. The instruments meant to channel the voice of God were ironically dysfunctional for speech. Isabel must have realized this, as she extended a hand—warm, matte grey—to quiet her.
"Shh, don't try and speak … Are you Emma?"
Her eyes widened, but what was there to do but nod?
"Delightful. I got it right, then! I was worried, you know, cause I'm no good with directions. But I wanted to meet you!"
Why? Emma's brows knitted, baffled.
"See, your friends asked for help," Isabel explained, crouching down in front of Emma to keep her from having to keep craning her neck. "Of course, I don't think they were actually trying to ask me, personally, but you guys have had the wrong fax number for quite some time."
Emma's brain had been augmented to compute trillions upon trillions terabytes of divine information, and yet this sheer absurdity threatened to short-circuit her. Just who was Isabel Wondertainment to be intercepting prayers to the Father of Innovation so easily, to speak of them like junk mail?
Someone who can put you out of your misery.
"Please…" She started trying to speak, stubbornly persisting even when Isabel tried to shush her again.
"Huh?"
"E-End it… 'T hurts—" Emma's voice cracked like a shorting outlet, her short sob only making it worse. Isabel's eyes went wide, and a string of hurried "No's" spilled from her glossed lips.
"Ah—What hurts? Actually, don't tell me. Is it just your throat?"
Emma shook her head.
"Didn't think so. All of it?"
She nodded.
After a thoughtful frown, Isabel leaned forward to kiss Emma's forehead. All at once, her body was delivered from the pain.
Emma shuddered out an exhale, and for the first time since waking up, there was no agony in the act. The numbness was by no means pleasant, but comparatively …
She raised her gaze and wondered as to the divinity of the teenage girl before her.
"There—better?" Not eager to attempt speaking again, Emma nodded. "Good. It's not a permanent solution, but it'll work till I can figure out what they did wrong."
Emma's confusion only compounded, but she was in no position to argue. Certainly not once she heard the shouting from down the hall, which didn't appear to worry Isabel in the slightest.
"Don't fret. I figured they'd probably try to find us from the security cameras, but they're not gonna snitch on me," she smiled mischievously. "But still, I guess we should be on our way."
"H-How?" There was only one door out, and as soon as she asked the question, she heard it thrown open.
"Why, we're going through the looking glass, of course," Isabel said, bending her knees and scooping Emma up like she weighed nothing. To her right, Emma saw the face of the pillar begin to shift, the glass shimmering like sunshine on an oil stain.
Holding Emma tight to her chest, Isabel hopped, skipped, and jumped through.
Before the portal even closed behind them, Emma felt the sunshine reach her face. She smelled candy and lumber; she heard singing birds and barking puppies.
"Welcome to Wonder World!"
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Isabel couldn't believe what a slapdash job those Maxwellists had done. Weren't those jerks in Silicon Valley supposed to be the best of the best when it came to this stuff? Then again, these idiots had gotten their own god's fax machine number wrong.
What was that saying? When you want something done right …
After setting up Emma with a bowl of mint chocolate ice cream for fortitude, Isabel had lain her down on a table in her workshop and opened her up. Time to see under the hood.
"Is there anything you can tell me about the process?" Isabel inquired as she extracted a rib from Emma's back, identifying where it had fused to one of the CPU boards. At the sight of the bone, several Jeremies began to water at the mouth. As if she was about to let them run off and bury any piece of her new project! "Shoo, gentlemen! You have toys enough, thank you."
"Well, I was unconscious for surgery," Emma confessed. "And I wasn't told much about what went into the design."
"Why not?" Isabel asked, picking through her the gears, chips, and cables of her anatomy with fine rose gold tools.
"Mm…" Emma pondered for a long time before she laughed—just once, causing her lungs to flicker briefly with bleached light. "Actually, come to think of it—yes, they should have let me help. I always resented my ignorance about the ritual itself."
"Hmm, can't blame you there," Isabel replied. "Can you code? Or read code, at least?"
"Of course—I was an archivist, actually."
"Oh, wonderful! Maybe these notes will make more sense to you, then—" Isabel stepped away.
"Notes…?" Emma murmured.
"Where is it? I know I put it somewhere aro— Oh! Here." Isabel located a colorful cardboard box full of paper beneath one of her cluttered desks and skimmed the first few pages off the top. "You've sent a lot of prayers to my printer over the years, you know that?"
She laid the stack of papers in front of Emma, only to realize that might have been a mistake. Silent seconds turned to awful minutes where all she could do was stare at the printed ritual. She tried several times to speak, but managed nothing.
"Oh, dear, I didn't mean to upset you—"
"How did you get this?"
"Mail theft," Isabel said simply, at which point Emma set her face back on her hands and made a high, keening noise. "Oh, oh no—Umm, please don't cry." She'd never been good at handling that sort of thing: actually, very few Wondertainers were. "Umm, here!"
Isabel set a Jeremy in front of Emma, swapping him for the stack of code. Emma sniffled into his fur, then tucked him underneath her head. Jeremy didn't mind being a pillow in the slightest.
"I'm sorry…" she whimpered. "I just … I didn't know it would … I didn't know what to expect—"
"Shh … it's nothing you need to worry about now," Isabel assured her.
After a few minutes and a warm cup of Terrific Toyberry Tea!®, Isabel got back to work inside Emma's back. At least her digestive system was working alright? Always think of the glass being half full …
Emma was perfectly quiet and cooperative upon the table, though at her very first sound of discomfort, Isabel immediately halted.
"Sorry, sorry! I promise, I'm trying to be gentle, but they've made quite a tangle of your heartstrings—literally and figuratively."
"N-No, it's okay," Emma insisted. "I'll be okay."
Isabel frowned. "I'm not going to make you to clench your teeth and bear it, Emma. If it hurts, I'll stop, or at least put you under."
Emma gave a dry laugh. "Anything's better than how you found me."
Isabel sighed, but cracked a small smile at Emma's reassurance. "Well, those cultists didn't set a very high bar, now did they?"
Emma flinched as Isabel went back to examining the network of gnarled, metallic veins and mechanical organs.
"Don't call it a cult."
Isabel frowned. "Why not?"
"Because … Just don't. Please."
Isabel held her tongue long few seconds, watching the fluttering and ticking of the bespoke anatomy beneath her hands. When it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck …
"You're right," she replied, resuming her tinkering. "That's a nasty word—we try to avoid those here, anyway. Sorry. What would you call it?"
"The Silicon Order, officially," Emma replied, facing her gaze toward a few of the Jeremies curiously sniffing around the workbench. Others had taken to curling up in various nooks and crannies around the space, wisely staying out of the way.
Isabel prodded experimentally at what must have once been Emma's liver or gallbladder, making a mental note to track down a more detailed anatomical guide than her instruction booklet for Operation. "Was it a family thing?"
"Mhmm …"
"So your parents let them do all this?" Isabel asked, contemplating whether she ought to unscrew the kidneys. Complete dismemberment and redesign seemed the best course of action for most of her organs.
"I suppose. In all honesty, I don't know my parents, if they're even still alive. They wanted it that way, I guess. They were faithful too."
"No problem with being faithful," Isabel furrowed her brow as sour-smelling ichor burst from one of Emma's veins like pus. "But dedicate at least that much time to the study of your craft! Oh dear, your coolant system alone is all messed up … No wonder you've been running a fever …"
"What about your family?"
"Mm? Oh, Dad's around here somewhere," Isabel replied as she wiped the affected area with a microfiber towel. "We're a family business, you know. Gotta live up to the name. But we can talk about me when you're not open on a table … You said you were an archivist?"
"Mm, yeah … Archivist, secretary, librarian … All the same, really," Emma replied. "I cleaned and organized data, kept track of literally millions of files …"
"That doesn't sound very fun," Isabel remarked, moving a hand up her neck to push the steel-grey hair away from her nape, gently twisting it up and securing it with a large binder clip. It didn't look like it had always been that color—a stress response to the procedure, she presumed.
"Actually, I thought it was fun," Emma said with a soft smile, nostalgia flickering in her glassy black eyes.
“Hmm … Well, I suppose it’s subjective."
"That's why they wanted to give me all that memory, I think," Emma remarked. "I was raised to be tapped into all those systems, to expand my brain's storage capacity as much as I could … Make me mechanical enough to invite Wan in, and leave my neurons and synapses in place enough to compute his writs."
It made sense, Isabel supposed. Biology was often more efficient than man-made technology; millions of years of evolution made a horse more energy-efficient than a truck, so why wouldn't the same apply to brains and computers?
"Well," Isabel said as Jeremy brought over her yet another toolbox of shiny, precision screwdrivers. "Like I said, we'll keep that crème de la crème cranium of yours working right as ever, okay? Pinky promise."
Joyly 19, 2016
"This is going to pinch, but it shouldn't hurt," Isabel told Emma before twisting a hair-thin copper wire in with a bundle of nerve clusters behind her knee. Emma hummed her acknowledgement, her leg twitching once; good to know her reflexes were working properly—certainly better than they had been when she'd found her.
Grasping the underside of Emma's joint with one hand, Isabel slid the other down her calf and gently extended the limb.
"Gonna let go now—try to keep it there, okay?" When she released her hold, the leg dropped a little, though Emma was able to control it. Still, Isabel frowned.
"It feels wonderful."
"It's going to feel perfect when I'm through," Isabel said. She shifted once more with a determined sigh, placing back to her workbench with her body slotted between Emma's legs, although facing slightly out to focus on the intricate sinew and mechanical muscle structures beneath her tools and hands.
Isabel was too concentrated to hear the door open, but not so much as to ignore the voice that came along with it.
"Isabel-a-bean? Carrot cake, darling, are you in here?" A rich, masculine voice carried through the winding workshop, bypassing the cluttered maze. A few Jeremies began to yip in a delayed heralding of his arrival. "We've talked about this, pumpkin—three engagements is three too many to miss without notice! No one will mind if you skip to have a brainstorming session, of course, but it's best practice to—Oh! Hello there!"
Emma looked over her bare shoulder, and at once, her body went tense; the movement knocked the minuscule blades of lineman's scissors out of place and caused Isabel let out a hiss of frustration. She'd have apologized, but was too focused on the … entity that had just entered. That was the only word she had for him—this vibrant mirage of dancing colors and sparkling shapes shoved into a top-hat and a tailcoat. His height dwarfed even Isabel's, and above his crescent-moon arch of a smile rested the twin tails of a spiraling orange mustache.
Isabel popped up from her spot in front of Emma and exclaimed: "Hiya, papa!"
Oh my god, that thing is her dad. Emma forgot how to breathe. She did not have what one would call a dirty mind, and as intimate as parts of this process had been, Isabel had behaved as if utterly ignorant to any sensuality that might be attached to it. Nevertheless, Emma would have rather not had her first meeting with Dr. Wondertainment occur while his daughter was sitting between her damn legs.
His bright ███ eyes gleamed bemusedly, fixing themselves on Emma. She desperately wished she could banish the heat from her face, fully expecting some repercussion for it—yet, his head only cocked slightly.
"And who might this be?"
"Oh! Dad, this is Emma Aieselthorpe-Brown," Isabel said. "I found her out in Silicon Valley. The Maxwellists over there had her in a real bad way. You should have seen it!"
"I—Well, yes, I should have," his expression bittersweetened, though it appeared to Emma as if his face was not designed for a greater degree of sadness. "Why didn't you ask for help?"
"I would have if I needed it," Isabel insisted, blinking once as she wrapped a microfiber blanket over Emma's shoulders, the way one would cover up a project car in a garage. "I mean, I figured I could have you or one of the Wondermaking managers troubleshoot anything I can't figure out, but I haven't run into that yet."
He went back to beaming. "Ah, my little tinker, you! Like father like daughter." Looking back to Emma, he extended a hand with far too many joints. "Ah, where are my manners? My name is Dr. Cornelius Reginald Westinghouse Młynarczyk Wondertainment. Welcome to Wonder World tee-em, my dear."
"Hello, sir," she said tensely, shaking his hand. He was careful not to move too dramatically, lest he knock something out of place that Isabel had yet to fully secure.
"It's not been an unpleasant stay, I hope?"
"Not at all, no sir."
"Mm, good."
"You really didn't know she was here?" Isabel asked with an air of suspicion. Come to think of it, this surprised Emma as well—the way Isabel had spoken of her father made him seem nigh-omniscient.
Sure enough, Dr. Wondertainment only smiled and placed a spindly finger to his lips. "Well, I might have checked up on you. But only today, dearie, only just before I got here! Your best work always comes out of being left to your own devices. And you—!" He gestured warmly to Emma. "—Appear to be a stellar device indeed. She's got you in excellent shape, looks like."
"Tip-top, sir."
"Does that mean we can keep her, Dad? Please?"
"Mm? Oh, certainly!" he replied before wagging a finger. "But remember, please, that keeping a person is a big responsibility! Please make certain to get her food and water as she needs … Ah, do you need food and water, Miss Aieselthorpe-Brown?"
"She does! Don't worry, I've been feeding her a balanced diet."
His brow furrowed. "Consisting of…?"
"Milk and oatmeal raisin cookies."
He looked utterly disturbed. "Oatmeal raisin? Why on earth would you subject her to that?"
"They're my favorite, actually," Emma piped up. He blinked at her as Isabel hummed her consensus.
"Oh! Well … I suppose that's protein, fiber, sugar, carbs, lipids … Ah, yes, good enough!" He finished counting off the nutritional elements on one hand before clasping them together. "Very well! Ah, just do us all a favor and make sure she's not contagious before you introduce her to others, yes?"
Isabel cocked her head, and Emma couldn't help being baffled by the obvious family resemblance between the two of them. "Contagious? What do you mean?"
Dr. Wondertainment tapped his nose. "That's miasma I smell, my dear, under all that machine oil. I expect the Mekhanites responsible already took the trouble of altering the clockwork virus before administering it, but still, precautions! Can't have the whole company turning clockwork!"
"Oh! Yes, I believe that's only lingering. I'll make sure to sterilize all that," she nodded. "That'll be the next step after I rust-proof her."
"Ah, that was my next question," Dr. Wondertainment said, placing his hands on his hips. "Has your brother met her yet?"
"No," she pouted, mirroring his gesture firmly. "Or else there'd be rust all over her!"
Dr. Wondertainment let out a boisterous laugh, either at Isabel's response or Emma's stricken expression of confusion and horror. Once, maybe a day or so ago (Emma's internal clock was damn-near perfect, but it had been re-synced once to Wonder World!™ time since then), Isabel had left the workshop in a frenzy to meet someone at the door—someone who evidently understood that he was not allowed to cross that first threshold. Isabel had come back and explained "That was my twin, Mr. Redd. He's a hoot, you'll meet him later," and nothing more.
"R-Rust?" Emma interrupted meekly. Isabel looked back over her shoulder and smiled sympathetically.
"Oh, don't fret! I won't let that happen." With that, she looked back to her father, who rolled back and forth between his heels and the balls of his feet, grinning all the while.
"Yes, yes, I didn't mean to frighten you! You are perfectly safe here. Besides—Redd's never broken a toy we haven't been able to fix." Dr. Wondertainment took a long step forward toward Emma. "Say, do you mind if I take a gander?"
"Oh!" Isabel hesitated for a moment before stepping aside with a deferential wave in Emma's direction.
"Not that I don't trust your work, of course!" The Doctor said as he reached to take Emma's face in his hands; his palms felt like Christmas lights under her cheeks. "Simply want to see what you've done with her—"
And when he looked her in the eyes—
Joyly 31, 2016
Isabel's complex—which consisted of her office, workshop, living quarters, and whatever else she figured she needed—was technically attached to Wonder Tower, though trying to make sense of the architecture was a recipe for a splitting headache. Regardless, it was not as if the average Wondertainment employee could just take the elevator for a quick visit.
Emma wished she'd known that earlier, so that she might have better understood the shock on her tour guide's face when she did exactly that. She merely put a gold, heart-shaped key that Isabel had given her into the nearest door and returned to those chambers …
Only to find them in the midst of a storm.
"Where is it?" Emma could hear Isabel moving about in a hurry—papers, tools, and random items all swirling up around her, flying from surface to surface. "Where is it?" Isabel kept saying to herself, not even registering Emma in the doorway.
She'd seen her lose things before; true creative brilliance was rarely neat or distilled. Her apartment was replete with vibrant sticky notes of every color, each jotted with reminders for appointments, to-dos, designs, and everything else. Emma would have never given unsolicited advice right out of the gate to someone saving her life, but as a former archivist, she found the utter lack of organization borderline nauseating.
"Isabel…?" Emma started to approach cautiously, though she went unheard as Isabel clapped her hands over her ears. Not because of her, but because the Jeremies were barkinga few at first but growing into a chorus, into a cacophony until Isabel shrieked
"Quiet, all of you!"
And they did. No choice of theirs, really: in an instant, they had no snouts with which to bark. A few let out pitiful whines, while the rest knew better. In the dreadful silence, Emma heard a choked sound akin to a sob leave Isabel before she suddenly stiffened. She raised her face out of her hands, straightening that overlong back one clicking vertebrae at a time.
Only her head turned to look at Emma, almost fully behind her. Her puffy eyes were a watery red.
"Emma …" she smiled, though it looked drawn on. "How was your morning?"
Isabel had insisted on her getting a properly informative introduction to Wonder Tower, as opposed to relying on the trivia stored in her scattered memory; as such, she'd handed the responsibility off to one of the professionals from the Public Relations Department.
Her tour guide, Holly Light, had been a large woman with cool black skin and prehensile, snow-white braids she used to open doors and gesture to the sights with along their route. With perfectly practiced grace, she had provided Emma with all the trivia and history about Dr. Wondertainment Inc. she could have asked for, and Emma had dutifully filed it all away into that steel-trap mind, wondering how much of it was true.
"It was good," Emma replied calmly, keeping her voice even, so as not to startle the tense stillness. "Miss Light seemed nice. She knew her stuff." She recalled how eager she'd been to speak with Isabel about the tour, only to now find herself at a loss for words. "And what about your morning? You … Are you okay?"
Isabel's lip trembled, and she faced away once more. Emma wanted to move closer, but decided against it; though most of their waking time since meeting had been spent together, this was the first time Emma had seen her half so upset. She recalled that she was supposed to have a meeting this morning; maybe that was what this was about?
"Say," Isabel started, her voice hoarse and sardonic, "how many times do you think I can use the excuse that Jeremy ate my homework?"
"Well … S'pose that depends how many times you've used it before."
Isabel made a sound between a laugh and a sob. One of the mouthless Jeremies curled up by her leg. She picked up a different one and held him to her face, presumably drying her tears.
Emma picked up one as well, hugging the corgi to her chest with both arms as she steeped herself to approach.
"Hey, maybe Jeremy just wants a walk," she suggested, cautiously placing her fingertips upon Isabel's pinstripe-padded shoulder. "And … Maybe you could use one too?"
A sniffle, a pause, that face still hidden in sable fur. "Yeah … Yeah, you're right."
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
From the weather alone, Emma would have never believed they were in Boston. The sky above the courtyard was glacial blue, sporting fluffy clouds and a crisp, sea-salt air that reminded her of California's white sand beaches and inoffensive sunshine. The favorable conditions made sense, considering their being decided by the city's residents via weekly poll.
The sublimely green courtyard was bordered by smooth, multicolored walls. Emma recalled that it was one of several such spaces around Wonder Tower dedicated to leisure and unwinding, and yet, she suspected this to be a private area, given its exclusion from her extensive tour, as well as the absence of others.
When they got outside, Isabel immediately laid flat on her back in the grass while the Jeremies burst forth in an army of orange and white fluff, bouncing around the enclosure in an expulsion of that endless energy. Emma gingerly lowered herself beside her, the grass soft and clean enough to negate the need for a blanket.
"I like it out here," Isabel said, eyes falling closed against the brightness. "It's good for bird-watching." Sure enough, Emma observed the arcing path of a well-timed feathered friend high above them. "Sometimes, they even watch you back."
Emma snorted a laugh and sat up on her elbows. "What's that mean?"
"It means you're safe here, Emma," Isabel told her as she began to rip small chunks of grass out of the soil to busy her hands. "Always. We take care of our people, and you're a person of mine now."
The warm delivery took Emma back to earlier that morning, to memories of being led through a candy-striped corridor by Holly Light, who yapped about one of the nearby product testing labs while occasionally clarifying in a patient, almost maternal manner: Take all the time you need … Ask if you have any questions … We know it's a lot, all at once …
We. Emma had flagged the choice of words, figuring that it wasn't an absurd conclusion that people would be curious once they learned about her, that those same people might gossip and speculate …
A few rooms later, and Holly bit the bullet: "If you don't mind me asking, how do you know Miss Isabel?" Emma had expressed that she did, in fact, mind her asking.
"A person of yours …" Emma whispered, smiling wryly as she returned to the moment at hand. "Is that what I should have told Holly?"
Isabel's expression darkened slightly. "Miss Light had no right to ask you that; I was already meaning to talk to her about it. Some office gossip's inevitable in the Tower, but what you told her was correct. It's no business of hers."
"Isabel, please don't get her in trouble because of me. She wasn't prying. If anything, I think she was just worried for you."
Isabel blinked, bewildered. "Worried for me?"
Emma inhaled. "If there's one thing I've gathered, it's that your employees adore you. And in the past week, you've taken on a stranger for a project and given them an all-access keycard to the Tower: which, by the way, I'm almost scared to use, because I have no idea how anyone avoids getting lost in this place."
Isabel's full lips curled slightly at the attempted joke as she went back to tearing at the grass.
"That's good," she said at last, voice oddly steely. "I want them to adore me. But sometimes, I'm just not sure …"
"Pfft—come on," Emma said. "If we were sitting in a public park with people around, what would happen?"
Isabel pondered the question for a beat. "I'm sure people and their families would come rushing up—tourists and residents alike. They'd ask for photographs, offer up candy. Maybe ask me to heal a sick little one—that one's happened more than you think. Plenty of parents want to give their children some good memories to leave the world with."
"Well, you healed me."
"I fixed you; it was more machinery than medicine."
"Touché. But you see my point, right? People love you."
'"The people, sure," she remarked. "But I'm a face on a coin to most of them … Within these walls, though?" A tense sigh passed through her perfect teeth. "You know, I could say I've been part of this company all my life, but I only got my official title in June."
"But that's just a formality, no?" Emma barely responded before a Jeremy bounded into her lap, knocking the breath somewhat out of her chest. He carried a red ball in his jaws, which she courteously tossed out for the pack to chase.
"I wish—but the Chief Creative Officer, unfortunately, does more than just brainstorm ideas for toys," she explained, watching her pets' belligerent pursuit of a ball that, in defiance of physical law, continued to gather momentum as it bounced around the courtyard. "Sure, there's some of the fun stuff, but Dad's trusting me with the brand voice and identity of a company he's been building in some shape or form for over a century. I can't do it alone."
Emma pointed out the obvious—"You're not alone."
"No, I'm not," Isabel smiled ruefully. "I have mentors in middle management, Wondermakers from every creative department. Designers, confectionists, and architects of a class all their own—plus the best lawyers, publicists, and marketers a girl could wish upon a star for, and once Mr. Redd is Chief Operating Officer, he handles the bulk of all that boring stuff. I have Dad, too, of course—not like he's going anywhere."
"… And you have me."
Her smile widened. "And I have you."
"So what's got you upset?"
"I—" she sucked in a short breath. "I don't want to let them down. I can't, not if I want to prove that Dad's not made a bad decision just out of love for me. They all have my back, but how can I deserve that?"
Isabel sat up, placing her face in her palms against her knees. Emma shifted upright as well, and after a moment, replied—
"Because who better for the CCO role than the most creative person in the whole wide world?"
A soft scoff escaped her. "Oh, sure, I'm creative all right. I have a million ideas a minute, Emma, it's … overwhelming is an underwhelming word for it." She raised her head. "But if you couldn't tell, I happen to also be horrifically scatter-brained, bad at delegation, and on my worst days, plain annoying."
When Emma didn't respond, Isabel picked up a nearby Jeremy with both hands, holding him out before her and looked at him with a forlorn sigh. "I had a meeting scheduled with Mr. Berkshire Swash and about half a dozen Toy Tinkers this morning. I had notes, but couldn't find them., and of course, it's hopeless to try and get anything relevant off the top of my head. He sent a one-pager ahead of time, but in the hours between its arrival and the meeting, I lost that, too."
The ball bouncing around the courtyard accelerated, then multiplied until a storm of red plastic spheres were ricocheting between the walls, driving the Jeremies wild. Isabel released the corgi in her hands in order to freely gesture as she continued in a rising voice—
"I showed up ten minutes late and had to figure out from context clues what product we were even discussing. And then they asked me what I thought of the market research! Ugh—no matter how much I try, I swear, nothing will ever be as dry as those silly graphs and uninspired polls. And I could tell Berkshire was peeved with me, and to think, I wasted their time by showing up unprepared to a meeting about toys! The thing I'm supposed to be good at, and I—"
"Let others help you with that."
"I don't want to offload everything onto others!" She shouted—and with it, thunder crack across the crystal clear heavens. "Other people are not Wondertainments!"
"Let me help you, then!" Risky or not, Emma took her hand, encasing those warm, matte fingers in her own. Isabel went still as a corpse, and Emma lowered her voice once again. "You're disorganized. So what? I'm not. Have you ever had an assistant, Isabel?"
Isabel gave a thin smile. "I have been prescribed them before, yes. Fourteen in the past decade, I believe."
Emma didn't flinch at the turnover. "What happened to them?"
"They couldn't keep up." Isabel spoke with all the cold dignity of a queen, Emma thought.
"Sounds like incompetence."
She shrugged, a wry smile returning to her lips. "One of them, maybe. Two, if you have that little faith. But we're good at sourcing talent, Miss Emma Aieselthorpe-Brown. You'll find my brother and father are also without assistants—at the end of the day, humans are not built to withstand assisting us."
"I'd argue I'm better built than most humans," Emma declared. "And I have you to thank for that."
Isabel paused, consideration flickering in those fluorescent eyes for a moment before she shook her head. "I can't ask that of you. I can't do that to you." There was genuine anguish in her voice, but Emma refused to let it perturb her.
"You helped me—let me repay the favor."
"Emma—"
"Look at it this way: your dad already said you can keep me around, yes? Good—because I don't want to leave your side." Emma squeezed Isabel's hands tighter. "So at the very least, you're stuck with a lady-in-waiting who has absurd processing power. And if I falter? If I'm up not to the task? Well, you can reach right in and repair what needs repairing, improve what needs improving."
Democratically selected forecast be damned, it started to rain. The droplets might have masked Isabel's tears, had they not sparkled like starlight upon her cheeks.
"… You hardly know me."
"I'm a quick study," Emma declared as she sat up, shifting to one knee. This would be better with Isabel standing, she thought, though she wasn't about to ask her to move. She merely took her hand in both of hers and said sincerely: "Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment the Fifth—would you take me to be your executive assistant?"
Joyly 16, 2019
“Rise and shine, ma’am.”
Isabel groaned into her pillow before lifting her head the slightest bit, her dark orange curls an unkempt mane across her face and linens. She blew the hair out of her face to get a better view of the breakfast tray as Emma placed it before her: mint chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of plump black and yellow bumbleberries over vanilla yogurt, and a Wondertainment brand floral tea, freshly brewed.
"Thank you, Emmy Award," she rubbed her eyes. Emma, of course, was already dressed: steely hair swept into a neat bun, starched blouse tucked into a sleek grey pencil skirt. Leave it to her to treat this like any other day.
"Now, for your agenda—" At this, Isabel bolted fully awake.
"Wait, I'm busy today?" she looked utterly mortified. "Clear it. Immediately."
Emma frowned. "Ma'am, that can't be done."
"Emmaaaaaaa, it's our anniversary!" Isabel protested, taking her face in both hands. Emma smiled indulgently—a slight twitch of thin lips.
"You're still CCO on our anniversary," Emma replied. "And besides, I like reading your schedule. You won't deny me that little pleasure on today of all days, would you?"
"… Clever." Isabel huffed, sitting back and waving for Emma to go ahead as she sipped her tea.
"From ten to twelve, the Toy Creation Department will be having an open brainstorm session. You need not stay the whole time, but it's important you drop by." Wow, these are extraordinarily good pancakes, Isabel thought as she nodded along. "You ought to go earlier rather than later, however, as you have an eleven o' clock with Mr. Redd."
"Cancel it," she said without hesitation.
"Isabel…"
"Emmaaa," she replied. "I want to spend the day with you."
"Which I'm sure your brother knows. So unless you want him waltzing in on us at some unscheduled time while we're trying to enjoy ourselves, I suggest you just meet him in his office when it says on the calendar invite." Emma paused before adding: "Actually, he's already done you a bit of a favor this morning."
"Has, he now?" Isabel asked with rightful suspicion.
"Mhmm. He forwarded an update to your calendar before you woke up. You were supposed to meet with Mr. Hot and the marketIing executives at two, and then Elias Garamond from R&D at three; he said he's taking care of both."
"Seriously?" The twins had an easy enough time dividing the workload between operational and creative spheres, but those particular appointments weren't ones she was worried about forking over. "That's … Really thoughtful of him, actually."
Emma shrugged. "Well, he invited them all to go bowling this morning; if the calendar's to be believed, they started at seven sharp."
"Sounds like it ought to be a productive few frames," she noted, swirling her spoon around her yogurt. "What else do I still have?"
"When the presentation finishes up, you're to meet with Mr. Shapey, Mr. Swash, and some of the other judges to critique and discuss the proposals."
"Lunch will be provided, yes?"
"Yes ma'am—there's to be taco bar with nueve leches for dessert."
"Excellent choice."
"It was your choice, ma'am. We planned this last week."
"Was it? Even still." She was loathe to sit through a meeting with hangry executives. "What else?"
"Well, Redd's effectively cleared up your afternoon. You had 'solo brainstorming' blocked out from four to five, but you can extend that now."
"Strike out the solo part, won't you?"
Emma smiled, making a decisive mark across her clipboard.
"If I may—you've also been talking about making a surprise visit to the University." Isabel nodded—though a rare occasion, it was not unheard of for the Wondertainments to drop into seminars, usually cancelling whatever class was in session, much to the delight of those overworked students.
"I mean, I guess I should share my good mood today, mm?" Isabel said. "Though do you really want to go to school today?"
"You know how happy they get when you swing by, and I love to see how happy you get after speaking with them." Isabel couldn't help blushing at such a direct compliment. "Besides, there’s that bakery with the crepes you like just down the block. What do you think about picking up some tea and brain fuel, then returning to the office for paired brainstorming until five?"
"I think that's a wonderful idea," Isabel tilted her head, eyes crinkling. "While I'm speaking with them, would you like to go explore the campus library a bit? I don't know how long I'll take." Though Emma was committed to staying by her side, Isabel knew how she loved to go archive-diving at the University, even if her schedule rarely allowed it.
Sure enough, Emma's expression brightened. "Well, if you don't mind …"
Isabel winked. "Wouldn't have brought it up if I minded, Em-Dash."
"Thank you, ma'am," she said, recomposing herself as she made some marks on her paper. "So, brainstorming until five; that should give you plenty of time to get ready for your tea party with the faeries at twilight."
"I suppose that does sound important." But oh, how she wanted to cancel!
"It is, ma'am. Not to mention, the full moon cannot be rescheduled.”
“Never say never, my Agrostemma."
"Ha. Still, altering the moon cycle might be taken as disrespectful.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose that might be in be bad form."
"Besides, Percival Darke's coming in from London for it, and a little birdie has told us that the Ambassador of Alagadda will be in attendance as well. It expects you to be taken by surprise."
Isabel frowned at this information. "That's not very courteous … It wants to test my mettle, I presume?"
"That's a fair assumption," Emma said. "However, you have nothing to worry about. I've compiled a refresher for you on faerie etiquette, and Redd assured me he'll forward a one-pager on our operations with MC&D for the quarter. As for the Ambassador—"
"We have an employee who hails from Alagadda, do we not?" Isabel tilted her head, searching her muddled memory for more information. "Arin Neroscuro, yes?"
"Correct, ma'am—Public Relations Department."
"That's right," she nodded, circling her vibrantly manicured nail around the porcelain rim of her teacup to refill it. She scarcely interfered with the Publicity Puppies, firmly considering those associates to be her brother's creatures. "Any idea what time the party will go until?"
"At least until midnight."
Isabel made a noise of discontent. It was not like she had any opposition to staying up late; she often got her best ideas in those hours where the world slept, but she disliked knowing she'd be spending her whole evening without Emma.
"And I can't bring a plus-one?"
"I'm afraid not, ma'am. They're very particular," Emma tilted her head. "And I'd refrain from using that language, in particular. Allergic to numbers, that lot, you know?"
"Ah, of course. Still, I am denied a guest …" Her frown deepened, and she rested her chin on her hand. "You'll be asleep when I get back."
"I was planning on waiting up."
"Can we do something for date night tomorrow, at least?"
Emma smiled a bit deviously. "Mr. Laugh is holding a comedy show at Recess Roadhouse tomorrow night. Working on some stuff for the news special, or so I hear."
" … I wouldn't be opposed to dinner and a show with you." She squeezed Emma's delicate hand in her own, Emma returning the action fondly at last placing her knees against the mattress. Crawled forward a step, she carefully minded the tray until realizing Isabel had done away with it, sending the food and drink to sit undistributed on top of a nearby wardrobe.
Emma leaned forward to peck her lips against the apple of Isabel's cheek. "Good. I already made reservations."
"How did I get so lucky?"
"I'm the lucky one, ma'am."
"What you are—" Isabel declared with a firm kiss to her little nose."—is one of a kind."
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