"I'm pretty sure I dreamt, yeah." Murderbot orders itself a hot cocoa. Like a grown bot. "Woke up with fragments of junk data in my working memory buffer that didn't make sense. Odd-colored livestock. And it was Erin Peters watching over me. She's been doing it since Sarge..."
Cocoa is a perfectly good adult drink. "Erin." Watson nods, approving. "I don't know her well, but she strikes me as trustworthy. If she says it looked different, we can likely trust her word. And yes," he smiles a little, "that sounds about right, for dreams. Not always, but often. Come sit down."
"Honorable. It isn't just that she's worthy of trust. She is a woman of her word." It brings its drink to the table as instructed, perching on its chair.
No, not like that, I know what you're imagining, Murderbird is not a tiel.
"Well, I'm glad you found someone you trust to watch you," he says.
Watson takes a sip of his coffee, for a moment just looking at Murderbot (sorry, he must perceive it for a moment, it's a professional matter), trying to assess it for exhaustion and illness. "You know, as upsetting as this is, I suppose functionally there may be very little difference, particularly if it turns out you don't require more sleep than you did time spent on your, ah, recharge sessions. I cannot cure a need for sleep, unfortunately."
"If I do require more sleep than recharge time, I'm wasting hours just...inert." Oh no, the possibility of not having a whole 22 hours a day to fill. How awful.
It sips at the cocoa, trying to pretend it doesn't notice it's being perceived.
"It's not a waste of time," Watson points out, with a shake of his head, and he laughs a little. "It's a time of healing and recuperation. Oh, I'm sure that it seems not terribly efficient to you, but it is, in fact, important, even if it takes a little longer."
He smiles faintly, sympathetically into his coffee. "It's an unsettling change, though, and I'm sorry for that."
Watson falls silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful.
"Sometimes," he says, his voice gentle, "it is difficult to come to terms with the fact that our bodies have changed. I do know that. Is there anything I can do?"
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He waves them over to a table.
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No, not like that, I know what you're imagining, Murderbird is not a tiel.no subject
Watson takes a sip of his coffee, for a moment just looking at Murderbot (sorry, he must perceive it for a moment, it's a professional matter), trying to assess it for exhaustion and illness. "You know, as upsetting as this is, I suppose functionally there may be very little difference, particularly if it turns out you don't require more sleep than you did time spent on your, ah, recharge sessions. I cannot cure a need for sleep, unfortunately."
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It sips at the cocoa, trying to pretend it doesn't notice it's being perceived.
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He smiles faintly, sympathetically into his coffee. "It's an unsettling change, though, and I'm sorry for that."
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It'll be fine eventually, really. It just needs to throw a tantrum first.
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"Sometimes," he says, his voice gentle, "it is difficult to come to terms with the fact that our bodies have changed. I do know that. Is there anything I can do?"
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"I don't know. You don't really need to do anything."
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Watson turns his coffee cup in his hands. "Advice. Distraction. Comfort. Companionship. What is it that you need right now?"
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Watson offers a smile. "What have you been up to? Anything pleasant you might want to share?"