Bored to tears, Camilla had gone rummaging in the gift shop to find a game to play. She'd played so much solitaire she was beginning to develop an irrational dislike of some of the face cards. It was there that Mr. Wednesday found her again
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And then he looked up at Wednesday.
"No," he admitted. "If he thinks he's found the Blue Fairy then he'll stay. He'll expire to be nothing more than another piece of debris on the ocean floor."
Joe's large eyes searched the aged man's.
"That's what will happen to David, isn't it, Mr. Wednesday? I've sent the poor boy to his very grave. Trapped in love."
Ever so slightly his eyes squinted. "When God built Adam and Eve in that fateful week in Eden's gates did he ever make such a mistake? Did Adam fall in love with a rock? And when that rock fell down a crevice did he fall down and break his neck? Who's to say that Adam and Eve weren't the second models? And why built a fruit tree if not to be eaten, forbidden or not?"
Without looking away from Wednesday, Joe continued on his epiphany-filled monologue, talking to Camilla.
"I think I've eaten the apple, Camilla. It was bitter and sweet at the same time. It was not red, it was blue. Like melancholy. Like the ocean. Like...the fairy..."
Joe paused. He touched his face. A tear had escaped in the middle of his metaphor.
"I'm leaking! Like I was in the amphibicopter." He rubbed his fingers together spreading the liquid around the tips in curiosity.
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Camilla, raised a Catholic, and not knowing Wednesday's reasons for preferring certain cosmogonies to others, ignored her Jenga partner, turning to Joe. "You're not leaking, I don't think -- I hope you're not leaking." He seemed to be weeping, silently, except that she wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be able to do that. Probably he was, she supposed by analogy with other secretions she knew he could produce. Still, she looked concerned. "What was the apple you ate, Joe? And how was it blue?"
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"The apple was knowledge and realization as in Eden. It was blue because all it has cause has been upset."
He chuckled.
"I had told David that I would cause his fairy to blush but I think she has, instead, spread her hue to me. Tell me how that is possible when there is a substantial possibility that she doesn't even exist."
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Camilla's eyes went a little wide at this, not in astonishment so much as in a wary kind of recognition. Not recognition of what Wednesday was, per se; recognition that he was telling the truth, though, and a truth Camilla herself had learned. "I know," she said to him, simply, aside, before addressing the mecha. "A fairy that doesn't exist can't blush, that's true," she said. "But you exist. Did you want to be the fairy? Give David his wish?"
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Joe thought.
"If robots even have fate. Fate IS a wholly human concept, after all."
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There might be no being in all the worlds so fate-bound as Mr. Wednesday. "Many a machine of my acquaintance has met its own fate," he rumbled darkly.
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He wasn't quite sure he wanted to be aware of Wednesday's previous encounters with mechas. He looked down at the currently abandoned Jenga tower and then back to Camilla.
"Is fate not a form of slavery? Programming that can't be undone?"
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"Perhaps you're all the gods' playthings," said Wednesday with an edgy grin.
Something about that grin made Camilla rise quickly and say, "I think I'm going to go get a drink. Joe, I know you can't drink anything or you'll break, but Mr. Wednesday, would you like anything?"
"Jack Daniels for me," said the old god, still grinning.
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His new clothes shifted differently than his stiff jacket as he straightened toward Wednesday after Camilla left. He met him with an intense look of interest.
"Have you many encounters with mechanical creatures, Mr. Wednesday?" he asked without any malice.
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"I wouldn't say fondness is a concept that applies, nor its opposite. I'm what you might call old-school. Don't mistake me, I do appreciate modern conveniences." Outhouses were not a thing Wednesday cared to revisit unless necessary.
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Though he didn't say it with annoyance, it had admittedly been difficult for Joe to keep track of what he was or wasn't with Camilla around. Being free required much more work than it should have.
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Wednesday's eyes (eye, really, but the glass eye could track properly, under the membrane) wandered speculatively in the direction Camilla had gone.
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This seemed obvious to him. It was obvious to Camilla as well. She knew she was gorgeous and unique. To Joe, this was a departure from the forlorn housewife who didn't feel she was deserved to be love by anyone but a robot. Thus, Joe didn't have any duty to Camilla. There was nothing he could offer the woman that she couldn't already provide for herself.
At this, Joe wondered why they'd even had as much relation as they did in that laundry room. Did Camilla desire to give him something? Why? Discretion more than hinted at by Camilla, Joe was not going to bring up the incident in their conversation.
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