Name: Clare
Story: unnamed robot story
Colors: Tyrian Purple 22, the dogs of war; Heart Gold 28, Love builds bridges where there are none. - R.H. Delaney
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, canvas
Word Count: 2,243
Rating: G
Warnings: no standard warnings apply
Notes: Yeah, this world still doesn't have a name. It's the same one with the robots from other stories, though no robots come into this story; it's just about Moira's childhood. (I'm sure she encounters robots, but she doesn't comment on them.)

Moira came home to the sound of screams.

She sighed in irritation, threw her backpack on the couch, and marched into her mother’s study. “Mom,” she said, and was ignored. “Mom!” she shouted. She had to say it a third time before her mother finally closed her mouth with a snap and glared at her. From inside the headset that her mother gripped in a white-knuckled hand came the sound of deeper-voiced shouting, taking advantage of the pause.

Moira held out her hand, palm up. “He called for me, didn’t he?”

Her mother glared at her, slapped the headset into her hand, and stalked out of the room.

Moira sighed and held it up to her head, several inches away so her father’s anger didn’t burst her eardrums. She had to say “Dad” three times before he noticed she was there, too.

When he finally calmed down, she fitted the headset to her ear and walked back to the living room to grab her backpack on her way up to her room. “I wish you’d text me and let me call you first, Dad,” she grumbled. “Having you two shout at each other isn’t fun for any of us.”

“I thought you’d be home by the time I called.”

“I stayed late to finish my bio homework. I didn’t want to have to carry that textbook home on the el with me.” She pressed her hand to the lock on her bedroom door and it slid open. Her father had set it up for her when she was six years old and she had always been grateful for it.

He snorted. “Bio. What the hell do you need that crap for? You don’t even need school anymore, Mo. You’re plenty educated to come work with me.”

Moira rolled her eyes and threw her backpack down on her bed. They had had this argument before, and this time she wasn’t going to dignify him with an answer. “Did you call just to lecture me about school, Dad?”

“Of course not. I tried to ask your mom, actually, when your spring break is…”

That piqued her curiosity. She tossed herself down into the purple ergonomic chair her mom had bought her when she was twelve, kicked off her flats, and poked the screen on her wall with her toe. It woke up and showed her home screen. No breaking news since she last checked it, lunchtime. “I’m sure she had no idea. Hang on, let me bring up my calendar.”

“You should have these things in your head.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” But she didn’t think there was any reason to bother memorizing anything when she could check it online anytime she felt like it. “Just a sec. There we go, it’s in two weeks. Well, two weeks and a day.”

“How long is it for?”

“One week. Come on, Dad, quit with the mystery crap and just tell me where you’re taking me.”

“Well, if your mother agrees—”

“She won’t.”

“Once you figure out what to tell her, I mean. How does Aruba sound?”

“Uh, kind of amazing.” Moira kept her voice deadpan to mask her excitement. She’d gotten pretty good at hiding her emotions—it was the only way to survive two parents who had been battling as long as she could remember and using her as a go-between since she was at least eight. “But what the hell are you going to be doing there? You don’t have work in Aruba, do you?”

“I can work anywhere, you know that.”

She rolled her eyes, poking the screen with her toe to scroll through friends’ picture postings. “Why, exactly, are you going to Aruba?”

There was an oddly long pause. Then he said, “It’s a surprise.”

Her father was an amazing liar. He’d fooled tons of people—as her mother was too fond of reminding her. But Moira knew he’d never lied to her. So if he was going to go to the trouble of hiding something from her, she was just going to decide that it was a good kind of surprise and stop worrying about it. “Okay, fine. Do you want me to meet you somewhere Friday after school?”

“No, I’ll already be in Aruba then. Just go to the airport Saturday, I’ll have a guy waiting for you.”

Moira laughed. She was really getting the star treatment this time. “Okay then. I’ll see you in two weeks and two days.”

—

Moira managed to convince her mother that her spring break plans were to go to Aruba with some friends and one set of parents. She loved her, but she was surprisingly easy to fool, considering how long she’d been married to a liar. Maybe that was why she’d been married to a liar for so long.

Saturday morning, she packed up a week’s worth of clothes (mostly bathing suits, of course, but not knowing what her dad’s plans were, she included some dressy stuff too) and got herself to the airport. There was a guy standing around with a sign that said “Moira Findley.” She wondered how long he’d been standing there. He obviously recognized her, though, because she didn’t have to say anything, just walk up to him and collect her boarding information.

First class. Of course. After boarding, she put on her headphones and sat back to enjoy the two-hour flight.

When she got off the plane in Aruba, she expected to be met by another one of her father’s guys—hopefully one she knew this time—but was surprised by the appearance of the man himself in the terminal, dressed in knee-length shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a very out-of-place-looking briefcase in his hand. She squealed and ran up to him. “Dad!” As soon as he put down the briefcase, she threw her arms around him. “Wow, you look so funny!” She’d hardly ever seen him in anything but a perfectly-pressed business suit.

He laughed and hugged her back with a bit less enthusiasm. “Well, suits get pretty sweaty in the tropics.”

“I bet.” She let him go and stepped back, grinning up at him. His tan had a clear line where he’d obviously been wearing sunglasses. “You must really not be working if you have time to come get me at the airport.”

“Ah, I always have time to see my favorite girl. Come on, I’ve got a new limo.”

The new limo had a machine that would make any flavor of sparkling wine you wanted. Moira chose passionfruit and leaned back on the plush seats with a full glass. It was one of the many little things that they had to hide from her mom. And anyone with legal authority, of course. But that was a matter of course.

It was a short ride to what turned out to be a huge beach house. Moira jumped straight out of the limo towards the porch steps, flipping on her sunglasses. “Awesome, Dad!” It was an old Victorian-style, painted in white with lavender trim, but she could see that it had been renovated; the doors, at least, were modern chrome and glass. And she could see a panel of buttons that looked like part of a kitchen.

“Wait!” Her dad was coming out of the limo behind her. She turned to him, surprised. “Let me… let me give you the tour.”

“Uh, okay,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him. He was acting weird. At least it wasn’t bad-weird. And knowing her dad was being weird made her feel, comfortingly, a little more normal than usual.

He hurried up the steps ahead of her, went through the door as it opened, and gave a grand bow, indicating that she should follow him through. She shook her head and did, flipping her sunglasses back off. Yeah, the kitchen had all kinds of cool-looking gadgets, and there was some fancy living room furniture. Under a set of stairs, there was a pile of beach toys. It seemed like an awfully large pile of beach toys for just her. And there was sand on some of them…

“Is that you, Greg?” came a woman’s voice from above them. Moira turned slowly to her dad, dropping her jaw dramatically.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable but pleased. “It’s me, Anya,” he called. “And Moira’s here.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’ll be right down, I just put the twins in for their bath.” There was a slight tinge of an accent to her voice.

Moira laughed out loud and hugged her dad again. “No wonder you’re acting so weird!”

A moment later a woman was hurrying down the steps. She looked just like Moira had pictured from her voice and her name: slim and tall, with long black hair and a lavender dress that floated behind her. She was sunburned on her face and shoulders, but smiled broadly as she ran up to Moira. “And you’re Moira, of course. Greg has told me so much about you.”

“Has he?” Moira said, taking the hand that Anya offered and looking sideways at her dad. “Because no offense, but I think he’s been keeping you a secret.”

Anya laughed. “I thought he might be.”

Her dad coughed. “Er, Moira, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Anya Lenskaya. Anya, my daughter, Moira Griffin.”

“And how long, exactly, has this been going on, Dad?”

“Not long!” he protested. “I… I mean, a while.” Anya hadn’t seemed to be too happy with his original answer. “Er. Close to a year.”

“A year and nearly two months, actually,” Anya said, rolling her eyes. Then she grinned at Moira and whispered “Men!”

Moira grinned and shook her head. “And these twins? Please don’t tell me I have half-siblings that you haven’t told me about.”

“Oh, no!” cried Anya. “They’re almost five. I had them, and divorced their father, long before I met yours.”

“Oh, good. In that case, I look forward to meeting them when they’re done their bath.”

“And you will,” said Moira’s dad. “I thought, since it’s the afternoon and the sun is getting to be too much for the beach, we could stay in and work on one of those jigsaw puzzles we bought. Get to know each other.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Anya.

“I agree,” said Moira. Then she punched her dad in the arm. “I just need to get this out of my system before those kids come down and see me being such a bad role model.”

Her dad grinned and presented his arm for more punches.

—

Later that evening, while Anya was putting the twins to sleep (their names were Erik and Delilah, and they were wonderful, except for the hair-pulling), Moira and her dad went for a walk on the beach. It was beautifully warm and there was a sunset that was even more beautiful, bathing everything in orange light. Moira dangled her shoes from her hand. Except for the kitchen, they hadn’t used any technology with screens or buttons all day, and she was rather enjoying it. Of course, she would check her phone before bed.

Her father cleared his throat. “So, ah, you asked about half-siblings earlier…”

“If you tell me I do have some you’ve been hiding, you’re going to get a lot worse than punches on your arm,” she warned him.

“Oh, no, you definitely don’t! You may, someday, though. Would that be all right?”

“As long as you tell me as soon as you can.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. What about, um, step-siblings?”

Moira stopped, sliding a little on the sand. Then she squealed. “You’re going to ask Anya to marry you!”

He looked at her with a smile. “If it’s all right with you.”

“Of course it is!” She flung her arms around him for the third time that day. “I’ll have another mom! Do I get to be a bridesmaid?”

“If all goes according to plan, you’ll be the only one.” He patted her gingerly on the back. “I’m hoping we can do it here, before you have to go home.”

“What about Anya’s family?”

“She doesn’t have any, unfortunately. One of the hazards of our sort of work.”

“So she’s in the hurting people and breaking things business, too?”

“Well, she has been, before the kids. Don’t worry, I learned my lesson with your mom. I’m never hiding that part of me again.”

“Good.” Moira sighed, gave her dad a last squeeze, and let go. “Okay, tell me all about your plan.”

—

It all went the way he’d planned it—as everything he planned (that didn’t involve Moira’s mother) tended to do. Moira distracted the twins while he dropped to one knee on the beach, Anya squealed and cried, and a week later they were all set up with an Aruban judge, two tuxedos, and three simply gorgeous dresses.

Even Moira cried a little when Anya and her father said their vows. And she took hundreds of pictures to share with her friends.

On the way back to the beach house, she grabbed her dad’s arm and told him, “You know, don’t you, that Mom is going to have to find out about this.”

He smiled at her, happy and confident. “I was hoping you’d be the one to break it to her.”

She smiled back and shook her head. “Of course I will, Dad.”