alright this is Clair and her last name is Voyense because cREATIVITY. this isn't a mary sue but it's totally a mary sue don't @ me Backstory- someone decided "hey you know humans are controlled by electrical impulses and you know what else is roBOTS let's make an organic robot" and then they died because they didn't have plot armor. Apparently there was a time when she was actually a human orphan. the kid died in an accident so they just borrowed the kid's consciousness and boop into the biobot no one has to know except for That One Kid she befriended in pre-k and missed her. will there be a reunion?? will everything have changed???? this isn't cliché at all Character Motivation- just wants to help the poor sad humans be less confused about life. they're all so sad what why are they all sad and complaining about their lives look at the sunrise and writing in bed at 3am how do you have room for negativity do you need a study buddy? do you need a hug??? Personality- quiet. weirdly formal way of speaking, which could be interpreted as endearing or condescending. enjoys logic and puzzles, but actually loves trying to understand the cell masses called humans and how they work, biologically and psychologically Physical Characteristics- tall. slender. walks with perfect posture and an eerie smoothness. grey eyes, grey-brown hair. if "grey" isn't a skin tone then next best descriptor is black. imagine the color of really dry skin. that's her natural skin color F for palette saturation
The grocery store is filled with the murmur of voices and light beeping from the scanners. It's not a bad place to work, but I slept for three hours last night after playing Minecraft until 4am and I'm running entirely on autopilot right now. "G'morning. ...pfft, good /afternoon/," I correct, having just come back from lunch, where I'd eaten a granola bar and napped for the remaining half hour. "Good afternoon." Something flicks on in my brain. I've heard that voice before. My eyes are stuck to finding the barcode on this stupid box of cereal for a moment. "How're you doing today? Find everything okay?" "Yes; I'm doing fine. How are you?" "I'm-" I glance up after finding the stripes, I don't think I've ever seen the girl in front of me before in my life. I definitely would have remembered her. "I'm fine; thanks." She has pale brown hair in a stacked bob and dark, grey-toned skin. Everything about her is slender and elegant, from the way she picks up the pen to write her signature on the keypad - a remarkably legible signature; I can make out every individual letter of "Clair Voyense" - to the way her shirt is cut; a 3/4-sleeve shirt with the cuffs of the sleeves cut at a diagonal that looks entirely impractical but somehow works. I think she's 19, maybe 20. Definitely still in college, judging by what she's buying. I am superior at age 22. Her eyes flick to meet mine. I think they're pale baby blue, but mostly they're just grey. They're soft, but something in them is razor-sharp and entirely unnerving. The jar of salsa I've started bagging - wait, I've finished scanning? Alright then - careens out of my hands and breaks across the area between the scanner and the bagging area. Clair gasps and I can feel my own facial features twist into a grimace. "I've got it... CHRIS?" I shout, and my fellow coworker continues bagging while I pick the chunks of glass out of the soupy mess. At least the pieces are whole. "Do you need help?" Clair asks awkwardly, when I return for the second time with a damp cloth to clean up the mess. "No, thanks," I say, vaguely touched by her kindness, but also wholly hoping she doesn't try to help. She doesn't. Instead, as I go to start sweeping the salsa down, I slam my hand down on a glass shard I missed and a fair-sized cut starts to bleed. I curse. I don't know much about first aid and my hand is bleeding slightly too much for a band-aid. Also, it stings like I scraped the side of my hand around on the sidewalk for half an hour. It doesn't help that the only other staff in the store are more incompetent at first aid than I am. I could call for the janitor, but I'm not sure if he's here or if he knows a lot about cuts. Maybe I could... wash it out or someth- "You should put a bandage on that," Clair says with some alarm. I blink my eyes open to realize I've just been bleeding freely for the whole time I spaced out. "Oh. Oh sheesh, yeah, I can um... I can get a bandage... I definitely know how to use bandages..." I feel a little woozy. There's not that much blood, but I think there's salsa in the cut and the mound of seasoned tomato paste definitely doesn't help the visuals. Chris looks at Clair helplessly. "Sure, Remy?" "Do you need help bandaging it?" Clair offers. "I'm certified in first aid; I'm currently in college for a nursing degree." "I..." I admit that I kind of forgot what happened next. It involved injury hygiene that I mentally blocked, but it ended in the staff break room with Clair wrapping my hand in bandages and gauze and steadily telling me how to not bleed more while I didn't listen. "That's great, thank you so much," I say, when she pauses speaking. "Remy, I asked if you heard anything I just said." "... Ah." Clair shakes her head and I sense that she's hiding a smile, even though her face is completely blank. "Just don't strain yourself." "Thank you," I say, more seriously now that I was listening. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you; I was in my own head." "No need to worry." She shrugs lightly. "As before, just try not to hit it on things." "I won't," I promise. "It's not like I tried to do it in the first place, though..." She laughs - a single laugh with a kind of breathy, unused sound. "I suppose that is a good thing." We leave the break room together and I relieve Chris from both scanning and bagging at the same lane. Clair heads out, groceries in hand, as if it were a perfectly normal day. I hope she didn't have anything other engagements during all the time she spent treating me. If she did, she never said a word.
