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[modelchild]

(general warning for the creepy of robot children?)


1) 

A data form titled CONFIRMATION hovers against the wall, waiting.

Name (last, first) 
Gender
Approximate age (Range 5 to 14)
Why do you want a Model Child? *
Eye color
Hair color
Preferred temperament 

* Required


Allow half an hour for the data to process. Please wait in the waiting room and wait for your new Child's arrival! 


2)

A shipment has crashed. Now there are Model Children ambling around the area. None stray too far from the shattered vehicle, but it's still enough that they're visible on the edge of the street.

It'd be best to ignore them, right?

3)

Model 16 wasn't informed of another Model Child at this address.

They send out a ping, but it goes unanswered, which means this other child is either a damaged or pirated Model...or a genuine human child.

Model Children are not supposed to have human siblings. Model Children are not allowed to be kept after extreme system damage. Model Children are absolutely not allowed to be tampered with or pirated. It's against policy and law.

Model 16 begins drafting a report. They will update it as they continue to investigate the situation.

4)

Model 16 has been stolen. Their pings are going nowhere. They can't access location data. 

This is a problem.

5) 

Make up your own Model Child scenario!
 

Comments

1

[allbutvalor]

Name (last, first): Page, John
Gender: Male
Approximate age (Range 5 to 14): 10
Why do you want a Model Child?* I was referred to the company by Dr. Johanna Diamont, in association with Sunrise Mental Health, as part of a therapeutic program. I recently came into contact with my biological son who was born in and who I initially lost contact with through a series of traumatic circumstances. My biological son continues and will continue to reside with his foster family, and it is Dr. Diamont's belief that gaining practical experience with a Model Child beforehand may be helpful if either of us pursue further contact. (See attached doctor's note for details.)
Eye color: Blue
Hair color: Black
Preferred temperament: No preference.

The woman formerly known as Jacquette Trist and formally known as Gemma Page sits in the waiting room, reading a magazine full of advertisements and diet dessert recipes. She's far too well mannered to fidget but she keeps scanning through a few pages with half-lidded eyes, not really absorbing anything, realizing that she hasn't actually read what she's been reading, and having to flip back to try again.

[modelchild]

In the honeycomb of rooms beyond the waiting room, Model 16 is roused from a near-sleep from their bed. A real one, in a real bedroom, if sparsely furnished and fairly impersonal. Even the employees are supposed to see Model Children as real and living. And they're real enough that getting out of bed is not the most comfortable notion, though they do it anyway. The tiny charging station at the base of their spine retracts with barely a click.

As soon as it's submitted, the form's information immediately forwards itself into their head. The doctor's note does not. It's probably on paper. What year do these doctors think it is? The Model dislikes being uninformed.

John. Common, basic name. They've gone by it a few times already. Those stays tend to be short, with a parent without much confidence or extreme desire to raise a child. The 'want' section seems to underline that thought.

The physical changes are simple. The hair and eyes can shift even outside of the facility, and the age range is only a little lower than their previous home; it takes only a few moments of settling back and allowing the other machines in the room to pop off their old legs and put on a new set to leave them closer to the ten-year-old average.

In the end, the half-hour wait is for the maximum, demanding wannabe parents insisting tailoring everything even outside the form. John Page is ready in less than five, with slipping on his clothes--loose white slacks, striped white-and-purple polo, white sneakers--taking the most time.

Model Children can't connect directly to the building's security system by themselves. A camera would be easiest and preferred, but that's not allowed, some privacy needed. They always get a sneak peek at their new parents anyway, through one-way mirror outside the waiting room, and five more minutes pass with the child examining her that way.

John Page steps out of the door, not too far from where Gemma is seated.

It's a big door. It's a big room, high ceiling and bright lights and a giant mobile of stars hanging from above. It exaggerates how tiny the children who come out are, no matter if they swagger or stomp or slip.

John keeps himself closer to that last one. He isn't a replacement, exactly. He's training this time. Children who don't know their parents until late enough for that to be a concern can be angry and resentful, or they can be anxious and eager to please. The latter is what John Page, without the rest of the paperwork accessible to him, is going to focus on.

"Hi," he greets shyly. His hair's just shaggy enough to cover his eyes when he bends his head to look down at his shoes. Which is good, because first glance shows that his shade of blue was a little too light, and he uses the moment to adjust the color while she can't see. "I'm John."

It's just the two of them. There isn't a single employee visible here. Supposedly, the first contact is best to be one-on-one (one-on however-many-parental-figures). Every little thing, even the clothes (the slacks are just a little too baggy) to emphasize that the Model Child is a child, small and fragile and helpless.

Of course 'small' is the only truth to that statement in reality.

"Are--are you Gemma?"

posts a short thing like 50000 years later

[allbutvalor]

Gemma hears the door opening to one side of the room and carefully places her magazine to one side before turning to face the Model Child.

It- they- he’s very small, and too shy- is that right? He’s supposed to be an android after all- to meet her eyes easily. So it’s hard to get a good look at him, beyond that he’s wearing the white and purple colors that are ubiquitous in the building. But even based on what she can see, from his build to his skin- he doesn’t resemble her quite as closely as Alder does. Odd, she hasn’t realized it until now, but she was expecting them to be alike.

An irrational thought. She’s grown prone to those.

Gemma inclines her head in a slight acknowledgement. “Yes,” she says, a little slowly. “I’m going to be taking care of you.”

/o/

[modelchild]

John looks up again. She still doesn't seem all that excited to be a parent, not pretending to be now that they're meeting.

His mouth tugs into a nervous, crooked smile.

"It's...it's good to finally meet you." Finally. A particular word choice, implying John's been waiting so hopefully for a long time. (Model 16 hasn't, not really. It's only been a week since they were returned. Long gaps are pretty boring though.)

He takes a couple tiny steps closer. One of his shoes has a lace tied too loosely, trailing on the floor. He edges into the seat next to her, like he thinks she's going to stand and move to the next if he's too fast.

"So...you're my mom?" Sometimes they like different titles. Sometimes this hammers in the whole 'parent' thing.

John's nervous smile stays on his face.

gratuitous french is gratuitous but hey

[allbutvalor]

Gemma folds her hand in her lap, unsure of how to respond to John’s smile. Generally, whenever she’s attempted to return people’s smiles before it’s just made them uncomfortable.

His shoelace is too loose. Gemma wonders if it would be inappropriate to re-tie it for him. He’s supposed to be her son, but she also just met him. Which is supposed to take precedence? It seems to be yet more etiquette that she’s forgotten.

“Well… You’re in my care and I’m a woman so yes, you could say I’m your mom.” Eyeing the slowly shrinking space between their seats, Gemma considers the word. It feels foreign, something that only applies to other people. “When I was your age, I always referred to my mother as maman. Or you could simply call me Gemma, I have no preference.”

[modelchild]

"Maman," he repeats, higher. That's a new one, actually. Bravo, Gemma Page, they haven't been surprised in a very long time.

John swings his legs uncertainly, at the word--it's not from the local language--and her indecisive attitude. "...Are we--are you taking me far away?"

[allbutvalor]

Something in her seems to shift at hearing that old word in the mouth of someone else, something that Gemma shys away from examining. Not a good time, not a good place.

(John might notice how she briefly avoids her gaze, however.)

“I wouldn’t consider it far. I live in this city, actually,” she explains. “In the neighborhood of Hallett’s Cove. I have an apartment there, just two blocks away from the subway. You’ll have your own bedroom.”

Gemma pauses, and picks up her bag, ready to dig through it. “I might be able to show you some pictures, if you’d like…?”

[modelchild]

He doesn't know what it is, but she doesn't change her mind. Maman it is, unless she says the opposite aloud.

"Yes please! Um--I'm...a little scared of travelling far," he admits softly, ducking his head again, just focusing on Gemma's bag and her hands.

[allbutvalor]

...Hmm. Gemma wonders just how far John has been from the model company before.

“Alright then. Let me have a moment to see what I have.”

Gemma unzips her bag and takes out a little tablet computer. It makes a soft chiming noise as she boots it up, and within a few moments she’s flicking through the photo storage.

“I’m afraid most of these aren’t focused on the residence itself,” she explains. John will be able to see that most of them are actually of various small art pieces- canvases, statuettes, jewelry- with the apartment only in the background. From what he will be able to see of it, the apartment is a decent enough place, with hardwood floors and plain white walls. “Oh, here we are.”

Gemma’s found a selection of photos focused on one particular room, and she holds the tablet out so John will be able to get a better look at them. “These are from a year ago, but the room is the same,” she explains. “It used to be my spare bedroom but now it’s where you’ll sleep.”

The spare bedroom is a nice looking place. The furniture is study and old-fashioned, decorated in soft blues and neutral tones, with sea and star themed pictures on the wall. Across one wall is a large window, which offers a view of the nearby river- of course, it’s in the middle of the city so it’s a very urban river, with both sides lined with buildings, and one can catch a glimpse of ferries and transport ships on the water.

“Will you be requiring any changes to the room in the immediate future?”

[modelchild]

"Wow. That's a lot of pretty stuff," John says. That's also a lot of expensive, breakable stuff. That's something to keep note of, absolutely--first glance seems rather careless.

At the sight of the bedroom, he delicately takes the tablet, putting the screen nearly against his face in fascination.

They weren't prepared for her to be living quite this richly. Homes for doctor-ordered Model Children were rarely this well-off.

"It's perfect," John breathes. "Thank you, Maman."

[allbutvalor]

Is it? Does John like art? Gemma herself is usually impartial to what she examines, and the hardest part of her work is often predicting whether or not something will be well-received by visitors.

“I work as a curator for the Aonach Collection,” Gemma explains. “Occasionally I have to store or inspect pieces at my residence, though the majority of my work takes place in the museum building.” It’s really not the most strenuous job, mostly managerial, but even with a plan of action she still feels unsure how she’s going to balance her responsibility towards a child and to her place of work.

But those are her concerns, not John’s.

Gemma’s eyes briefly widen as John takes the tablet, before she relaxes and nods in acknowledgement of his thanks. “You’re quite welcome,” she says. “Although you might want to thank Nora- Miss Aonach- instead. The room was originally decorated in accordance with her preferences.” Truth be told, although Gemma calls it the spare bedroom it had been used exclusively by Nora up until now. Though only occasionally, and Gemma suspects the sleepovers will decrease while she’s no longer living alone.

[modelchild]

"That's neat," he says, for lack of something better. The average child doesn't know much about museums aside from ones that show off dinosaur bones.

John might be learning some interesting historical facts if he's not entirely barred from going near them. (They'll go near them anyway, of course, all out in the open like that.)

"Miss Aonach?" He barely meets her eyes over the top of the tablet. "I will! ...Is she a teacher?"