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"Of course you're a <span class="mu-i">person,</span>" he says.
"Really? Because you don't act like it! You act like I'm a little—" You snatch the old model up and dangle it in front of him. "That you can just sculpt <span class="mu-i">however</span> you want, and cut little chunks off of, and—"
"Strained metaphors are't doing you any favors, Charlie."
You scowl. "You act like you can do anything and it won't even <span class="mu-i">matter.</span> Since I'm not a PERSON, right? You can be as mean as you want and you can tell me anything you wnat since I don't matter, and I don't have any feelings, and I'm stupid and predictable and non-advanced and I can't ever be right about anything, or good at anything, or <span class="mu-i">like</span> anything, without it being an <span class="mu-i">outlier!</span> Maybe I'm patient and diligent all the time? And you haven't even noticed, because you're a stupid reptile all the time? Or maybe—"
Finally, belatedly, an explanation slams you. "—maybe that's how I always <span class="mu-i">was,</span> Richard. Maybe I was exactly like that every single day and I'm just <span class="mu-i">different</span> now. Because I <span class="mu-i">forgot.</span> And you forgot too. Have you factored <span class="mu-i">that</span> into your stupid model?"
He hasn't. It's obvious that you've stricken him where it counts— his whole face sort of goes in on itself. He appears troubled: if he wasn't Richard or you were dumb you might say he appeared guilty.
"Okay then." You fix him with one last glare and plop back down on your chair. "Thanks for <span class="mu-i">ruining</span> my concentration."
He doesn't say anything. And then he mutters "That wasn't my intent."
"I don't care," you say, and reach for the translucent piece of paper.
-
The good news is that Richard stops asking you questions. The bad news is that Richard, when not asking questions, sits upon your cot and radiates a sort of irritating aura. You glance back frequently to find him craning his neck to look at your progress, and then looking away whenever he sees you glancing.
This isn't enough to slow your progress much, though: the supplies you've been provided with render the process far quicker and neater than your previous underwater attempts. As it comes together more and more, you forget about Richard— about everything, really, the stress and the turmoil and the fact that your top right canine tooth is dangling by a thread. You get paint all over your fingers and nick your thumb trying to cut out the central font and face a last-minute heart-pounding scramble when you remember there's a giant crack in the floor and a big tree now and you forgot to add any of that! But you do add it (it's fortunate the clay never quite dries properly), and set your tweezers down, and look at the gleaming final product. And up at Richard, who is hovering right behind you again.
"It's nearly 5 PM," he says.
"Oh." And then you look down at your model. "I mean... it's done. So that's okay."
He raises his sunglasses. "It's detailed."
"...Yes," you say suspiciously. "That is a fact about it. It is detailed."
(2/3)
