“Ugh, you’d think with those augmentations she’d be a little less likely to spill wine all over the place.”
Tara, on all fours, scrubbed at the burgundy flecks in the living room carpet. Every surface in the apartment was a covered in a layer of half-empty glasses, spent inhalers and other detritus from the party.
“She’s always been like that, Tara. She gesticulates.” Chloe sprawled the length of the couch, barefoot, a thin tendril of smoke reaching up towards the ceiling from her cigarette.
“Yeah, when she talks it’s like she’s conducting a frickin’ orchestra,” Tara said. “I thought she’d be different.”
“Different how? Like she’d have bug eyes and webbed feet?”
“No, just -” Tara stopped scrubbing, sat back on her knees. “I just thought that with neuroagumentation work like she’s had done, she’d … understand things better.”
Chloe took a drag, cigarette ash glowing orange. “Oh, I see what you’re on about,” she said, exhaling through a smile.
“What? What’s that smile for?”
“Bullshit. What’s so funny?”
“You’re so transparent Tara. She’s gone and interfaced with some alien tech barely anybody understands, and all you can think about is whether she’ll get back together with you?”
Tara was turning red. She crossed her arms, still holding the wet sponge. It dripped. “I just thought she’d see things in a new light, that’s all,” she said, cutting the words. “Fine, you can finish this yourself, since you’re so smart.”
She dropped the sponge on the carpet and stormed out.