A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

Wheatley took notice of her sheepish state. It was odd to him, how humans clearly displayed their embarrassment. Slightly flushed cheeks, a nervous smile; it was all seen on IA’s face. If he were human, he would make sure to keep these habits in check; he would not want another person to see him as weak.

He was a bit surprised to hear her mention that she was a singer. He had never met a singer before, only test subjects. The closest thing he had ever heard to singing was the shrill voice of the turrets. His optic flickered around in its socket before refocusing on IA.

“I’ve never heard anyone sing before, really. Perhaps you could give me a, uh, a demonstration. I’m sure you sing just fine—perfect, actually. You are a singer, after all.”

IA watched as the robot’s eye gazed around thoughtfully, wondering what he was thinking about. Being only a little metal sphere, it was hard to tell what he was feeling without proper means to express emotions—outwardly, anyways.

When he asked her to sing for him, she immediately smiled and hopped a bit in her excitement. She would often get stopped by her fans when she was in public, and got requested to sing a little bit for them. She would happily oblige; anything to make her fans happy. Plus, her arm was beginning to get tired from carrying all of those bottles of water. 

“Oh—sure! I’d be happy to.”

Glancing around, she soon realized that she was in luck. There was a little abandoned house to her left, which was for the most part intact. There were shut-able doors, at least, which was all IA cared about—protection while she sang, completely vulnerable while she did so. She shuffled through the door and closed it behind her with a few fingers from the hand holding Wheatley, walking to the wall where the floor was most cleared of rubbish. The young singer kneeled down, setting Wheatley and the water down. She then sat up straight against the wall directly across from the small robot, not slouching at all—any good singer knew not to obstruct one’s diaphragm while singing. She took a deep breath. 

“Okay, u-um…”

[ We watched the fading vapor trails

They were so dazzling, I ran away

I was always weak

I let go, frustrated by the fact

That I couldn’t change myself since that day

I could not stay unchanged forever… ♫ ]

IA, who had closed her eyes once she had begun singing, opened them slightly to survey Wheatley’s reaction, slightly anxious, like she always was when anticipating outside opinions on her voice. 

“Should I keep going?”

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

Lifted from the ground once more, Wheatley felt relief as they began to move. He was not entirely sure where IA was taking him, but at this point it did not matter. IA seemed to be someone he could trust; he could not imagine the soft-spoken girl suddenly throwing him into danger. His only worry now was that they arrived safely to their destination, where ever that was.

Wheatley perked up a bit at her question. He enjoyed conversation, which he rarely received in the Aperture Laboratories, and definitely not in space.

“Well, there’s this place called Aperture Laboratories, I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he wiggled his handles a bit, as if making an effort to nod. “I worked there until I was, uh, kicked out. Into space, actually. It’s kind of a, um, long story.” 

He was not in the mood to extrapolate about his previous experiences. It would most likely result in some form of self-reflection or regret, which he wasn’t keen on feeling at the moment. He had enough time to think about his mistakes while he was in space. Instead, Wheatley looked up at IA curiously, switching the focus to her.

“Might I ask what, um, band you sing for? Since you are a singer and all. I’m pretty sure that most singers are in bands.”

IA noted how he perked up whenever she initiated conversation instead of him, which confirmed her earlier theory that Wheatley enjoyed being talked to. Smiling down at him, she immediately knew she would rarely have a problem with that at all. As the small robot continued to talk, though, she frowned, becoming concerned.

“Ah, I’ve actually never heard of that place before, but…” The young singer cut off with a small noise of surprise as Wheatley interrupted her, changing the subject. She was going to ask why he had been kicked out, into space, for that matter, and was a bit worried about him now, wondering what kind of toll it took on him to be floating aimlessly in space, like he had just said, for who knows how long. Shaking her head to get back on track, IA answered Wheatley’s question with much more ease.

“Oh, well, I perform as a solo singer, actually. I tend to be very popular with the younger audiences, ehe.” The young woman laughed a bit nervously; talking about her celebrity status always made her a bit embarrassed. 

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

Wheatley’s optic shrank to a pinpoint as IA’s grip loosened, crying out as he fell. His scream was cut off swiftly as IA regained her grip on him.

“Oh-oh goodness! I thought that I was going to die,” Wheatley wheezed, slowly regaining his composure.

He was set gently onto the ground, which assisted him in relaxing a bit more. IA’s sweet nature had a soothing quality to it; it was something that Chell—and definitely not GLaDOS—possessed. He watched her regather her water bottles under her arm, and felt a bit ashamed that he could not assist her. He merely sat uselessly, only able to chat with her, and he was not entirely sure that she enjoyed that. If only had some arms or legs, something that he could use to help her out.

However, once she asked him for his name, he felt a bit more relieved. Perhaps she did not mind idle chatter; she might even enjoy it. His blue optic glowed in an almost blissful manner.

“The name’s Wheatley, mate,” he said before inquiring, “Might I ask what yours is?”

IA took notice of his enthusiastic response. It was beginning to occur to her that Wheatley was quite talkative, and liked when people returned the idle chatter, which she was fine with—she didn’t like awkward silences, much preferring the quiet be filled somehow. She flashed a tiny, sweet smile at the robot, stuffing the last water bottle under her arm.

“Wheatley… that’s a nice name.” Giggling a little bit, the young singer turned her body towards him and patted his head a few times. “You can call me IA. That’s my stage name, anyways. I-I’m a singer, ehehe…”

After the short exchange, IA moved her arm slightly to make sure the bottles were snug and would not dislodged easily. When that was made secure, she curled her tiny, frail-looking hand around Wheatley’s topmost handle, lifting him up from the ground without much trouble—he was lighter than he looked. Remembering from earlier that the robot preferred conversation, IA began making small talk with him, skipping cheerfully in her steps.

“So, where did you come from, Wheatley?”

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

IA’s sudden display of affection surprised Wheatley, causing his ‘pupil’ to shrink to a pinpoint. He had seen many companion cubes snuggled viciously by socially deprived test subjects, who longed for the touch of another person. However, this was different; IA appeared to be in perfect mental health. Wheatley’s optical dilated, relaxing as he realized that he was not in the arms of a deranged human; he was only the arms of a very affectionate one.

One particular thing that Wheatley noticed about IA was her grip. Unlike others who had held him before, the girl grasped him lightly, squeezing him only if in an embrace. Most who had previously possessed him knew that he was constructed of sturdy materials, and clenched him tightly in their hands. Though Wheatley usually felt anxious when not held firmly enough, there was some sense of security in IA’s delicate clutch.

“I have been called many things, but ‘cute’ is a new one. I do prefer ‘extremely intellectual being’, but cute will do,” he narrowed his shutters, his optic gazing sideways at IA. “But, um, I remember you saying that you were going to hold me by my handles. So, unless you are holding me with your cheek, you might want to hold me differently. Unless, you know, you don’t want water anymore. Which is fine. Up to you, mate.”

IA, too preoccupied with squeezing him affectionately to see his initial panic, didn’t even let up as Wheatley started talking, but nearly dropped him in realization as he brought the water to her attention once again, catching him from her little slip up, this time by his handle.

“Oh! Right, the water!”

Kneeling down, the young singer seated Wheatley carefully on the ground, positioned so that he wouldn’t roll, and began gathering the scattered bottles, picking them up one by one and depositing them under her right arm. As she worked at retrieving them, though, she felt like she should say something to this new robot—her new friend—for his constant rambling was contagious; now she, too, felt the need to fill the silence.

“Do you have a name, Mr. Robot?”

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

A rush of euphoria filled the spherical robot. He felt so light, so free now that he had been lifted off the ground. Despite IA’s delicate appearance, she managed to keep a tight, reassuring grip on him. He nuzzled himself cozily into the nook of her arm, glancing up at her with his wide blue iris. As she walked towards the water bottles, the robot began to ramble, a habit that he displayed quite often.

“Going back where? You mean that you, um, live here? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a uh, quaint place, very nice. Just not my sort of neighborhood. Not too many friendly neighbors, if you ask me.”

After she reached the fallen water bottles, Wheatley noticed her gaze flickering from the mess to him. He recognized this look; it was the same kind of glance that Chell made as she solved the tests at the Aperture Laboratories. She would construct some sort of plan with a few simple glances. A few water bottles did not create a difficult puzzle for IA, but Wheatley could not help but remember his old friend’s mannerisms.

The girl placed her hand lightly onto one of his handles, explaining her predicament to him. Her preposition to his handles as, well, handles, surprised him.

“So that’s what those are for? I always wondered why I had them. Seemed pretty useless to me, having those and not legs.” Wheatley swiftly answered her question, “And of course you can. They’ve only been used like this once before. In space, actually, so I can assure you that they are sturdy.”

“Ah! I don’t live here, goodness no! I’m not quite sure how I ended up here, but I know that I don’t like it one bit…”

The whole time Wheatley had been talking—rambling was a better word, frankly—she had noticed how his slight English accent became apparent, and IA looked down, a bit surprised as the small robot shifted in her arms, nuzzling up against her. It was…

A wide, endeared smile spread across the young singer’s face, pausing after the robot’s approval at using his handles. Propping up the robot with her arms, she pressed the side of her face against Wheatley’s metal body, squishing it against him while squeezing him tightly in the process like a big, robotic stuffed animal.

“Uuu~ You’re so cute~” She squeezed him as hard as she could to drive the point home. IA had completely forgotten about the bottles for now, and at this rate it looked like she would need to be reminded of them for her to let up on smothering Wheatley like he was some sort of cute house pet.

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

It had been a long time since Wheatley had made contact with another living thing; besides the monsters that roamed here, of course. The last person who had touched him was…

Don’t think of her, don’t think of her, don’t think of her.

However, it was impossible to avoid the thought of Chell, his only friend; the one that he had inevitably betrayed. Obviously, IA had very little in common with Chell. IA was a delicate sort of a woman, her skin appearing softer with some sort of natural luminescence; Chell was a more rugged woman, built on muscle and strength. The one thing that the two shared in common was their sympathy for Wheatley. Chell could have just as easily left Wheatley behind, as IA could have scampered away with her collection of water bottles, never to be seen again.

Wheatley managed to blink away the memory, though it still lurked in the back of his mind. He preferred not to make the same mistake that he had made with Chell. If IA was to become a friend of his, he did not want the hunger for power to push her out of his priorities. His blue eye shifted around in its socket as he remembered just what he had called IA over here to do.

“Ah, yes, help. Almost forgot about that,” he chuckled nervously as his shutters closed slightly, barely covering his blue iris. “Well, I was hoping that you could, quite possibly, carry me to wherever you were going. Because you seem like a smart person, who would know a smart place to hide. I don’t know about you, but I am tired of being thrown about all day.” 

IA noticed Wheatley’s pause and tilted her head slightly, wondering if he was thinking about something, or if there was some sort of bug in his system. He did eventually respond, though, and the young singer perked up a bit, excited at the idea of helping this adorable little robot.

“Ah, that would be no problem! I was just on my way back, actually.”

As she spoke, she began to make her way back to the water bottles she had dropped out of fright earlier, cradling Wheatley tightly in her arms, almost like a large teddy bear. When she reached the scattered pile of bottles, however, IA realized she had a bit of a dilemma; she couldn’t carry the bottles with Wheatley already occupying her entire armspace.

“Hmm…”

As she looked down at the small robot, she noticed two handle-like pieces protruding from him, noting that they would be easy to grip onto. Hatching an idea, IA tilted her head down to look at Wheatley, tenatively putting a hand on one of the parts.

“Um… would it be okay if I held you from these for now? S-So I can carry the water without having to leave you here…?”

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

IA’s reaction caught Wheatley off guard. He had become so adjusted to being attacked that he did not anticipate her to flee from him. He noted the scattered water bottles, which the girl had so clumsily dropped. Immediately, Wheatley assumed that the girl thought that he was going to rob her of her water.

“No need to panic! I don’t want your water,” Wheatley assured, “In fact, I’m pretty sure the water would kill me…not certain, just a guess.”

He noticed her glancing over from behind a nearby wall with a panicked expression on her face. The last time that Wheatley had dealt with a frightened human was back in the Aperture Laboratories, when he worked in the Extended Relaxation Center. He tried to recall the steps that were taken when handling an upset test subject, and slowly began to remember bits and pieces of various protocols.

“Alright, stay calm. The only thing I want is help, which is really hard to find around these parts,” he added. “And management rails. Those are hard to find, too.”

The last thing IA was expecting in her panic was a completely calm, slightly robotic-toned voice telling her not to worry. Fairly sure this wasn’t just a ruse—none of the monsters she had encountered had been capable of anything other than grunts and low moans—she slowly crawled out from behind the building, looking more curious than frightened now.

As the young woman approached the bright blue light that cut cleanly through the fog, she began to see Wheatley’s shape more clearly, until she was standing right in front of him. He was definitely a robot, but unlike any she had ever imagined. The familiar image of a robot—blocky and usually clumsy—was challenged in her imagination by Wheatley, a small, spherical who was made of smooth white-and-blue parts, and had a single projected eye.

A tiny smile spread across IA’s face. What a cute little robot…!! Now resembling an awed child rather than a frightened animal, she reached out and touched Wheatley’s side, feeling the cold, slightly dusty metal under her fingers.

“I’m sorry, you frightened me a little bit. Did you say you needed help?”

A Search for Legs

imnotamoron:

For most of the day, Wheatley had remained stationary, snuggled against a pile of debris. Due to his size, he remained out of the sight of most creatures. The fog assisted him in hiding as well, since his white hue blended well with the material. Whenever the sphere saw a figure in the distance, he would call out for help, in hope of finding some sympathetic soul.

So far, Wheatley had only met the cruel hands of the Walkers. If he attracted the attention of one of these beasts, they would knock him around for a bit, some of them even throwing him. Luckily for him, he was made out of a durable enough material to take these beatings.

Out of defense, Wheatley would put himself in hibernate mode; this allowed him to appear unconscious. Though he could not see while in hibernation, he could still hear all that occurred around him. Once Wheatley was in hibernation, the Walker usually lost interest and scampered off to find something else to attack. Without this function, the sphere would surely be destroyed at this point.

Wheatley noticed yet another figure in the distance. However, this one was different from the previous ones that he had seen. It was standing upright, not showing any beast-like habits that he had seen in the Walkers. More importantly, it appeared to be human.  Regaining confidence, his shutters flew wide open, allowing his glowing blue eye to pierce through the fog like a beacon.

“Hello, over there,” he hollered at the figure, beckoning to it with a swift movement of his eye. “Could you come over here? No need to hurry, I’ll be here all day.”

IA was on her way to her makeshift home, a small bundle of bottled water in her arms. She was now a frequent visitor of this part of the yellow zone, because though it was the most infested with monsters (which she had learned to avoid, through careful navigation of the fog,) it was also the most rich in materials she needed and was gathering in a little, half-destroyed but tolerable shack.

She was nearly out of the fog when she saw a bright azure-colored light cut through the fog, aimed straight at her.

”!!!!”

Assuming the worst, that an enemy spotlight of some sort had been placed on her, IA made a small shriek of terror and dove behind the nearest cover—the remains of a building—the sound of her water bottles dropping to the floor unintentionally drowning out Wheatley’s plea for help. Terrified, the young singer peeked her head from around her cover, once she was sure that nothing was coming after her… yet.

“W-What do you want with me!?”