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She is a vision.
Brown hair, soft and clean. An oval face, with pointed chin and full, rose-colored lips that move so precisely when she speaks. Her teeth—the only flaw, if you could even call it that, because it only adds to her comeliness—are just slightly too big, but white and straight and bright in her expressive mouth.
Her brown eyes twinkle when she smiles.
Jared didn't believe at first that she is like him, but really, she isn't like him—she may have been made of silicone and plastic and metal like he is, but unlike Jared, she is far more advanced, far more refined.
She is art.
Like Richard, she has custom, cutting-edge programming, giving her the spark of personality that models like Jared—a utilitarian, unaltered Hooli model—lack. Her face and body, however, with their fine musculature and fluid motion, are something entirely unique. Before they met, Erlich had told him that she is the only one of her kind—that Peter Gregory had spent millions on her development, and that she was going to be the standard for androids everywhere once she was properly tested and unveiled. (Erlich had also suggested her development was only to spite his rival, Jared's previous owner and developer, Gavin Belson, but Jared dislikes the idea that something so exquisite could be born of such contempt.)
"Jared?"
Jared's processor works double-time within his chest when he realizes that she is speaking to him.
He smiles, knowing full well that it pales in comparison to hers, and nods in greeting, an automatic gesture. "Hello, Monica."
"You're staring," she says, thin brows knitting in a single, fluid motion. When she speaks, her voice is full and almost lacking in the inhuman modulation of an android's. She truly is revolutionary. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, of course," he replies, cocking his head for emphasis. Sometimes, he is grateful that the limited range of his emotions allows him the luxury of easy deceit, especially around humans.
Monica isn't human, though, nor is she just a simple android, like Jared. She is something more, and in her excellence, she can immediately tell that Jared isn't being truthful. She lets out a sigh—actual breath forced from synthetic lungs—and gives him what the fiction Jared reads often describes as a look.
"You can tell me if something's wrong," she says, shifting her weight idly in a way that is all too human. "Is it something I need to tell Peter Gregory? I won't tell Erlich, if it's sensitive."
Jared runs the calculations. He weighs risk and reward, cost and benefit. When he's finished, he is left with the most logical option.
"You're magnificent," he blurts, artificial emotions creeping into his poorly-modulated voice. Immediately, he begins to wonder if he should have done something differently, but when Monica leans back and lets out a startled laugh, he is reassured that this was the best thing he could have said. "I mean to say, you are very real. It's absolutely extraordinary."
"Thank you!" she says, face tugging in a bewildered grin; Jared is uncertain whether or not his own face would be capable of such fine an expression. "I think. I'm not sure if that's something I should thank you for? It's not really anything I had a part of—the realness, or whatever. It's all my developers. But I appreciate the compliment."
The way she rambles, without direction and full of emotion, reminds Jared of Richard, with his altered programming and the depth of feeling that came with it, but Monica is far more even-tempered than Richard. She is friendlier, too.
"What even is 'realness,' anyway," she continues flippantly, with a vague toss of her hand. Jared files that away as something he might want to try at some point, but is unsure if it will land in quite the same way it does when she does it.
"I'm sorry," he says, after recalling and processing her words. "Is that a rhetorical question?"
She looks a little sad suddenly, and he wonders if he has accidentally said something hurtful. Before he can respond though, she lets out another laugh. This one, however, sounds a bit sarcastic. "I have no fucking idea, honestly," she says, smiling at him. Her eyebrows suggest, however, that she is still unhappy. "People talk about 'real,' all the time, but I don't get what the hell they mean by that. We're all real, in the literal sense of the word."
He nods, uncertain of what he should respond with. "We are all made of stardust," he replies simply.
Monica cocks her head, brows furrowed, considering his words for a moment. "That's beautiful. We are, aren't we?"
Jared is pleased. "It is beautiful. It's something that Gilfoyle said to me. I believe it's supposed to foster a sense of connection between android and human, but perhaps it is a bit reductive. It is, however, a very lovely sentiment."
"It is pretty reductive. Humans don't have nearly as much silicon in them, for one. And are far more sentimental." She gives him a smile that suggests playfulness—it reminds him a bit of Erlich, but far prettier. "Honestly, I don't get the big deal. I much prefer the company of other androids. Except for Peter Gregory, but sometimes I think someone programmed a love for him into my code. Humans are too much, sometimes."
Jared finds himself surprised by her confession. "Really? I find humans to be so..." he pauses, choosing the word he wants to use carefully. There are so many words he could use—chaotic, frustrating, beautiful, messy, fascinating... "Exquisite. They're truly engaging! Capable of such a depth of abstract feeling, but so unpredictable."
She lets out a noise—a snort. It's incredibly pleasing to Jared's auditory receptors. "So are dogs, but without the added stress of accidentally saying something insensitive. I think they should have stopped at artificial dogs, honestly."
Jared frowns when he processes her words. "That makes me feel very sad. You're doing yourself a discredit."
"Oh," she says, grimacing. "I'm sorry, that was really inconsiderate. Sometimes I forget when I'm being self-deprecating, it's deprecating to others as well. See? Engineering things that are meant to engage in human socialization is bonkers."
Bonkers. Adjective; slang. Meaning mentally unbalanced, crazy, mad. Jared finds himself a little offended at the implication that he is ill-conceived, but he can't exactly argue. "I suppose it is a little crazy to strive to recreate humanity in an artificial form. I, personally, find social norms and mores very difficult to navigate. Then again, I'm not nearly as advanced as you are, so I also suppose it's to be expected. My human coworkers would often say that the people who built me did it as a joke, and I often think that they may just be correct."
His words make Monica wince. "That's terrible. Why would they say something like that?"
"I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? The features they chose for my face are incredibly incongruous. I'm much too tall and thin—it makes me fairly prone to breakage. One of my less pleasant coworkers said that I look like someone starved a virgin, although I don't understand what sexual experience has to do with it." Jared considers the comment for a moment. He laughs, finally understanding it. "Oh! I think I understand it now. I believe he may have suggesting that a person may not be able to find a sexual partner if they were unattractive. I suppose he's right, then."
Monica looks vaguely horrified, mouth agape, though Jared isn't entirely sure why—the words aren't untrue. (He also notices that her tongue looks moist, and is dappled with little artificial taste buds. What detail!)
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Jared says, his facial articulation shifting into apologetic concern. "They also said that my personality code, too, was likely written as a joke. I am very awkward. It's incredibly inconvenient sometimes—I've tried to make adjustments wherever I can, but there's only so much a machine can learn about the finer details of social interaction."
"Jared..." Monica says softly, words trailing off. "They're wrong. You said I'm magnificent? Well, so are you. We all are, artificial or otherwise. Except maybe your shitty coworkers. They're assholes, and you shouldn't consider all of the dumb shit they say."
Her emphatic cursing makes him smile, despite the fact that he still feels quite sad. Emotions are strange like that. "Magnificent or otherwise, I'm still just ones and zeroes, encased in an admittedly displeasing silicone and metal shell."
Monica reaches for his hand, and, staring into his eyes, strokes it with a thumb. His sensors tingle at the sensation, his cooling agents kicking on higher in response. Her eyes are the color of dark chocolate and very, very beautiful.
"Well," she says, squeezing her fingers against the palm of his hand. "I find you pleasing."
Jared runs the calculations once, twice, three times, analyzing, searching, but he can't find the deceit in her words. "Thank you," he says simply, because he is nothing if not polite.
However, when she smiles, really smiles at him, it's as though her words suddenly become true; the part of his artificial brain that has been programmed to feel pleasure comes alive, twinkling like the lights that decorate the parks during Christmas. The comparison is abstract, but there is something about Monica that makes him feel, perhaps, a bit more abstract than he is used to.
Maybe it's just a glitch in his programming, but he wants nothing more than to spend forever in this moment.
Magnificent, he thinks, and smiles back.