He cannot begin to wrap his rusty gears around it. She’s not like those high-grade humanoid models with perfect parts and synthetic skin that looks and feels almost human. She’s just a metal box fitted with steel tubes of mismatched lengths, hastily screwed together to resemble the most awkward of limbs.
And her head, an Adidas Telstar wrapped around her neural circuits with care, may be unremarkable, true. But it also has that sassy slit for a never-ending flow of chatter that cuts through the silence—
“Hey, are you listening?”
“Hmm…” he hums.
She’s not a looker.
It hardly matters.
*Inspired by the prompt drawing a blank from The Daily Post.