The Meta in the office gave no acknowledgment of Miriam or Donna, but walked lightly to the door to Ser Harold’s office, opened it, and went in.
Donna’s theatrical shudder drew Miriam’s attention back to her. “I’ll tell you, I don’t mind them, of course,” she said, eyes wide, “but I do wish they were polite and would ask to see Ser Harold like anyone else.”
“Don’t be silly. Politeness is a culturally-defined term,” Miriam muttered. She wanted to talk to that Meta.
Based loosely on a local art festival I attended a couple of weekends ago (also called Art and Soul), I’ve written “Art and Soul“, a little short about… courage?
It was full of limbs. Some with pseudoflesh, some shiny or dull metal, some more plastic-like materials. And all were decorated intricately. The metals were engraved with tight, swirling patterns covering most of the surface, and the pseudofleshes were scarred in similar patterns, as if the wearer had been burned or cut very, very carefully.
No wonder people were giving it a wide berth.
It falls within my newfangled Transhuman Congress ‘verse.