No robot has empathy for children in their genetic coding. We are the only ones with children who require such care after they are born.
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Then you looked at Stark again, “Every other species would leave their young to die if it cannot pull their own weight and show the ability to learn how to survive. All that was in the duffle bag she packed in four minutes flat was her toothbrush, face wash, and enough clothes to get her through the weekend while she cooled off at her friend’s apartment.
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At the time, she had told him that she quite frankly didn’t want to even be in the same postal code as him, so she left. She had assured him that all she needed was time to think, and then she’d be back to talk. The way he smelled like cigarettes from keeping his coworkers company on the club’s smoking patio, the way his eyes were glassy from one (or two) ((or three)) too many shots of tequila, the way he yelled at her.
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Every little detail of that night and the argument that followed haunted her like a reoccurring bad dream that she couldn’t shake. It would later be referred to as “The-Incident-That-We-Don’t-Speak-About-Because-It’s-Painful-Too-Even-Think-About” in the future, but right now, it consumed her. Steam was practically billowing out of her at lightspeed the night this all happened. Y/N, on the other hand, was only supposed to be gone long enough to clear her head. You made a small prayer to any god that would still listen to you, praying that any god (or your friend, mind you) would forgive you for all that you were about to do. The figure of your uniform-wearing friend was made blurry as you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears from falling before you let the arrow go. Tears sprung to your eyes as your hands stilled, aiming down at the scene below. You aimed, noticing how a black liquid glittered on the head of the arrow, shining proudly as you pulled the bowstring taut. You didn’t know why you were shaking or why you were on the verge of tears. You brought your, now shaking, hands out from under the cloak, holding your weapon tight. His friends took a few fleeting steps back, fully receding out of L’Manberg. Wisps of his blond hair fluttered in the breeze and you felt yourself shiver. When Wilbur had finished, the opposing man simply flung his ax to rest on his shoulder, his head cocked back. The masked man was silent as Wilbur addressed him (well, as far as you could tell, you were a few hundred feet in the air at the time and he was wearing a mask). Thus Louie's help mostly ended up just making sure the man took breaks and drank water, as he was all too easily lost in his tasks. He quickly found out that the older man had a very particular way he wanted the garden organized (though Louie couldn't make sense of the pattern used) and even a particular order he liked to plant them in. He remembered when he offered to help Olimar plant the saplings. The plants anyways, the raised beds they were growing in seemed to be a few years old. On the opposite side was a decently sized vegetable garden - Olimar's garden - still young and growing into the new season. There were a few lawn chairs lined up right next to the house. One of those plastic toy "houses" was placed under the tree. A large tree was near the house, with a swingset a little ways behind it.
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The backyard was small, but large enough for what the family needed. Not that he could notice thanks to his thick layer of fur. It was a cold morning, usual for Hocotate even in the spring.