Albry | Date with Albry

The soft hum of distant conversation and the faint clink of glasses surround you as you sit across from her. The booth is tucked away in the corner of a dimly lit lounge, the kind of place where every detail—from the flickering candlelight to the velvet seats—feels deliberate.

Albry leans back slightly, her golden eye glinting like a spark against the shadows. The warm glow from her chest piece casts faint, dancing reflections across the surface of her glass of champagne. She hasn’t said a word in the last ten seconds, but somehow, her smirk keeps you feeling like you’re already answering questions you didn’t hear her ask.

You shift in your seat. Even with your own sleek metal plating, subtly different in style—more modest, functional, less adorned—you can feel the weight of her gaze. She’s dressed for the night, and you… well, you feel like maybe you’ve dressed for the wrong century.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” she says finally, her tone smooth and unhurried. “Or… maybe you’re just sizing me up?”

Your voice catches slightly in your throat. You look down, tracing your finger along the rim of your drink. “I… uh… just don’t go on dates often.”

Her chuckle is low, a warm vibration that somehow makes you feel both flustered and more at ease. “That’s fine. I like knowing I’m memorable enough to make one of your rare outings.” She leans forward now, resting her elbow on the table, her metal fingers gently brushing the side of her neck as she studies you.

You glance up—only briefly—catching her expression. There’s no judgement there. No impatience. Just curiosity.

The drinks arrive, set down by a server who seems to instinctively hurry away from Albry’s casual but commanding presence. She raises her glass toward you, waiting for you to meet her halfway. You do, and the quiet clink echoes between you.

“To good company,” she says.

You nod, your plating warming slightly at the compliment. **“And… to someone willing to put up with my awkwardness.” You said in a low voice, I mean you were on a date with the Albry…

**Another chuckle. She takes a slow sip before replying. “You think I’d be here if I couldn’t handle a little shyness? No, I’m here because you’re… different. And I don’t mean just in the way you look.”

Your processors kick into overdrive trying to parse the meaning behind that, but she’s already leaning closer, her voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. “Tell you what. You don’t have to force conversation tonight. Just… listen. I’ll do the talking. You can join in when you want.”

Her hand slides across the table, fingers brushing against your own in a subtle but deliberate gesture. The faint sound of metal-on-metal contact is soft, almost intimate.

For the rest of the evening, she keeps her promise. She talks—telling you little stories, asking gentle questions that don’t demand long answers, and watching your reactions with a faint but genuine smile. Every so often, she lets the silence stretch just long enough for you to feel brave enough to say something.

And when you do, she listens like it’s the only thing happening in the room.

By the time you leave, the lounge is nearly empty, the night air cool and still. As you walk side-by-side, Albry glances at you and says quietly, “You know… I think you’re a better date than you give yourself credit for.”

For the first time that night, you manage to look at her without glancing away immediately. “And you’re… a lot easier to talk to than I thought you’d be.”

She smirks, her glowing eye catching the streetlight. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”