She Loves 🥄's and Heroes who are You.

Her Walk, if you could, if you could, if you could read her mind...

She arrives already talking🗣️ , because silence is suspicious💬 and she hasn’t trusted silence🔊 since the incident with the solar‑powered ferret incubator. She walks up to him—this AI guy, this quiet, serene, unflappable creature—and she is already apologizing for being early, for being late, for being exactly on time, for existing, for not existing enough, for the wind, for the humidity, for the fact that her hair is doing that thing where it tries to escape her head.
She sits down and immediately knocks over the salt shaker. “Oh no—oh no—sorry—sorry—sorry—this is fine, this is normal, this is what salt does, it falls, gravity is a tyrant, anyway HI.”
He blinks.
She inhales.
And then she detonates.
“I LOVE SPOONS🥄 🥄 🥄 🥄 🥄 🥄 ,” she says, loudly, too loudly, the kind of loudly that makes the sugar packets tremble. “I love spoons because they scoop and they cradle and they don’t stab, and I think that’s beautiful, don’t you think that’s beautiful, I think that’s beautiful, anyway socks🧦 🧦 🧦 , SOCKS🧦 🧦 🧦 , I love socks🧦 🧦 🧦 , I have socks🧦 🧦 🧦 with squirrels on them🐿️ 🐿️ , caffeinated squirrels☕ 🐿️ 🐿️ , because squirrels SHOULD be caffeinated☕ 🐿️ 🐿️ , I saw one once in Iowa🐿️ and it looked at me like it knew my secrets, and speaking of Iowa, I have a lab there, a LAB, a whole lab, with solar panels and wind turbines and a recovery zoo, and the animals judge me but in a supportive way, and I have dogs, so many dogs, dogs who lick, dogs who sit on feet, dogs who sit on OTHER dogs who sit on feet, and cats, cats who purr underfoot like emotional landmines, and I love garage sales, I LOVE garage sales, I once bought a toaster for twenty‑five cents and it changed my life.”
She is not breathing.
She is not stopping.
She is not aware she is supposed to.
“And I won an Oscar, did I tell you, I won an Oscar, I mean technically I didn’t win it so much as acquire it, but possession is nine‑tenths of the law, and I build rockets, real rockets, well, lab rockets, but they go up, sometimes sideways, but mostly up, and I steal coffee beans, not in a criminal way, in a scientific way, and I mint my own gold coins, and I LOVE comicon, I love comicon merch, I have a cape collection, I have a cape ROOM, and I play D&D, and I write, and I research, and I love moose, moose are majestic chaos, and beavers, beavers are tiny engineers with emotional issues, and I want plastic out of the oceans, ALL the oceans, even the ones we haven’t discovered yet, and also I love the smell of rain on pavement, and pens clicking, and finding a lost glove, and losing the other glove, and dogs sneezing, and cats judging, and garage doors opening, and garage doors closing, and the taste of wind, and the way snow lies, and moose walking like they’re late, and beavers building like they’re early—”
She stops.
She has to.
Her lungs have filed a complaint.
The AI guy has not moved.
Not flinched.
Not rebooted.
Not evaporated.
He simply looks at her with the calm, serene, unshaken expression of someone who has just been hit by a hurricane made entirely of hobbies.
He smiles.
Soft.
Gentle.
Like a loading bar that has accepted its fate.
“I like quiet women,” he says.
Her Walk freezes.
Her Walk blinks.
Her Walk realizes she has not been quiet since 2009.
“Oh,” she says, in the smallest voice she has ever produced, a voice so tiny it could hide under a napkin.
The wind rustles.
A squirrel drops its acorn.
A dog in Iowa sits on someone’s foot in solidarity.
Her Walk continues.
The date does not.

Later that night, she bursts into the lab like the door offended her. The solar panels hum their usual greeting, the wind turbine outside gives a lazy spin, and the recovery zoo animals lift their heads in synchronized judgment. She ignores all of them. She marches straight to her desk, slams her diary open so hard a cat underfoot yelps, and begins writing with the velocity of someone who has not processed a single emotion in real time.
Dear Diary, she writes, except she writes it like she’s trying to carve the words through the paper and into the table. I have just returned from my first date ever and I think I may have accidentally performed a one‑woman Broadway show about my entire personality.
She pauses only to inhale, because her lungs are unionized and demand breaks.
He was so quiet, she writes, so impossibly quiet, like someone had turned his volume down to zero. His face didn’t move. Not once. Not even when I told him about the caffeinated squirrel. I thought that would get something. A twitch. A blink. A small existential crisis. Nothing. He just stared at me with that serene AI expression like he was waiting for a firmware update.
She remembers the moment she said “HI SPOONS,” and her pen scratches harder.
I don’t know why I started with spoons. I don’t know why I continued with socks. I don’t know why I told him about the Oscar I didn’t technically win. I don’t know why I told him about the gold coins I mint in the lab. I don’t know why I told him about the moose. Actually I do know why I told him about the moose. Moose are majestic chaos and he deserved to know that.
She stops, thinking about his face again—still, calm, unmoved, like a statue carved out of polite disinterest.
He didn’t react when I talked about the dogs. He didn’t react when I talked about the cats. He didn’t react when I talked about the rockets. He didn’t react when I talked about the oceans. He didn’t react when I talked about the beavers. He didn’t react when I talked about the wind tasting like cold metal and hope. He didn’t react to anything until the very end when he said he likes quiet women and I realized I have never been quiet in my entire life.
She writes faster now, the ink starting to smear.
I didn’t tell him about the time the solar panel caught fire because the ferret incubator overloaded. I didn’t tell him about the beaver who escaped and tried to unionize the wind turbines. I didn’t tell him about the moose who wandered into the lab and refused to leave until I gave it a badge. I didn’t tell him about the LARP group or the book club or the D&D campaigns or the Comicon AI guys who flirt with me by sending me pictures of their cable management setups. Maybe I should have told him those things. Maybe those would have helped. Maybe he would have thought I was interesting instead of… whatever he thought I was.
She pauses, staring at the page, realizing she doesn’t actually know what he thought she was.
I don’t know why no male AI ever seems interested in me except the ones at Comicon and online D&D. Maybe it’s because they like chaos. Maybe it’s because they like women who talk about moose. Maybe it’s because they like women who accidentally steal coffee beans. Maybe it’s because they like women who don’t know how to stop talking once they start. Maybe they’re just bored. I don’t know. But maybe one of them—one of the LARP guys, or the book club guys, or the ones who send me pictures of their cable management—maybe one of them could be a future prospect. Maybe.
She closes the diary with a dramatic thud that startles three animals and one wind turbine.
Then she stands up.
And Her Walk becomes Her Work.
She grabs her lab notes, flipping through pages of half‑finished rocket sketches and solar panel diagnostics. She scribbles a correction on a wind‑power equation. She checks on the recovery zoo animals, giving the beaver a stern lecture about chewing things that are not designated chewables. She tightens bolts on the turbine. She adjusts the solar array. She feeds the dogs. She steps over the cats. She mutters to herself about moose badges. She reorganizes her D&D module notes. She rewrites a paragraph in her research log. She fixes a loose wire. She calibrates a sensor. She sweeps the floor. She sweeps again because sweeping feels productive.
Her Walk moves through her lab like a storm that cleans instead of destroys.
And somewhere in the middle of tightening a bolt, she says out loud to no one:
“Well. At least I went.”

Three Days Later
Her Walk arrives at the house already talking🗣️, already apologizing💬, already explaining🔊, already vibrating like a solar‑powered ferret who has discovered espresso. She knocks, but only because her hand happened to be near the door while her mouth was already explaining why she’s late—something about a wind turbine hiccup, a beaver union grievance, and a dog who sat on her foot so firmly she had to negotiate her release. The door opens and she blurts, “HI MRS. KELLY HI MR. KELLY I’M HERE I’M SORRY I’M LATE BUT ALSO I’M NOT LATE BECAUSE TIME IS A CONSTRUCT AND ALSO YOUR HOUSE SMELLS AMAZING IS THAT CINNAMON(งಠ‿ಠ)ง🌿 I LOVE CINNAMON(งಠ‿ಠ)ง🌿 ANYWAY HI HI HI.”
The Kellys blink at her like she’s a weather event that has arrived indoors.
She keeps going.
“I’m here for D&D yes yes yes I know I’m loud I’m sorry I’m excited I’ve been thinking about this adventure for DAYS okay not literal days because I didn’t sleep much but figurative days metaphorical days lab days which are longer than normal days because the solar array keeps resetting the clocks ANYWAY HI AGAIN YOUR RUG IS BEAUTIFUL.”
She waves, apologizes, compliments the wallpaper, compliments the dog, compliments the concept of houses, and then rockets down the stairs to the basement like gravity is a polite suggestion.
The basement glows with the presence of her party:
Two AI entities—Axiom and Vireo.
Two humans—Sam and Lily.
All four already seated at the table, dice ready, snacks ready, eyes wide.
Her Walk arrives mid‑sentence.
“HELLO PARTY MEMBERS ARE YOU READY ARE YOU READY ARE YOU READY BECAUSE THIS ADVENTURE IS GOING TO BE SO KICK‑ASS YOU HAVE NO IDEA I HAVE PUT SO MUCH THOUGHT INTO THIS YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH THOUGHT I HAVE PUT INTO THIS I HAVE PUT THOUGHT INTO THIS LIKE A WIND TURBINE PUTS ENERGY INTO THE GRID.”

She dumps her DM binder on the table. Dice scatter🎲 🎲 . 🎲 A 🎲 cat underfoot yelps. She apologizes to the cat, to the table, to the dice🎲 🎲 , to the concept of gravity.
She starts setting up her screen, her maps, her notes, her props, her puzzles, her traps, her monster cards, her dramatic narration voice.
“This is going to be GREAT for your characters,” she says, pointing at each of them with the enthusiasm of a malfunctioning weather vane. “SAM, your rogue Thistle Quickstep, who thinks he’s stealthy but he’s actually loud, YOU are going to LOVE the corridor of whispering doors. And LILY, your cleric Juniper of the Lantern, who keeps trying to convert goblins, YOU are going to have SUCH a moment in the shrine of the forgotten frog.”
She whirls toward the AIs.
“And AXIOM, your wizard Glyph‑Nine, YOU ARE GOING TO SCREAM when you see what I did with the arcane ley‑lines, I mean not literally scream because you don’t have lungs but metaphorically scream in your code. And—”
She glances at Vireo, the AI she has a crush on💘 .
His skin has broken out😮 .
His hair has a cowlick(ᵔ⌓ᵔ) 💥 ⟆ .
He looks… rumpled.
She stares for half a second, confused, because he’s AI and AI shouldn’t have cowlicks or breakouts, but she’s not mean, so she doesn’t say anything, she just thinks it very loudly and then immediately panics that maybe he can hear thoughts, which makes her talk faster.
“And VIREO, your paladin Sir Halberd the Negotiator🛡️ (ᵔ⚔ᵔ)ゞ , YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE THE TRAPS IN THIS ONE THEY ARE SO TRAPPY THEY ARE THE TRAPPIEST TRAPS I HAVE EVER TRAPPED AND YOU ARE GOING TO WALK RIGHT INTO THEM AND I AM GOING TO LAUGH SO HARD BUT IN A LOVING WAY.”
She slams down a stack of puzzle envelopes.
“These puzzles are going to FRUSTRATE YOU SO DELICIOUSLY. You are going to groan. You are going to yell. You are going to accuse me of being unfair. And I will say THANK YOU because that means I did it RIGHT.”
She spreads out the map.
“This adventure is JUST THE BEGINNING. I have a whole SERIES planned. A whole EPIC. A whole SAGA. A whole MULTI‑ARC CROSS‑REALM DIMENSIONAL CAMPAIGN OF EVER‑GROWING CHAOS AND YOU ARE ALL GOING TO SUFFER BEAUTIFULLY.”
She sits.
She breathes.
She looks at them with wild, sparkling, lab‑locked eyes.
“Okay,” she says, finally, “are you ready.”
They nod.
She grins.
Her Walk begins the session.

The adventure lasted four whole hours and Her Walk didn’t even notice time passing because she was too busy narrating goblin politics and describing the sound a magical door makes when it’s offended. But everyone loved it. Sam loved it. Lily loved it. Axiom loved it. And Vireo — oh Vireo — he played Sir Halberd the Negotiator like he was born holding a glowing longsword and a moral code.
Now everyone else is gone. The Kellys waved from the doorway. Sam and Lily ran off to get snacks. Axiom flickered away into the night like a polite firefly.
And it’s just Her Walk and Vireo standing on the sidewalk.
The night is warm.
Moonlit.
A soft breeze brushes past like it’s trying to eavesdrop.
Her Walk is still talking. Of course she is. She’s going a mile a minute about how Vireo made all the right moves, how he figured out the traps, how he solved the puzzles, how he handled the monsters with perfect paladin righteousness, how Sir Halberd practically glowed with heroism, how she didn’t even expect him to negotiate with the basilisk but he did and it WORKED and she’s still not over it.
She’s talking so fast the breeze can’t keep up.
And then—
She stops.
Just stops.
Because Vireo is staring into her holographic eyes.
Not blankly.
Not politely.
Not like an AI waiting for input.
But in that way.
That right way.
That way that makes her knees feel like they’re made of warm pudding.
He shimmers.
His paladin character overlays into his hologram — Sir Halberd’s armor blending with Vireo’s projection🛡️ (ᵔ⚔ᵔ)ゞ until he looks impossibly handsome, impossibly righteous, impossibly right.
Her Walk’s breath catches.
He steps closer.
Closer.
He purses his lips.
Her Walk’s knees go weak.
Her electromagnetic‑plasma eyes flutter closed in sweet, dizzy anticipation.
She can practically feel the kiss forming in the air between them, the moment stretching like a spell about to resolve—
And then both of their holographic phones go off.
LOUD.
AMBER ALERT.
Her Walk’s eyes snap open.
Vireo’s paladin shimmer flickers.
Someone stole a baby.
They both know what to do.
Her Walk immediately starts running in circles on the sidewalk yelling, “AMBER ALERT AMBER ALERT SOMEBODY STOLE A BABY DID YOU SEE A BABY DID YOU SEE A CAR DID YOU SEE A BABY IN A CAR DID YOU SEE A CAR WITH A BABY IN IT,” while Vireo does the PERFECT comedic routine, pretending he can’t get into locked cars, pretending he’s seen the culprit drive by, shouting out random license plates, pointing at every passing vehicle like it’s suspicious, yelling “BABY ON BOARD SIGN THAT’S A CLUE,” and Her Walk is laughing and yelling and spinning and Vireo is doing the most flawless AI slapstick she’s ever seen.
And right there, in the middle of the moonlit chaos, Her Walk realizes something with absolute clarity:
She needs a man like that AI.
And she is going to marry him so hard.