[color=39b54a][b]Dr. Arthur West, Ace's Diner[/b][/color]

[i]"I shouldn't have assumed and asked you what you liked, first. Would you rather have one of those?  Don't be shy, I can tell you're just trying to be polite.  Order whatever you want."[/i]

"No, no this is fine," Arthur replied quickly, "Really, its...good." He took another sip, but could hardly hold back a gag, which translated to a very odd gulp as he swallowed the liquid. He then pushed the bottle away, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to finish it, "I'm uh...just not a very big drinker," He said, trying to offer an explanation. He wasn't lying of course: he wasn't a drinker, rarely even touching The Institute's synthesized alcohol, but that wasn't the main reason for his discomfort. 

[i]She finished off her beer and moved on to Arthur's discarded stout.  "Whatever Vault-Tec was trying to do, it must have worked.  You definitely don't talk the same as any other surface...person. 'Normal robots,' now that's funny.  As far as I know, only that 'Institute' played around with the people-bots.  But you can shoot them dead just like the rest of 'em," she shrugged.  "I overheard some of the other officers talking, once, saying some of them were programmed to think they were [i]people[/i], had no idea they were robots.  Something like, they would break and bleed just like flesh and bone, and they never knew they were anything but a regular human."  Frieda nudged him playfully in the arm.  "I bet you've stitched up a couple out here in the wastes and never knew it, huh?"[/i]

"Oh well...I suppose its possible," He shrugged nervously, while his face turned a bit red from Frieda's touch. She was right. He almost certainly had at some point, in fact. He'd suspected a few now and again, but there was no way of knowing for sure without, well, an autopsy. Although, having lived around them so long, he and many in The Institute had become observant of Synth behavior, and there were some occasional things he noticed that could mean someone was one. A lack of a reaction to certain stimuli for instance, especially where medical treatment was concerned: small, subtle things that even the most observant person could still miss if they weren't looking for them. 
[i]

"It's a little fascinating, how they've managed to dig themselves out of near-annihilation and all.  I love it and hate it, you know?  But I'm presumed dead, and frankly, I don't want to go back.  There was nothing left for me, there.  What's the point of considering yourself greater than the rest of the population, if you won't value your own kind?"  She paused, brooding.[/i]"

Arthur sat silent for a moment, thinking over what she'd just said. It was clear she was, in many ways, just as conflicted as he was about the wasteland. Most in The Institute regarded it either with playful curiosity, like Rick, or outright contempt and fear. The latter being far more prevalent. Arthur found he was straddling both simultaneously. The surface fascinated and disgusted him in equal measure, and he still wasn't sure which of those emotions might win out.

"If..you don't mind me asking," He began, hesitantly, "Why did you leave The E.." He stopped himself, realizing that prying ears and eyes were no doubt all around, and he'd gotten in the habit of always assuming someone might be listening, "..your people..that is, what made you leave? You say you don't want to go back...why?"