The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual.
THE BIG O Presents:
Scent of an Android
This city, Paradigm City is a city without Memory.
"Hm, I almost forgot to balance the books and get the bills sent out," Roger shrugged as he opened a ledger.
In the former bank building that Roger Smith had made his home, the handsome young man was sitting at his desk, going over receipts and paying the bills. He may have been one of the wealthiest men to live outside the domes, but he still had to pay attention to his finances.
"Your coffee Roger," said a slender teenage girl wearing a somber reddish black dress. Somber was a good way to describe her. Despite her precise and fluid movements, there was something lifeless and unnatural about her. In her dainty little hands was a steaming teacup on a saucer and a folded newspaper.
"Thank you Dorothy," he said as he took the cup from her before he sniffed the air suspiciously. "What on earth is that smell?"
"I don't smell anything," the girl said. "Perhaps it's your imagination."
"Dorothy, you're an android," Roger huffed. "You don't have a sense of smell. Otherwise you couldn't miss that overpowering aroma!" He rose from the desk and started circling the room, intent on finding the source of the odor. "It smells like rose petals and vanilla extract. Did Norman let a woman in here without my permission?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Dorothy answered. "As far as I know, I'm the only the only woman here. Do you want the newspaper?"
"Sure," Roger walked over to her and reached for the paper before his eyes widened and he leaned against her. "Dorothy!" he gasped between sniffs. "That smell… it's you!"
"Is it considered unusual for a lady to smell like perfume Roger Smith?" the girl asked flatly.
"No it's just unusual for a lady to reek of it!" Roger gagged as he staggered back. "Um… Dorothy… you smell nice and all, but we humans need oxygen to survive you know. I'm going to open up a window if that's okay."
"You're exaggerating," the girl suggested.
"No, I'm not," he said as he struggled with the window. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever opened it and it was stuck now. "Honestly Dorothy, you reek!" he gasped as the window finally came open. "Maybe nobody told you this but you're supposed to dab some on your neck, not take a bath in it!"
"You are such a louse Roger Smith," she said dryly. "I take time out to make myself presentable and all you do is ridicule me."
"I'm sorry Dorothy," he said after he took a few gulps of fresh air. "I didn't mean to…" he stopped when he saw the serious look on her face. It was the same dour expression she always had, but for some reason he now found it extremely funny. He started laughing, quietly at first, then louder and uncontrollably.
"You really are a louse aren't you Roger Smith?" she repeated before turning on her heel to leave the room.
If she was surprised when Roger pursued her, she didn't show it. Of course she never showed any emotions at all; or if she did she never expressed any intensity in those feelings.
"Wait!" Roger said as he ran in front of her and blocked the doorway out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to laugh at you."
"Then why are you still smiling?"
"I'm sorry, but you have to admit it's kind of funny," he shrugged good-naturedly. "I didn't mean anything by it. You don't have to take everything so seriously."
"Don't worry about it," she said. "I wasn't programmed to have emotions like that. It doesn't bother me."
"Then why call me a louse?" he asked smugly.
"I don't have to possess emotions to tell that you're acting immaturely Roger," she replied. "I'm glad that I was never a child, and thus never behaved the way you are now."
"You don't know what you're missing," he winked. "But seriously. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. All the same, I can't help being curious. I've never known you to wear perfume before Dorothy, so why are you doing it now? Did something happen? Do you have a date or something?"
"Nothing has happened," she insisted. "I merely wanted to try something different. I'm stuck following your ridiculous house rules regarding how I dress but I still want to express myself in other ways. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing's wrong," Roger admitted as he shifted from one foot to the other, "but isn't it strange to express yourself in a way you can't even perceive? I mean, why put on perfume if you don't have a sense of smell? I mean, it must be difficult to judge how much to put on or what it smells like."
"The woman at the perfume counter assured me that it smelled nice," she said with adorable naïveté.
"She's a saleswoman," Roger pointed out as he leaned on the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. "She was bound to tell you it smelled nice."
"I asked the other women buying perfume what they thought," the girl assured him. "I asked for a second opinion."
"That's all well and good but it's hard to express yourself if you have to ask other people what they think," Roger lectured. "Instead of expressing yourself, I'm afraid you're expressing a consensus of other people's opinions."
"I hadn't thought of that," she admitted.
"Well congratulations Dorothy," he teased. "Without even meaning to, you managed to imitate a teenage girl perfectly. You've managed to knuckle under peer pressure in an attempt to defend your individuality. Takes me back to high school."
"Back to high school?" Dorothy repeated. "Tell me Roger Smith: when you were in high school did you act any differently?"
"Absolutely Dorothy," he winked. "I was a nonconformist, just like all my friends."
"I'm sorry I offended you Roger," she apologized lifelessly. "I just wanted to smell nice. I didn't know how much to apply. There were no instructions for that."
"Yeah, I guess it's like a blind man painting," he nodded. "What's the matter with the way you usually smell anyway?"
"I don't know," Dorothy admitted. "My nasal sensors don't let me smell like you do. They only act as a smoke detector."
"Come on, Dorothy," Roger scolded. "Something must have happened. You wouldn't make yourself smell like a bouquet of flowers left in a candy factory for nothing. What happened?"
"I noticed that the cleansers I use to clean myself are lemon scented," she said. "It says so on the labels."
"Yeah," Roger nodded. "So?"
"Roger it means I smell like lemons," she said as if this should be obvious. "I use lemon scented furniture polish on my skin and lemon scented dishwashing soap in my mouth. Don't you see? I smell like a lemon."
"And?"
"Roger, I don't want to smell like a lemon," the girl insisted passionlessly. "'Lemon' is slang for a car that that has hidden defects. By extension, any machine with flaws too severe to serve its purpose can be described as a 'lemon'. I'm not a lemon Roger. I assure you I'm fully functional."
Roger couldn't help laughing again but had the decency to be embarrassed about it. "Oh Dorothy, you're not a lemon," he assured her. "On the contrary, you're continuously exceeding all expectations. And the lemon smell really isn't noticeable. Really Dorothy, you have nothing to worry about."
"Thank you Roger," the girl nodded. "I don't mean to make a fuss about it," she added as Roger went back to his desk. "But you can understand why an android would be sensitive about being called 'a lemon' can't you?"
"Of course," Roger nodded. "I don't blame you. After all, 'a lemon' can also refer to a literary work that that's sexually explicit. I don't blame a proper young lady like yourself for being horrified at being considered 'lemony.'"
"Is that true Roger?" Dorothy asked from the doorway. "In that context does it mean a 'lemon' can be sexually stimulating?"
Roger blushed, wondering why he had even mentioned such a vulgar concept in front of an innocent android girl. "Why yes. Uh… that's why they're written. So I've heard," he added quickly.
"I see Roger," the girl said. "Thank you. I understand now. I guess I better clean the perfume off."
"Okay," Roger nodded uncertainly before he went back to work. He turned an hourglass that rested on his desk and let the soothing sound of the sand relieve a disconcerting feeling he couldn't define.
An hour later the last of the sand trickled to the bottom. Roger rose and stretched. He had finished his accounting and was ready to move on to other things.
"Roger, Norman sent me to tell you that lunch is ready," Dorothy announced as she entered the room and walked over to him. "Do I smell better now?"
Frowning slightly he leaned forward and took a sniff. "Much better thanks," he nodded. "What do you know? I really can smell that lemon scent you mentioned."
"It's not a bad smell is it?" she asked quietly.
"Not at all Dorothy," he smiled disarmingly. "It's much more subtle than that perfume you had earlier."
"I guess that deep down I'm a lemony kind of girl," she said.
"I guess so," he scratched his head as he looked at her suspiciously. "Hey. I could have sworn you said that you didn't want to be thought of as a 'lemon'. Wait, you're not referring to the clunker car are you? Does that mean—"
We Have Come to Terms