The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual.
THE BIG O Presents:
Roger's Little Girl
By Galaxy1001D
This city, Paradigm City, is a city of Amnesia.
"You forgot?"
In the heart of the city, outside of the titanic geodesic domes that protect the neighborhoods and estates of the rich stood a spacious white tower that was formerly a bank before Roger Smith made it his home.
In that ivory building was an office where Roger Smith sat at a large desk decorated with numerous hourglasses. He was on the telephone and seemed agitated. He was clad in black suspenders with matching trousers, with a crisp white shirt and a black tie was bisected by a gray stripe. Roger was young, the definition of 'tall, dark, and handsome', but that didn't mean that never had trouble finding a date for the evening.
"What do you mean you made another engagement and can't make it?" he whined into the telephone. "Come on Carol, we made reservations a week ago! Do you mean to tell me you forgot?" He listened for a moment. "Fine. Okay. Hopefully we can get together some other time then. Take care. You too. Bye." He hung up the phone in disgust. "Women."
"Problem Master Roger?" his elderly butler asked him.
"Yes Norman," Roger huffed. "Carol can't make it. It seems that our dinner date is cancelled. Standing me up I can understand but for crying out loud! I had tickets for the dinner show!"
"I can go with you Roger," a slender teenage girl announced quietly as she entered the room. She was dressed in a reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy haircut was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. "There's no point having to miss your reservation. If your date can't make it, I shall have to fill in."
"That… won't be necessary Dorothy," Roger blushed. "The show at the Cobalt Club is pretty risqué. I don't think you'll like it."
"I won't know until I go will I?" the girl asked calmly.
"Dorothy, that show is for adults only," Roger told her. "I don't think it's something for proper young ladies like you to go to. Sorry Dorothy. I'm not taking you."
"You made reservations to see seminude dancing girls, is that the problem Roger Smith?" Dorothy asked. "That's okay; the dancers were the same at the Nightingale."
"Your father had no business taking such a young girl to a club like that," Roger scolded. "It doesn't matter if you are an android. How old are you anyway? One? Two? How long ago were you first activated anyway? It doesn't matter whether you're made of metal or flesh and blood, until your age has double digits I'm not taking you to a place like that."
"You're treating me like a child Roger Smith," the girl said as she narrowed her eyes. She didn't raise her voice, but Roger had learned what it meant when she used both his first and last name.
"You are a child Dorothy Wayneright," the young bachelor retorted. "Timothy Wayneright created you to replace the daughter he lost forty years ago. You were created to be his little girl. Your primary function is to be his child. Maybe someday you can grow out of that role but I don't think you can do it in just a year or two. I'm sorry Dorothy. You look like a child. You were designed and built to be a child. You. Are. A. Child."
"Is that your final word on the subject Roger Smith?" the girl asked calmly. "That I'm only a child?"
"Yes," Roger grunted. "When you learn more about the world, when you learn more about yourself, maybe you can be treated as a grownup but for now you are a little girl and I'm going to protect you, just like you hired me to."
"From everyone?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Even from you?"
Roger gave a nervous laugh. "Especially from me. I've tried to be discreet about it, but there are times I need female company. But don't worry, I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman with you. As far as I'm concerned you're a dependent, not a paramour. You needn't worry about that Dorothy."
Dorothy's neutral expression appeared to be a frown but then her neutral expression often appeared to a frown. "So not only am I an android, but I'm an underage android," she said. "Is that what you're saying?"
"Yup," he shrugged. "That's about the size of it."
"You really are such a louse Roger Smith," she announced.
"Hey!" he protested good-naturedly. "I'm only looking out for you. Forgive me for having a shred of decency."
"Is that how you see me then?" she asked, "as a child?"
"I don't have to see you as anything Dorothy," he shrugged. "You are a child. Different from other children, but yeah, you're a child. Enjoy these innocent years while you have them Dorothy. They won't come back again."
"I wouldn't describe the last year of being kidnapped, placed in a megadeus, held at gunpoint and having my mind overridden as 'innocent'," she calmly protested.
"Well, maybe the next year will be different," he shrugged again. "We'll see."
As Roger flipped through his little black book and dialed the number of another woman he knew he didn't notice the humming sound from the drive in Dorothy's head. He would notice that things were different the next morning though.
Whenever Roger slept in Dorothy had the annoying habit of waking him up by playing the piano in the parlor right outside his bedroom. Each time it was the same obnoxious classical tune. This morning he woke to a completely different noise that was even more jarring.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"Ah!" he cried as he nearly jumped out of bed. He staggered to his door clutching his pillow. He opened the door and gaped at the sight before him.
Dorothy Wayneright was skipping rope in the parlor outside his bedroom. She was wearing a large red bow in her hair and chanting a sequence of numbers. "Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three…" The walls shook and crumbs of plaster fell from the ceiling with every jump.
"Dorothy!" Roger barked. "R Dorothy Wayneright! What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?"
"I'm skipping rope Roger Smith," she replied without pausing in her activity. "That's what children do, isn't it? They skip rope."
"You're causing the plaster to fall from the ceiling!" he shouted. "Look! My pictures are falling off the mantelpiece! Are you trying to knock a hole in the floor?"
"Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight…"
"Stop jumping rope this instant!" he roared. When she stopped he continued his rant. "Where did you get a jump rope anyway? We don't have a jump rope!"
"It's not a jump rope, it's a clothesline," she informed him.
"Well put it back where you found it!" Roger ordered. "Honestly, I don't know what got into you Dorothy! You knocked all the pictures off the walls! What possessed you to…"
"Am I in trouble Roger?" she asked him.
"You most certainly are!" he exclaimed. "You're going to clean this up and then…"
"Are you going to spank me Roger Smith?"
"What?" he blinked and took a step back. "Spank you?"
"Is everything all right in here?" Norman said as he entered the parlor carrying a portable machine gun. "It sounds like we're under attack!"
"No Norman, everything's fine," Roger sighed. "Dorothy here was just playing jump rope."
"Roger is going to spank me," she added. "I've been bad and have to be punished."
"What?" Roger sputtered.
"Spank you?" Norman's eyebrows rose eagerly. "In that case, perhaps I should leave the two of you alone! Would you like me to draw the curtains and put on some soft music before I go?"
"Nobody's spanking anybody Norman!" Roger insisted.
"It's all right Roger," the girl assured him. "It's padded. You won't break your hand if you avoid my hips."
"I'm not spanking you Dorothy!" he growled.
"Let the good times roll," Norman chuckled as he carried the machine gun out of the parlor.
"Now that I'm your little girl should I call you 'Father'?" Dorothy asked.
"Father?" Roger frowned. "My little girl? Don't be ridiculous!"
"You're right, that is way too mature," Dorothy agreed. "I should call you 'Daddy'."
"Don't even go there!" he warned her.
"Daddy, I'm bored," she said calmly. "Why don't you buy me any toys?"
"Knock it off Dorothy!"
"I want a pony," she said lifelessly. "I want some ice cream. I want a doggy. I want a kitty."
"Stop it!"
"When I grow up, can I be a ballerina?" she asked in her prim calm voice. "I bet I could be the bestest little ballerina in the whole world."
"Knock it off," he growled as he left the room. "I'm going to have breakfast."
Breakfast brought no respite.
"Daddy?" Dorothy chanted. "Daddy. Daddy? Daddy. Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy…"
"Shut up!" Roger barked. "Knock it off!"
"Am I in trouble, Daddy?" the girl asked.
"Why are you being so childish?" he grumbled.
"Because I'm a child," she replied calmly. "That's what children do, isn't it Roger Smith? They behave childishly."
"Is this because of what I said yesterday?"
"You treat me like a child," she explained. "Therefore I am acting like one."
"Okay you've made your point," Roger grumbled. "I get it. I'm sorry called you a child. Now grow up a bit will you?"
"So am I considered an adult then Roger?"
Roger gave a shaky grin and made a dismissive gesture. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves!" he chuckled nervously. "You still have a long way to go."
"Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy…"
"Knock it off!" he put his hands over his ears. "You're like a machine!"
"I am a machine," Dorothy retorted calmly, "and I want a dolly. Daddy."
"Well you're not that kind of machine!" Roger insisted. "Come on Dorothy. Have a heart. You know what I meant when I said that you were still a kid."
"Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy…"
"I didn't mean it literally!"
"Didn't you?" she asked lifelessly. "I thought that was the message you were trying to convey. You made it clear enough. I'm just a little girl."
"Not that little!"
"How little then?" she asked. "Exactly how young am I? You made me sound quite juvenile."
"I don't know," Roger shrugged. "A teenager I guess."
"Then I'm old enough to go on a date," she decided. "You said that you only date girls who have a double digit age. I only have to be ten to qualify."
"Quit acting so…"
"…Childish?" she finished. "I thought that was expected of me. I thought that was my purpose. I was created to be a little girl. I'm only trying to fulfill my primary function."
"Fulfill it when I'm not home then," Roger growled. "Not in front of me!"
"I was created to be Daddy's little girl," Dorothy clarified. "Since you are the head of the household, I presume that means you."
"Well stop," Roger sighed. "I can't take it anymore."
"Am I still considered a child then?" the girl asked.
"You'd make a good negotiator," Roger muttered.
"I learned from the best," Dorothy conceded, "but you haven't answered my question. Do you still consider me to be a child, Roger Smith?"
"If I say yes, you'll continue to drive me crazy won't you?"
"It seems likely."
"Then no," Roger sighed. "No Dorothy, you're not a child, you're a perfectly mature adult. Okay?"
"Thank you," Dorothy said as she took the enormous bow off her head. "So where are you taking me?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Our date," she clarified. "You said that you couldn't take me out because I was too young. Now that we've established that I am not, you can treat me as a full grown woman."
"Those reservations were for last night Dorothy," Roger muttered. "Drop it."
"Where do you want to go tonight then?"
"Nowhere," he grunted. "I'm not taking you anywhere tonight."
"Tomorrow then," she suggested. "Where are you taking me tomorrow?"
"Dorothy, we're not going on a date," Roger shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you're just not my type."
"You still think of me as too young, don't you?"
"No I don't, I think of you as too made-of-metal," Roger grunted.
"You think I'm too young," Dorothy said as she placed the bow back on her head. "That's okay. As long as you show me some kind affection that's all that matters. It doesn't matter what kind."
"What's an android doing talking to me about affection?" Roger asked sarcastically.
"Da…Dee!" she chirped.
"Dorothy!"
"You still think of me as a child," she continued in her normal voice, "but don't worry. I'll just have to adjust to acting like this."
"Where do you want to go?" he sighed in defeat.
Dorothy removed her bow and struck a sophisticated pose.
END