Servant
*****
(Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice...him or her I shall follow...)
It is said we come to love those whom we serve.
Roger Smith strode down the hall, his arm a padded ache. He had spent the last three hours in the hospital, bleeding all over one of those cubicles where you slowly die while waiting for help. The darkness of the mansion was a warm comfort to his eyes after the glaring whiteness of the hospital. Everything had been white, not a good color if you planned to bleed much in a room. The doctors had wanted him to stay longer for observation. He had refused. They had scolded him, and he had told them to go to hell.
Her eyes followed him as he passed her, then dropped to the line of dusty footprints he'd left on the floor she'd just finished mopping.
*****
He turned over another hourglass, recalling the nightmare and separating the blur into a jumble and the jumble into a taut and jerking chain of events leading up to the red cloak, the invading megadeii, the burning numbness in his arm. It was better to look at the whole thing in fragments. Together it was like one long scream.
"It is what it means to be commanded," the assassin had told him. "Who commands you, Roger Smith?"
He'd answered "No one," and at the time he'd believed it to be true, but now, with fatigue burning at the back of his eyes and painkillers sloshing around in his bloodstream, he wasn't so sure. Norman was right; they'd never questioned why they could do the things that they could do. Was it the will of some higher power that he piloted Big O? What of the three megadeii? Whom did they serve? Was it Alex Rosewater?
Unconsciously Roger Smith smirked mirthlessly, his lips skinning back from his teeth. Rosewater liked to watch his puppets dance from his high perch, where he didn't have to worry about sullying his clean hands in battle. The three megadeii did his dirty work for him-the three horsemen and one pedestrian of the apocalypse.
Whom then, Roger Smith thought as he laced his fingers together, did Alex Rosewater serve?
Perhaps the assassin had been right in saying that someone else commanded everyone in some way. He'd turned his back on Paradigm City, yet he defended it with Big O. Even Angel, tangled up in her own agenda as she was, aided Alex Rosewater in his endeavors. Perhaps everyone did bow to some master.
As if to drive the point home, Norman appeared at the door, proper, faithful, dependable as the coming of night. He had seen the look on his young master's face, the look that said Roger Smith was weary of being a good guy in a world full of bad things. "Master Roger, supper is ready."
He was rewarded by a smile from the negotiator. "Thank you, Norman, that's the best news I've heard all day."
The butler returned the smile. "Very good, sir."
The young negotiator smiled wearily. Perhaps everyone did bow to a higher power, but he found comfort in the fact that loyalty was not the same as unquestioning obedience, and one had a choice. One served the master that one deemed the most worthy.
He walked out into the hallway, passing the android that was still mopping. "Come along, Dorothy," he said, not telling her what she was coming along to.
Nevertheless, at the sound of his call, she stopped her work and followed him down the hall.
(Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice...him or her I shall follow, as the water follows the moon; silently, with fluid steps, around the globe. I hear your voice...)
*****
A lot of people have done their interpretations of what happened after Act 13, so here I go jumping on the bandwagon and doing one of my own. I fear in a delicious way these stories, where Roger's voice creeps into my throat and I am unsure which thoughts are his and which are my own. I love his character dearly, in some way I can't explain.
Please review, but as always, PLEASE BE CONSTRUCTIVE! NO UNREASONABLE RANTING! If you think it sucks, please tell me how I can improve! (And if you like it, that's nice to hear too! *^_^*) Thanks as always to my reviewers, who bolster my courage and make me smile. You are very much appreciated.
This fic contains elements of the song "Sanctuary", which belongs to the Victorious One, Madonna, and can be found on the album "Bedtime Stories"
*****
(Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice...him or her I shall follow...)
It is said we come to love those whom we serve.
Roger Smith strode down the hall, his arm a padded ache. He had spent the last three hours in the hospital, bleeding all over one of those cubicles where you slowly die while waiting for help. The darkness of the mansion was a warm comfort to his eyes after the glaring whiteness of the hospital. Everything had been white, not a good color if you planned to bleed much in a room. The doctors had wanted him to stay longer for observation. He had refused. They had scolded him, and he had told them to go to hell.
Her eyes followed him as he passed her, then dropped to the line of dusty footprints he'd left on the floor she'd just finished mopping.
*****
He turned over another hourglass, recalling the nightmare and separating the blur into a jumble and the jumble into a taut and jerking chain of events leading up to the red cloak, the invading megadeii, the burning numbness in his arm. It was better to look at the whole thing in fragments. Together it was like one long scream.
"It is what it means to be commanded," the assassin had told him. "Who commands you, Roger Smith?"
He'd answered "No one," and at the time he'd believed it to be true, but now, with fatigue burning at the back of his eyes and painkillers sloshing around in his bloodstream, he wasn't so sure. Norman was right; they'd never questioned why they could do the things that they could do. Was it the will of some higher power that he piloted Big O? What of the three megadeii? Whom did they serve? Was it Alex Rosewater?
Unconsciously Roger Smith smirked mirthlessly, his lips skinning back from his teeth. Rosewater liked to watch his puppets dance from his high perch, where he didn't have to worry about sullying his clean hands in battle. The three megadeii did his dirty work for him-the three horsemen and one pedestrian of the apocalypse.
Whom then, Roger Smith thought as he laced his fingers together, did Alex Rosewater serve?
Perhaps the assassin had been right in saying that someone else commanded everyone in some way. He'd turned his back on Paradigm City, yet he defended it with Big O. Even Angel, tangled up in her own agenda as she was, aided Alex Rosewater in his endeavors. Perhaps everyone did bow to some master.
As if to drive the point home, Norman appeared at the door, proper, faithful, dependable as the coming of night. He had seen the look on his young master's face, the look that said Roger Smith was weary of being a good guy in a world full of bad things. "Master Roger, supper is ready."
He was rewarded by a smile from the negotiator. "Thank you, Norman, that's the best news I've heard all day."
The butler returned the smile. "Very good, sir."
The young negotiator smiled wearily. Perhaps everyone did bow to a higher power, but he found comfort in the fact that loyalty was not the same as unquestioning obedience, and one had a choice. One served the master that one deemed the most worthy.
He walked out into the hallway, passing the android that was still mopping. "Come along, Dorothy," he said, not telling her what she was coming along to.
Nevertheless, at the sound of his call, she stopped her work and followed him down the hall.
(Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice...him or her I shall follow, as the water follows the moon; silently, with fluid steps, around the globe. I hear your voice...)
*****
A lot of people have done their interpretations of what happened after Act 13, so here I go jumping on the bandwagon and doing one of my own. I fear in a delicious way these stories, where Roger's voice creeps into my throat and I am unsure which thoughts are his and which are my own. I love his character dearly, in some way I can't explain.
Please review, but as always, PLEASE BE CONSTRUCTIVE! NO UNREASONABLE RANTING! If you think it sucks, please tell me how I can improve! (And if you like it, that's nice to hear too! *^_^*) Thanks as always to my reviewers, who bolster my courage and make me smile. You are very much appreciated.
This fic contains elements of the song "Sanctuary", which belongs to the Victorious One, Madonna, and can be found on the album "Bedtime Stories"