Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.
Chapter Four
Roger came home late that night. As he got out of his car, he paused to look at the serene black-indigo sky. It was glittered with white diamonds and wore a sash of the Milky Way tied around its waist. He sighed, slowly and contemplatively breathing in and out the cool and crisp night air.
He was pulled out of his reverie by a slight grumbling of his stomach. Hmm, whatever happened to that egg salad sandwich twelve hours ago…? Ah, well.
Barely even remembering that he closed and locked the door behind him, he yawned loudly and without remorse through the almost museum-like stillness of the house, trudging up the stairs in the process. He headed towards the kitchen, where there was a note taped to the microwave: Chicken soup, two and a half minutes.
The negotiator smiled. It felt so good to be taken care of every once in a while.
After he had on his night clothes, he wrapped his robe around him and wandered in the general direction of the balcony, while sipping on his steaming mug of soup.
The hallway was dark. Nearly pitch black, indeed, but every time he passed a window, the faintest of glows revealed itself, as if starlight and moonlight had drifted through mesh and obsidian, and had become a residing mist. Little specks of dust had roused themselves at Roger's passing, making them dance in the dim silver light.
"Good evening, Roger."
He flung the mug up into the air, contents and all. It almost seemed an eternity as the mug flipped itself over, letting the liquid and noodles splash all over the wooden floor before it smashed itself on the surface. His moment of peace was now over.
"Dorothy! Don't sneak up on people like that!" He snapped, trying in vain to wipe the spots of broth off his robe before they seeped through. After he had only rubbed it in and made things altogether worse, he grunted in dissatisfaction. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" He asked, finally, looking up at her. "Oh." It appeared that she was wearing a black spaghetti-strapped nightgown… About two inches of lace was trimmed at the bottom… Which was a good three inches above mid-thigh. What on earth was an android doing with a thing like that (and wearing it, for that matter)? Was it getting hot in here? He cleared his throat, or tried to.
"I'm sorry I startled you, Roger." She said. You could almost hear the sarcasm. "As you know, Norman left for his vacation this morning. He was most adamant that I get dinner to you every night and make sure that you ate it." She paused, "But it seems as though you've just thrown it all over the floor. Come to the kitchen and you can look for something else, if you're still hungry." She turned and did not look back. Roger had been meaning to slip away and say goodnight, say he wasn't hungry (even though it would be a lie), anything. For some reason he couldn't. As if a string was tied to his waist and the end was held in her strong yet delicate hand, he followed silently. And it felt quite nice.
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Jeez I'm really sorry it's another short chapter. I'm also sorry you had to wait so long for it (for those of you who *have* been waiting, that is…). Oh boy. The next chapter may or may not come out very soon. Depends on if I have a whole bunch of homework next week, heh. ^.^; Here's some incentive for the wait though: I can promise some definite conflict next chapter! You just wait and see. It'll blow your minds. Just like this: ka-BLAM! =D