Ooops I hiatused.
Don't blame me, I'm sick and weak-willed. On the bright side, during that hiatus I re-watched all of BBC's Sherlock (which has also recently come off of a hiatus: did you know that series 3 started filming during the middle of March? Cue fangirl squeals), and watched over 100 episodes of Hetalia. Wahoo!
Anyway, I'm sick and grumpy and have a crapload of homework and studying to do, so here's another AU. I like writing AU's, in case you couldn't tell.
Disclaimer: The day I own FOP is the day you guys get regular updates.
19. Robot (Prompt 067)
"It's one of those personality-programmable robots!"
"Cool!"
Anti-Cosmo doesn't say a word as he opens the gift, merely casts his analytical gaze over it as he turns it on. It whirrs for a moment, and the eyes flick on with a burst of light.
"Hi!" It says in a cheery, girlish voice.
With a frown, Anti-Cosmo turns a dial on the back of its neck.
"Hello there," it greets again, this time in a voice that reminds Anti-Cosmo of his grandmother. He shakes his head and turns the dial again, hoping for a better result.
"Yo!" It says in a deep male voice. "What's hanging bro?" With a disgusted look, Anti-Cosmo puts it back in the box.
He thanks the person responsible for giving him this . . . thing, but in his head, plans to toss it away the moment they're not looking. It's an awful gift, a robotic friend, especially for Anti-Cosmo. He's perfectly fine on his own, but nobody seems to understand this. "Get friends," they all insist. He feels like he's better off without other people, considering most of them are idiots.
Later, he's sitting in his room with so many plans and formulas spread across his desk that it's hard to believe there's even a desk there. He sorts through them aimlessly, trying to find something that isn't complete rubbish when the robot begins to whir quietly. With a sigh, he rises from his chair and heads to the closet to pull out the infernal thing.
"Well howdy there!" It greets happily when he takes it out.
Rolling his eyes, he tries to turn the dial so that he doesn't have to listen to the irritating southern accent, but the dial gets stuck. Exasperated, Anti-Cosmo tries to force it to move, but he puts a little too much pressure on and the button pops off with a crack, knob rolling under his bed where it will remain forever.
Great, now he's stuck with a cowgirl for a robot.
"Whatcha doin'?" The robot asks cheerfully, smiling.
"Trying to turn you off," Anti-Cosmo grumbles. "Where's your off switch, Robot?"
It shrugs. "I 'ono. Why do y'all wanna turn me off? I thought we's could be pals!" It sounds a bit hurt, which is odd because, well, it's sort of a robot. Anti-Cosmo wonders how much the people who voiced these things were paid for their work.
"I don't wish to be "pals" with a robot, thank you. I just want to get back to my work, okay?" He answers, but after a few more minutes of unsuccessful searching, throws his hands up in defeat. "Whatever. Can you just be quiet while I work, at least?"
Giving him a serious look, the robot nods.
"What's those squiggly line thingamajigs for?" The robot asks, peeking over Anti-Cosmo's shoulder.
Anti-Cosmo huffs, annoyed at the interruption. "They are not squiggly lines, they're formulas and if I get this right, I should be able to create a solution to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture and win the million dollar prize that comes along with it. Now can you be quiet and let me think?" He's silent for a moment, trying to remember what he was just thinking about, but he's lost his train of thought.
With a sigh, he places his pencil down and begins to softly bang his head against the table.
"What're y'all doin' now?" The robot asks again, beginning to sound worried. "Don't hurt ya-self!" It darts a hand out and grabs a fistful of Anti-Cosmo's dark hair, stopping him from making contact with the table again.
"Ow! Do you mind?" Anti-Cosmo snaps irritably, reaching his own hand up to untangle his hair from the robot's fingers. "I'm trying to have a moment of self-loathing here!" He sets his head against the table once more and lets out a groan. "Why can't I solve this?" He asks nobody in particular. "I'm a genius! I should be able to solve a simple mathematical problem!" He rants, desk muffling some of his words.
The robot pats his back in an attempt to console the upset mastermind. "There, there. I's sure that y'all will come up with the answer for the squiggles in no times! I don't know ya too much, but I can tell that you's a really, really smart guy so you'll figure it out!" It says happily.
Anti-Cosmo's only reply is another groan.
The robot isn't actually the worst companion, Anti-Cosmo supposes. Sure, it's noisy and clumsy and not very smart at all, but it does try to be helpful.
"What's your name?" Anti-Cosmo asks one day.
The robot shrugs. "I dunno. I think you's supposed to give me one."
"Well I don't know what to call you! You're just . . . A-not-totally-intelligent-weird-automation-and-nev er-does-anything." He closes his eyes, mentally berating himself for not making sense.
For a moment, the robot was silent. "Ya know, I sort of like the sound of that." It said finally.
"What, A-Not-Totally-Intelligent-Weird-Automation-And-Nev er-Does-Anything? That's a really long name, don't you think?" Anti-Cosmo asks, creasing his brow. Robots are weird.
"No, silly! Anti-Wanda!" The robots giggles, tipping its head to the side. "That's what name it makes if ya take all the first letters of those words and stick 'em together!" It claps a little, smiling. "Whadaya think?"
Anti-Cosmo holds up a finger. "Um, point of inquiry: how are you smart enough to put a name together out of random words I've conveniently strung together when you can't remember that sticking a fork in an outlet with electrocute you?" He asks, but cuts it off again before the robot can answer. "Never mind, I don't really want to know.
"Anyway, ignoring the fact that a-not-totally-intelligent-weird-automation-and-nev er-does-anything spells Anti-Waanda and not Anti-Wanda, I think that for once, you've had a decent idea. It is a little annoying to have to call you "Robot" or "The Robot" all the time." Anti-Cosmo admits, and the newly-named Anti-Wanda wheels around in circles happily.
"Wahoo!" It grins, wheeling over to Anti-Cosmo and wrapping robotic arms around him. "Thanks, Anti-Cosmo!"
Anti-Cosmo disentangles himself and studies Anti-Wanda for a moment. "Shouldn't you look less like a robot and more like a human? This is the twenty-third century, after all, so we must have the technology for it." He says, slightly perplexed.
Anti-Wanda raises an eyebrow at him. "Don't y'all know? I change inta' whatever kinda human-thing I act like afta' a couple a' weeks. That's when y'all have to stop changing my personality after that. So I's thinking y'all are stuck with me now, 'cause I'mma already startin' to change!" It grinned, and Anti-Cosmo looked a little more closely. Now that it mentioned it, he could see that more human-like features were beginning to pop up, like fingernails and even short hair follicles.
"That's . . . nice, I suppose." Anti-Cosmo said, trying to sound disinterested but ultimately failing. "How do you think you'll turn out?"
Examining her new fingernails, Anti-Wanda shrugs. "I 'ono. I guess I'mma be a girl, but I dunno what I'll look like or nothing. Maybe I'll get hair with all those little curls! I love hair with curly things," it says with a dreamy look.
Again, Anti-Cosmo rolls his mint-coloured eyes. Robots are really, really weird, that's for sure. The girls at his school all like straight hair, and though nearly all of them are complete dunces, he's got to agree that curls aren't exactly God's gift to the world.
Two weeks later, Anti-Wanda has begun to fill out. Its middle begins to slim and its bust and hips widen, giving it the typical female "hourglass" shape. Its eyes take a pinkish colour, further emphasizing this female identity, and its hair begins to grow at a rapid rate, long pink curls sprouting where smooth metal once was.
Anti-Cosmo refuses to acknowledge it as a person, simply because technology cannot replace the real thing. As much as he likes technological development, replicating human life was most likely one of the stupidest things they've come up with so far. He feverishly hopes that he can sell it after it's finished developing.
Sometimes, when he arrives home from school, or from any particularly stressful event, he'll march right up to his room to vent to Anti-Wanda. The automation hasn't the faintest clue what he's talking about, but it likes his voice, so it nods along and simply lets him rant. Anti-Cosmo wouldn't admit it to anyone if his life was on the line, but it's a great stress reliever.
Anti-Wanda has taken to calling Anti-Cosmo "Anti-Cozzie". This is not what bothers him. What does bother him is the fact that he's not bothered by the nickname. He's never let anyone call him by a nickname, and perhaps it is because Anti-Wanda's not a person that this time is different.
"Anti-Cozzie?" It asks one day.
"Yes?" He replies, never looking up from his work.
A gulp sounds from the robot on the other side of the room. "Why don't y'all like people much?"
Anti-Cosmo pauses a moment, but then puts his pen down and swivels the chair to look at Anti-Wanda. "People are rude and ignorant, and they never really appreciate intelligence as much as I've felt they should. They're more concerned about who's dating whom than figuring out the secrets of the universe—and that's annoying. Why can't people just think? Why do they always need to be talking and interrupting and disruptive?"
He sighs, knowing he's confused her. "I don't like people because people are stupid and don't understand things I'm interested in," he summarises. "They're ignorant buffoons that care about nothing but themselves and what they can get out of other people."
"But . . ." Anti-Wanda interrupts hesitantly, and he gives it a look, probing it to go on. "Then why do y'all keep me around? I know I ain't no human, but I ain't really that smart neither."
"You're not like the others," Anti-Cosmo replies simply. "You might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, sure, but you're not an arrogant, self-centred ignoramus. Even though you don't understand my theories and hypotheses, you're interested in them nonetheless, and I must admit that's admirable."
Anti-Wanda's silent for a moment. "I'm not really sure what y'all just said, but thanks, Anti-Cozzie," she says, and a smile breaks out on both their faces.
It takes him a full month longer to realise that he appreciates having Anti-Wanda around.
Yes, she's a bit idiotic, and her clumsiness has broken several of his things, but she's an interesting companion and Anti-Cosmo is actually glad to have her around. She's noisy where he's quiet, outspoken when he's pensive, and just generally a warm sun to his contemplative moon. She's a breath of fresh air when society is a world of dull smog, and he can't help but be grateful for her.
When nobody's around, of course. The day Anti-Cosmo admits having feelings is the day the world ends.
Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda begins to try thinking. Not the usual, what-should-I-do-now thinking, but the real, Anti-Cosmo-esque thinking. She tries thinking about rainbows first: why are they colourful? This leads to her wondering about colour, and where it comes from. Sometimes she asks Anti-Cosmo her questions, and occasionally he'll give her an explanation or even show her an experiment. She usually doesn't understand all of it, but she does appreciate the gestures.
Being the emotionally-oblivious guy he is, Anti-Cosmo doesn't recognise the fact that he's in love with Anti-Wanda until she brings up the subject.
Not the subject of him loving her, obviously. Just love in general.
"Anti-Cozzie?" She asks one day, staring out the window with that look she usually gets when she's thinking hard about something.
He's been trying to figure out a solution to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture again, and isn't having any more luck with it than he did the last time he tried, so he gives up for the moment. "Yes?"
"What's love?"
She asks it so innocently that he doesn't snap at her. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and he's left sitting there with his mouth open like a fool until he finally begins to blurt the first words that come to his mind. "Er, well, love is when you care deeply about someone. It's when that other person isn't just another person to you, they're another part of you. When they smile, it has the power to erase all the bad things that happened to you that day, and when they cry it feels like the most awful thing you've ever felt.
"When you love someone, you try and do everything to make them happy. Loves means you accept that person, whoever they are, with all their shortcomings and quirky habits. You see that even with their imperfections, they are completely and utterly perfect in every way possible, and there's nothing about them that you wouldn't change.
"Although, love isn't perfect. It's something everyone has to work at to get right. If you don't work at it, sometimes love just disappears from your grasp. The work is worth it, though, because when you're in love with another person everything feels right. Love is overcoming obstacles and facing challenges together with who you love, and the reward is the feeling you get when you've conquered those challenges." Anti-Cosmo says, feeling oddly self-conscious after his little speech. He flushes and turns to face the ground.
Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda's mouth drops open. "Wow," she murmurs, stunned. "That's . . ." She trails off, unsure how to end the sentence. "Wow." She says again.
They laspe into silence again, this time with Anti-Wanda contemplating love, and Anti-Cosmo contemplating how pretty her hair looks when the wind blows the tiny curls around.
Anti-Cosmo can't sleep.
He rolls onto his side. The clock reads exactly three twenty-one A.M., and he flops onto his back with a groan, bringing an arm up above his head to stretch out. His mind won't quiet down, and he can't fall asleep. He decides to give in and think about the thing he's been trying not to think about for three whole days.
He, Anti-Cosmo Cosma, is in love with a robot.
The robot's human-like qualities are is simply programming and this robot does not actually possess real feelings. Thus, the robot can never love him back, even if she says she does.
It strikes him that his love for Anti-Wanda is actually pretty pathetic. He's in love with a robot. A real live robot that was originally a birthday present.
He hates real people so much that his first crush is on a robot. He groans, feeling idiotic. He is such a moron. Robots can't love, can't feel. They're machines that just happen to be extremely good actors.
With a sigh, Anti-Cosmo sits up to glance at Anti-Wanda.
The robot sits in the corner of the room, in hibernation mode. She doesn't snore, surprisingly, but simply lets off a very low hum as the night wears on, this noise the only evidence of her existence in the otherwise-silent room.
Anti-Cosmo gets up and heads to the bathroom, needing to clear his head. He shuts the door soundly behind him, and gazes into the mirror, allowing his mint-green eyes to examine himself. What's gone so wrong with him that the only human-like thing he'll attach himself to is a robot built in a factory? What's wrong with his head? He turns the water on, watching the cool liquid flow freely from the tap.
He scoops some up in his hands, splashing it on his face in the hope that it will knock some sense into him. "What is wrong with me?" He asks his reflection desperately, resting his forehead against the mirror when no reply comes. The knuckles on the hands gripping the sides of the sink begin to turn white as he squeezes them tightly, biting his bottom lip to keep from screaming.
There's something seriously wrong with him, he's sure. Anti-Cosmo knows that falling in love with a robot isn't normal. This is weird, weird and absolutely, positively wrong. The genius usually doesn't care about the public's opinion on things, as most of them are morons, but this isn't usual. This is weird and messed up and bizarre and just plain not right.
Anti-Cosmo heads back to his room and lays down on the bed, not even bothering with the covers, instead laying right on top of them. He stares up at the ceiling and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down.
Somehow, after a few minutes of deep breathing, he falls asleep.
He manages not to think about his odd predicament for a while, and simply concentrates on living his life. While Anti-Wanda doesn't exactly understand his feelings toward her, she certainly reciprocates them as well as she can for an emotionless machine. He's satisfied with that, and they live out their lives as usual, one of them ignoring the elephant in the room and the other oblivious to its presence.
A few things change: he starts calling her "dear" and "darling", and she becomes more human-like with each passing day. She nearly forgets she's a robot, and he tries to forget as well. They spend the summer thinking, staying indoors and talking the days away. It's the best that Anti-Cosmo supposes they can do, for now at least.
His parents and friends—or "friends", as they may be—think it strange that he spends all of his time with a robot, but then again Anti-Cosmo does many strange things, so this isn't really that much of a surprise to them.
Almost a year after his birthday, Anti-Cosmo finally starts to come to terms with the whole I'm-in-love-with-a-robot shenanigan, and just accepts it for what it is. Maybe it's the world's way of saying he's better off without other people and should stick to robotics and mathematical formulas.
Years and years pass, and Anti-Cosmo becomes successful and affluent as the time goes by. He makes several discoveries (and finally solves the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture), all of which add to his growing fame, but the media is confused by his insistence on never having a relationship with anyone.
They make up outlandish rumours to sate the public, though they're all proven false within days of their releases.
As he picks up the virtual paper one morning, Anti-Cosmo laughs at the headline, then goes in to show Anti-Wanda, his unofficial wife of twenty years.
Sweet Scandal: Super Genius Marries Syrup Bottle in Shocking Revelation!
Okay, how obvious is it that I really didn't know how to end it? *Dies* I'm really sorry. I just felt guilty for not putting anything up, and I had almost finished this so I basically said "screw it, they're getting a good plot and a crap ending". If you don't like that, write your own ending because I'm really tired and should probably get to studying for my math test tomorrow. -_-"
But yeah, 3372 words of a really strange AU, because I can.
Reviews? I'd like to see what you thought. Please ignore the really crappy ending and all the line breaks because I can't write while I'm sick or healthy and woah, the world's spinning.
Speaking of reviews, we hit 100 reviews! Three cheers for me-er, us! Yeah, us. ;) Thanks everybody! *Blows kisses to reviewers*