Title / Prompt: Frustration/Frustration
Character: Roger Smith
Fandom: Big O
Warnings: None
Pairings: None
Word count: 403
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: During the events of "Enemy is Another Big".

Roger knew he had a temper. And anyone who had known Roger for any amount of time knew Roger had a temper. Most of the time he kept it reined in, kept it from bursting out.

This time a vase went flying past Dorothy's head as soon as he arrived back at the house. Not that he had intentionally aimed it at her, only that she was standing between him and the closest wall. Unsatisfied with the lone shattering of ceramic, Roger followed the vase with yet another vase, a glass and one of the hourglasses he'd disliked.

"Is something wrong, Roger?" Dorothy asked as she brushed sand off of her uniform.

"What makes you think that?!" he bellowed, impatient with the inane question.

She had never heard him use 4-letter words since the day she moved in, but they were certainly passing his lips now. Between them he sprinkled in plenty of denigrations on the pedigree of Alex Rosewater and his less than useless sire. In the midst of his tirade, Norman showed up, took one look at his employer and backed out, escaping Roger's notice.

About a half an hour later, Roger's temper had burned itself out and he picked up a bottle of scotch from which he poured a glass. Dorothy sat down in the couch facing the one Roger sprawled on, waiting patiently.

"Forgive my earlier question, Roger. What is wrong?"

Roger slapped a piece of paper onto the coffee table. "This!" he barked, then took another slug.

Dorothy looked at the check. It was written to a Michael Seebach for a ridiculous sum of money. "Michael Seebach? Is he not Schwartzwald?"

Roger nodded, a snarl returning to his face. "He said the job wasn't finished. He impugned that I had failed to do my job! Bastard! As if he can't afford my fees! The fucking cheapskate! He can rot for all I care!"

"Still, Roger, you have a job to do. Are you to deliver this to him?" At his nod, she handed it back to him. "Do your job. Then he can no longer complain that you have failed to fulfill your obligation."

He eyed her narrowly. "Only an android would make it that simple." But he couldn't fault her logic. "Fine, fine. I have no idea where he is, but I won't find him here." He straightened his jacket, then went down to the garage to find a needle in a haystack.

Title / Prompt: Interface/The Moth by Aimee Mann
Character: Roger Smith
Fandom: Big O
Warnings: None
Pairings: None
Word count: 343
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with back while he was on B5. Very little canon here.

The Great Machine has resided for millenium on this world that no longer carries its original name. Many have given it names since its creators vanished so long ago, but none have been important, only its designated purpose of watching and recording. Beings and drones and ships have passed through this system, usually only to scan enough to determine that there is nothing of interest. None of them have been sophisticated to realize the Great Machine was there as well as great deposits of metals and minerals cherished by many that the Machine kept hidden from their view.

Then ships came and began to build. Not on the world itself, but in its orbit, they built a structure, a large vessel that became a hub of activity for many ships. Soon Varn, its guiding core, began to fail and needed to be replaced. The Machine reached for the structure, identified to it as B5, to those most suitable to replace Varn and Draal answered its call.

However, soon after Draal had taken custody of the Machine, two appeared in the Machine. One was a very powerful mutagenic entity of the homo sapiens species, the other...

The other was a organic construct made for the specific purpose to interface with machines. Even as the powerful entity teleported them into the presence of the Great Machine, the other's senses extended and began to fulfill its function, its consciousness automatically reaching to link with the Great Machine. The powerful entity tried to stop it, but the pull was too strong. Even the call of its original designated partner failed to stop it from reaching towards the core of the Great Machine. In desperation, the mutant created a temporal anamoly and thrust both of them through it before the interface could reach the heart of the Great Machine.

However, it had always been the purpose of the Machine to record all histories - broken or continuous. In the few moments of contact, the Great Machine had a complete scan of the interface, noting its construction. One day it would return. One day, when Draal's time had come to be replaced, it would be ready to complete its function.

Title / Prompt: A few...bumps/When love is not madness, it is not love. - Pedro Calderon de la Barca.
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Roger/Satine
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 643
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with. Very little canon here and if Satine is out of character, Satine!mun can kick me and make me write it right.

The bedroom door slammed closed, almost knocking him over. Certainly not an easy thing to do, considering Roger's height and weight. But when Satine was angry, she was more than capable of taking him on.

Why was she so angry? He was only a half hour late. He hadn't asked the meeting to run over. He hadn't even wanted to be there, but he'd stayed as a favor to the owner to hear the company's proposal. Not that it had interested him in the least...

"Satine..."

"Stupide!" she yelled through the door. "Tout les hommes êtes tous même! Stupide! Enfantin! Peu sensible..."

"Mais..."

"...rustre, distrait, sourd..."

Roger slumped against the doorjamb as she continued to berate his sex. He still couldn't think why she was so angry at him. After all, they'd only planned to go to dinner. The place was still open and he was certain they'd honor the reservation. It wasn't as if the meeting had truly been important enough to warrant his attention.

Oh, that was the rub, was it? She knew he hadn't wanted to be there, but he hadn't tried to get out of it early to get to the restaurant. She had spent much time making sure she was in the perfect outfit with the perfect accessories, hair carefully coiffed and all the details seen to. And what had he done? Rushed home, already late and just expecting to head out for their 6-month anniversary dinner in the same suit he'd worn all day.

Roger sighed. What to do? She was still running through her very impressive repetoire of insults, having now graduated to Italian. He fished his phone out of his pocket and connected to the computer. Ordering 11 red roses, he quickly ducked into the hall bathroom, quickly cleaned himself with a washcloth, then tiptoed into his office. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed the tux he had absently left there from its last trip to the dry cleaner and quickly redressed. Patting his hair into place, he searched for the florist delivery truck via GPS. He snuck down the stairs before the truck even arrived and opened the door before the man knocked. Giving him the credit card quickly, he peered back up the stairs where Satine's voice continued, now in German, to tell him what she thought of his folly. The man gave him a knowing look and handed him the bouquet.

He quietly went back up the stairs.

"Tu as raison..."

The door flew open and she gave him a gimlet glare before he produced the roses. As a woman knowledable in the language of flowers, she understood the message he conveyed. She looked him up and down and dragged him into the room where she threw the roses on the bed, grabbed a white bowtie and tied it for him. He didn't utter a single protest.

"Now you are presentable." She shooed him out of the bedroom and proceeded down the stairs. Roger started the Griffin's and garage door's controls and followed her out of the house, locking it down electronically as he locked the door with the key.

"I'm sorry, love," he apologized as the Griffin headed to their destination. "I didn't mean to stay at that stupid meeting."

She raised a cool eyebrow. "What was so important that you could not have at least told me you were going to be late?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry I was so thoughtless."

With careful nonchalance, she plucked off a few stray cat hairs from her elegant dress. "You know I will be ordering truffles tonight."

Inwardly, Roger groaned. Truffles meant that she'd definitely be falling asleep early. For some reason, the mushrooms always knocked her out. Perhaps it was just the entire meal she would consume in order to feel she'd been somewhat satisfied by his apology. However, he could hardly begrudge her. When one loved a passionate woman, one lived with all of her passions, including her temper.

At least she hadn't thrown shoes at him this time...

Title / Prompt: Tango/"And I envied the rose that you held in your teeth, love. With the thorns underneath, love, sticking into your gums." ----Tom Lehrer, from "The Masochism Tango"
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Roger/Satine
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 234
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with. Very little canon here and if Satine is out of character, Satine!mun can kick me and make me write it right.

It's been a long time since he danced the tango. At least, the formal dance. But she is dressed in crimson, the color of passion, so he feels the need for passionate dancing. Her firey hair swirls as she performs the Molinette, passionately falling into his arms as they return to the "walk". The rose in her teeth doesn't even twitch as her lips curve into a sensual smile only for him.

They learned different styles. Though in Paradigm City, it never had a name, it's a style similar to "Salon Tango" - formal, more structured, very smooth. Hers is the "Tango Canyengue" - short stepped, stiff and closed. However, as they always do, they've learned to adapt to each other's style. The modern version danced at the tango bars suit both of them.

It's foreplay on wood, in the company of others and it's sweet torture to be spinning so close, but be unable to do more wrap his hand around her waist and guide her through the next walk. Her green eyes flash wicked messages to him. Her body is lovely sin, wrapped in red stetch velvet. His mouth closes on hers briefly, long enough for the thorns of the rose to dig into his tongue as he captures it from her. The pain is just enough to take the edge off of what was about to be a very embarassing erection.

Maybe next time he'll take the thorns off.

Maybe...

Title / Prompt: Happy New Year birthday/Cheers
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: A little cussing.
Pairings: None
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 371
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: I have Roger's birthday listed as January 1st. As far as I know the show's never given him a date for it.

Every year, since he was 17, Roger has bought a bottle of expensive champagne to be drunk, usually alone, starting at 12:55 and ending with the empty bottle. There were a couple of years where he actually had a companion with him, but this is not one of them.

He sits in the fanciest restaurant in the Paradigm City dome. Every table has sparklers on it for people to wave around as the New Year comes - another year they can add to the calendar of the City of Amnesia. It's year 37 and Roger is turning 25. His career as a Military Policeman is officially over. He quit yesterday, wanting to start the new year completely fresh. He's left his apartment - all of his stuff is in a pathetically small storage place - and is living at a hotel he really can't afford in 2 more days. After that, he may crash at Dan's. If Dan will allow him, that is.

10 minutes before he starts drinking. The bottle sits on the table beside the glass, sweating just a little. He picked the door closest to the balcony, knowing it would be cooler here. He watches the sparkler sputter and die to be quickly replaced by the waitstaff.

25 years old. It's only important because it ends in a 5. He's already of age for sex with fellow adults. He can drink and smoke as long as he doesn't get too obnoxious in public. He pays his bills, though he has no real idea of how he's going to pay them after Wednesday. His money runs out. He could hit his foster parents up for money, but he's not completely sure they will give him any.

You could go back to the first way you earned cash, his mind sneers at him. No, he left that all behind. He won't go back to it, no matter how much money it could net him quickly. Besides, he's a little too old for the meat market. He'd have to hit up one of his former richer clients for the cash.

New year, no reason to even consider returning to the past. He watches the sparkler through the glass, notes the time and pours the champagne.

Happy fucking New Year. He drinks down the first glass. 5 minutes later it's Happy fucking birthday. Another year added to the calendar.

Title / Prompt: Relax/"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." --Albert Schweitzer [from July 2007]
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Roger/Satine
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 370
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with. Very little canon here and if Satine is out of character, Satine!mun can kick me and make me write it right.

Abra is very happy with leather padded piano benches. She snuggles up against Roger's hip, happy to draw warmth from him as music soars over her head. Roger is feeling quite in the classical mood, having progressed from Beethoven's Opus 2 to his present selection of Opus 10 Number 3, next to move to "Pathetique". He has been at it since he got home from a 24 hour meeting. His jaw had been clenched in aggravation and this is one of his few outlets. It's already mid-evening, but he doesn't feel tired. Not yet.

The front door clicks and Satine strolls in. He already knew she was home because he knew the Griffin had picked her up at the theatre. She kicks off her high heels, drawn in by the music, which she absently hums. Despite her background, she knows a lot of the music he plays when he really feels the need to unwind.

She snuggles against his side, still humming when Cat bumps her leg, demanding to be let up. She pats her lap and the cat leaps up, butting her head against her mistress' arm before claiming Satine's lap as her throne.

"Good day?" he asks casually as he moves to the "Pathetique".

"Could have been better," she sighs, putting an arm around his waist. He leans his head against hers, smelling cold cream and theatre make-up. Her eyes are a little blood-shot from dryness. However, she looks happy, a small smile gracing her kissable mouth. "I'm glad to be home."

He kisses that mouth, loving her warmth. It's still amazing after 10 years. "Do you want something to eat?"

She shakes her head, leaning her head on his shoulder as he continues to play. "Where are the kids?"

"Over at Snake's tonight. They were in a mood to be rambunctious, so they're off burning energy at his place. It's just us tonight."

She smiles a Cheshire cat smile. "Mmm, we should take advantage of the free time." Roger starts to take his fingers off the keys, but she presses them back gently. "In a few moments, cher. I just want to unwind a little." She goes back to humming as Roger moves to the next piece, letting the music soothe their souls.

Title / Prompt: A Lot of Smiths/Graveyard
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Roger/Satine
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 487
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with. Very little canon here and if Satine is out of character, Satine!mun can kick me and make me write it right.

"That's an awful lot of Smiths," the caretaker says as Roger places the 2 dozen roses in the holder specifically designed for it. They are red. Color of passion, he thinks wistfully. You always had it, love, and I miss it so much.

He looks down the row of mausoleums, none of them quite as grand as this one. She had picked it specifically, down to the tigresses crouching at the entrance. On most days they look like fierce guardians and on others, when the sun shown at just right the angle, they look like big housecats just wanting to be pet. He knows she'd appreciate that. Right now they're being protective.

"Um, yes," Roger answers the man distractedly. Right now there are 6 generations here.

"Did you know any of them? The one they buried recently, Marcel..."

"...was a good man. Yes, I knew him." As I knew every last person here. Marcel was the last one of the family to know who exactly who he is. To the rest of the current generations, he was Oncle Roger from a tiny village in France. They have no idea that he is their progenitor, the start of their line. Not that most of them would believe it, looking at him now. A few have remarked on his resemblance to their great great great great grandfather Roger, but they just see it as genetics. Only Marcel had any idea that he wasn't quite what they thought he was, but then Marcel was the first of the line to even show a glimmer of his power. He was never quite the Dominus, but many had remarked on his uncanny ability with machines. It finally had proved that his talent was buried in his DNA, not just one programmed into him by Big Venus.

"She was a firey one, that one," the man says, nodding towards Satine's grave. "I've got a bunch of her vids. One has to wonder how a tiger like her ever got married to a corporate stiff."

Roger almost laughs. The man has no idea of how stiff he wasn't, except one portion of his anatomy. But he's not about to say anything. He's learned, over the years, to keep his mouth shut when it comes to himself. He looks at the mausoleum, which, according to the stone contains both of them. Strange how this man isn't commenting about the dates of her life. 150 years is a long time, even now, for a woman to live. Only a few knew that she'd had a doctor who had yet to be born as her personal physician. At that time, he'd been Roger Jr., supposedly their son, which explained why he lived with his "mother" and took care of her until the morning she didn't wake up.

His heart almost gave out that day. He lays a hand on the mausoleum. He can never remember that day without his heart breaking, can never come here on that day lest he close this door behind him and lie down in the empty coffin. So he comes other days, like today. Days that have no significance, but perhaps need a little brightening.

"Nice talking to you," the man says, wandering off. Roger gives him a little wave, then leans against the stone. "Je t'aime, ma couer. Toujours."

To Satine: An all-expense paid shopping spree at Belly Dance Maternity Shop and a lovely necklace.

To Mike: Something a little strange, something a little geeky and something completely silly

To Draco: Something pretty, something draconian and something else draconian

To Snake: A $1000 gift certificate to Warped Toys

To Xena: Several sessions at the Ajune Day Spa. For those days when she just wants to get away from it all.

To Garibaldi: Autographed baseball from the 1986 Mets team.

Roger is not a man overly familiar with a kitchen. He knows what certain appliances are - especially the refridgerator. He's been taking information from the computer for different dinner plans, but it certainly isn't the reality. It's messy and he just can't seem to get things to turn out how the pictures show it. He stares at all the bowls full of things.

He considers sending for takeout...

Title / Prompt: Livraria Lello/Bookstore
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Roger/Satine
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 464
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: This is the Roger I RP with. Very little canon here and if Satine is out of character, Satine!mun can kick me and make me write it right.

Roger hadn't been to Portugal before, but Satine had insisted that she'd be in every country in Europe before they'd return to New York. He didn't protest. After all, that was they had come. Be tourists, do all the touristy things - especially shopping. The limo they'd rented was already full of boxes. The driver had just goggled at the sheer amount of stuff they'd managed to fit into the middle seat. Roger didn't have the heart to tell the man that it had taken 3 limos in France to complete the shopping there. Fortunately, they'd already shipped all of that back home. Maybe it would be there by the time they returned.

She waved him off as she entered a boutique. The delicate orchid pink dress on display had drawn her eye and she just "had" to have a look. Roger pictured her in the dress and thought it might be just the outfit for the Ambassador's party on Wednesday. He looked a little up the street to a facade that proclaimed "Livraria Lello". He didn't understand Portugese at all, but "Livraria" looked a bit like "Lively", so perhaps he would find something of interest there.

Pushing open the door, Roger was stunned to find himself in a huge bookstore. He'd never seen so many books in his life outside of library. At first he thought he'd had stumbled into one, but the cashiers at the front indicated that this stunning display was for sale. Dark woods and glass reminded Roger of a church, as well as the stained glass ceiling. Despite the number of people, the atmosphere spoke of a reverence that reinforced Roger's impression. Slowly he moved past cases of books and statues of people he couldn't name. He mounted the stairs carefully, winding around until he reached a small landing. He wasn't too far from the next floor, but he had to look back down at the scene below. It was as if he stood on a pulpit, watching the faithful shuffle below him.

After a few minutes of people watching Roger quickly reached the second floor. Looking up at the stained glass above, Roger wondered if perhaps this had once been a cathedral or if someone had so loved books that he had built a monument to them and the sharing of knowledge with the like-minded. Tables with scattered volumes lined the area, making Roger regret that he couldn't read the language. He scooped one up, but found himself vaguely disturbed by words that seemed familiar, but not. The faithful moved around him, perusing titles, reading sections to see if they would make a purchase, but Roger felt distinctly disconnected. Illiterate in this land, it seemed rather spurious for him to remain a minute longer. However, in deference to the atmosphere, he strolled out leisurely back into the bright sunlight.

Title / Prompt: Strange Things/Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. --Lewis Carroll
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: None
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 211
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's Note: Tag for "Missing Cat".

What the hell is going on here?! is all Roger can think as the impossible creature limps into the burning building, choosing to immolate itself rather than try to fit itself in the world. Sewn together from the hacked pieces of pets, including Dorothy's Pero, the creature is just too bizarre to be a part of this city.

In the morning, as Roger sips his coffee and stares at his eggs and toast, he can't help but wonder how the city he lives in can exist - the City of Amnesia, the city of long-lost technology, the city of giant robots - at least 2. He'd destroyed the prototype, but could there be more? What other science lay hidden either below the city or in the minds of those older than 40?

Usually Roger doesn't think about such things, but in the face of the nightmarish creature he dealt with last night, he can't help but fall into a contemplative mood. Dorothy is nowhere to be seen, so he can't distract himself with fussing at her. Even his android assistant is part of the puzzle. Perhaps it is best to leave her alone for a while until he can settle his own unease.

He finishes his breakfast and goes downstairs to work on the books.

Mun, otoh, is laughing her ass off.

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Title / Prompt: Landing/Giant's Causeway
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Mike/Draco
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 778
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's note: This is the Roger Smith I RP with, so very little in this is canon. And if either Mike or Draco seem out of character, their muns can kick me at their leisure.

"Where are we?!" Roger yelled over the wind. The storm that hadn't been there moments ago had already swallowed them, leaving them in a roiling grey landscape punctuated by lightning. He felt like a bedraggled cat, the cloak heavy over his ruined suit, his hair plastered into his eyes. He managed to unlock the fingers of his left hand from the broomstick long enough to smear his bangs back out of his face before he resumed his deathgrip on the wood.

This was supposed to have been a nice day. Draco had volunteered to teach him how to fly on a broom, even if Roger could fly without it. It was one of the many fun things in the wizarding world had to offer and Roger was quite eager to try. Most magic, Draco had told him, was actually the effort of will over the environment. There were some things that he'd never be able to do as a Muggle, but things that were magicked could be manipulated.

Roger's first efforts had caused Mike great amusement, considering how many times he'd ended up on his butt while the broom ran away. Shaking his head fondly, Draco would easily call it back and they'd start again. After some trial and effort, Roger had managed to get the thing going while remaining on it. He found that wrapping one long leg around it helped a lot in keeping him seated.

He was sure this storm probably didn't look like much from the ground, but, up here, it felt like Armageddon. It felt like his last battle in Paradigm City. And here he had no Megadeus to keep him protected.

Mike arced up ahead of them, courting the lightning. Draco looked just as miserable as he did. It wasn't any use trying to cast any spells to dry himself, as he'd only be wet again in seconds.

"Shouldn't we try to land?!" he yelled over to the young man he considered to be a brother.

"We will," Draco hollered back, "after Mike's had his fun. I can't see enough to know whether or not we'll ditch ourselves into the Channel!"

In other words, neither of them had any idea where they were.

Roger looked around at the constant grey, weirdly homesick for a second before he saw a break in the clouds. Draco had seen it first and was already angling his broom in that direction. Roger followed him. Just before Draco dropped out of sight, he waved wildly for Roger to come.

The clouds thinned into a grey sky over lush green and stone. Draco aimed for the stone, slowing until he could settle gracefully down. Roger's landing was not quite so practiced and he ended up ass over teakettle with the broom and his cape tangled around him.

"Where are we?" he asked after he managed to right himself with Draco's help.

"Giant's Causeway," Draco said. "Welcome to Ireland."

The area was aptly named in Roger's opinion. Large stones dominated the area before the craggy peak beyond. They were obviously cut, shaped, not at all natural to his eye.

"Is it? A giant's causeway?"

Draco nodded. "Of course, the Muggles don't believe that, but we have a number of stories of how and why this causeway was built." He looked up at the sky as thunder rumbled, but it was obvious the storm was passing them by.

"Except Muggles who know better," Roger grinned. He slung off the cape and wrung it as dry as he could. His suit, he knew was ruined. His fault, though. Draco had warned him he shouldn't be dressed so nicely, especially for his first lesson.

"Scourgify," Draco commanded, cleaning them both up instantly.

"It'd be so nice to do that."

"One of the many perks of being a wizard." He gazed up again at the sky. Though Roger didn't pry, he could feel Draco reaching his husband telepathically. "Mike's going to be a while," he finally muttered. He sat on his broom, letting it float him along as Roger walked alongside on their way to the grass beyond. The stones were unevenly spaced, a couple of them sunk so low that Roger would leap across them rather than jump down and jump back up.

"We could go to the Bushmills Inn," Draco suggested. "Get something to eat. Mike'll find us there."

Roger agreed eagerly. After fighting with a broom in a storm, he was more than hungry. "Bushmills, isn't that a whiskey?"

Draco nodded. "The very same. And this is the oldest distillery."

Roger grinned. "What are we waiting for, then?"

With as big a smile, Draco apparated them to the hotel to wait for Mike.