Very late October licenseartistic prompt
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."
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."