May licenseartistic prompt
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.
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.