Paradigm City - Fan Fiction - The Blossoming Rose

Paradigm City - A fan site dedicated to the anime series Big O

The Blossoming Rose

CHAPTER FOUR

Norman went into the kitchen that morning, humming a cheerful tune. The master had a severe hangover, so there was call for an extra special type of breakfast -

Runny eggs and sloshy oatmeal, perhaps?

Dorothy entered the kitchen, the pan of now lukewarm water in hand.

"And how is Master Roger this morning, Miss Dorothy?" he asked.

She poured the water into the sink. "Roger is very ill, Norman, but he insisted on standing outside in the cold in his pajamas."

Norman bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Don't give it too much thought, Miss Dorothy, it happens on occasion."

She went to the coffee pot and poured a large cup full, then placed it on a tray. "Norman, does Roger ask you to sit with him when he is this ill?"

"No, not at all. Why do you ask?"

She looked down into the coffee. "Just asking."

She left the kitchen and Norman finally allowed the smile to show, followed up with a snort of laughter.

Outside on the balcony, Roger leaned on the railing, looking down to the street a few hundred feet below.

The hangover was now only a throbbing headache, although his mouth still felt like something died in it.

The scent of something he could actually digest permeated the air and he looked back to see Dorothy standing in the doorway and holding a tray.

"Your coffee, Roger," she announced primly. She crossed the balcony and offered it toward him.

He accepted the cup and took a gulp. "Thank-you for not playing anything this morning."

She lowered the tray to one side. "I was not able to, Roger, as you requested me to sit with you."

"Only until I passed out."

"But you did not. You fell asleep."

He awkwardly turned away, sipping the coffee. "You stayed with me all night?"

"Yes, Roger."

He hated to admit it, but it was the way she stared at him with those obsidian black eyes that made him uncomfortable. Like she could look into his soul and his deepest thoughts ...

He decided to return her stare with a smirk. "Me passed-out drunk and I was horribly taken advantage of by a love-crazed temptress."

She remained expressionless. "Roger, you think too highly of yourself. The fact your alcohol breath could make grown men faint was enough to keep me at a distance."

"All right, you have a point." He looked down at his coffee, then toward the domes. "Would you like to go to the library today, Dorothy?"

"Library, Roger?"

"House of books. Bigger version of a bookstore, except you don't buy them. You may find it interesting."

She was silent, then answered, "Yes, Roger, I would like to. Do you need my help on your investigation?"

"Probably."

"Then I shall get ready."

She left him on the balcony and he took a sip of coffee. He then looked up toward the house and wondered, "What did she mean by that?"

* * *

Living in the past can be a full-time occupation for some. Clark was a man who studied it to find our 'roots', the thing that connects man to the world.
I live in the present. I suppose most all of us born after The Event feel indifferent to knowing our past. Those who were alive when it happened and losing a lifetime of their own past ... that may be disturbing to most. It probably was.
The Old Books were a form of comfort, relearning the fairy tales and stories of their youth, remastering the sciences and mathematics. Truth in reason.
Of course, reason is a funny creature, especially if her name is R. Dorothy Wayneright ...

"Why are you wearing that number?" Roger inquired as Dorothy slipped into the Griffon's passenger seat.

Dorothy looked down at the black dress she had changed into. "I did not break your clothing color rule, did I, Roger?"

Roger gazed at the brief, off-shoulder long sleeve dress with a dangerously short skirt. A black choker clung to her long neck, her black headband still nestled forward, and a pair of black flats finished off the outfit. The rest exposed long, pale legs and soft, pale shoulders with a hint of cleavage.

"No, I can't really say you have." He started the Griffon and went to pay attention to the road, smirking ever so slightly. "I take it you expect to meet the man of your dreams at the library."

"Roger, you are a pathetic man. I do not dream, so there is no reason to believe there is a 'man-of-my-dreams'. I also have no expectations concerning the library - "

"Dorothy, shut up."

"Roger, you really do not notice things in front of you. Professor Neuwirth was correct in the way you notice everything else but the obvious. Take for instance last night and this evening - what were you wearing?"

"Eh?" Roger thought about it and recalled he had immediately left his room for the balcony when he woke up. "My pajamas. Dorothy, what's the - "

"How did you get into your pajamas, Roger? Did you notice you were also bathed?"

Roger quietly screamed obscenities at her. In a calm voice he stated, "I take it Norman had a hand in it."

"No. As matter of fact, Norman wanted to use the make-up kit on you." She turned her head to look directly at him. "You are much more pleasant when you are out-cold, Roger Smith."

He broke into laughter. "You're not the first person to say that to me, Dorothy."

She turned her head to look forward again. "I will."

"What?"

"I just answered the question you had asked me last night, Roger, when I was bathing you."

He felt sweatbeads pop out on his forehead. "What question?"

"If you cannot remember it, then it was unimportant."

He glanced at her. "You are coming so close to being beaten."

"Should I scream 'android abuse' out the window?"

"Not in that outfit. Besides which, there aren't any laws concerning proper treatment of androids."

"Very well - if you attempt to beat me I shall scream 'rape'. I believe the laws cover that."

Roger rubbed his temple in frustration. "My head hurts."

"Shall I drive?"

"No!" He gripped the wheel with both hands. "My baby! Mine!"

Dorothy gave Roger one of her best expressionless-gazes-that-convey-multiple-meanings. "Roger Smith, I believe that you are seriously warped."

* * *

The head librarian smiled as Roger and Dorothy approached her desk.

"Good to see you again, young man," she said. "And this is your assistant?"

Dorothy remained silent.

"Something like that," Roger answered. "She's also interested in the Old Books. If you don't mind."

"Oh, of course not. Can you find your way?"

"Yes, Ms. Elendt. Thank-you."

He turned to leave and the old woman commented to Dorothy, "That's a very nice dress, young lady, much better suited to your frame."

Dorothy offered a perfunctory, "Thank you." and trailed behind Roger.

Roger shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the aisle between bookshelves. Dorothy looked from side to side, scanning titles.

"These are all new," she commented.

"Older books in the back, Dorothy."

He rounded a corner and continued down an aisle to the door leading to the large room. He twisted the knob and entered.

"Cassandra?" he whispered.

Hearing her name, Cassandra Neuwirth picked her head up from the table, her arms holding open a large book with sweeping illustrations.

"Roger?" She brushed a strand of red hair back over her ear. "What are you doing here?"

"Finishing the work for your father. What about you?"

She looked down at the book. "Remembering. Mom read fairy tales to me when I was really little, then she died and Dad took over. My earliest memories were my parents reading fairy tales ... I just had a desire to read them again ... " She pulled a tissue from her purse and discreetly wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, still ... shaken."

"Cassandra," Roger said as he placed his hand on her back. "It's all right. Do you want us to sit with you?"

"No." She looked up at him and managed a smile. "You're finishing your work for Dad, I'm not going to get in the way."

Roger nodded, then glanced at his companion. "Dorothy, we have work to do." He went off to one of the stairways leading up to a catwalk.

"I know, Roger." She cocked her head and looked down at the book Cassandra had open. "What book is that, Miss Neuwirth?"

Cassandra traced her finger over the thin, dry pages. "A book of fairy tales."

"Fairy tales?"

"I'm uncertain of the origin of the name. A few of them deal with creatures called 'fairies' which aren't ever clearly explained. They appear to be tales for children, but my father believed that they showed signs of heavy censorship, as if they were re-written for children ... Dad even called me his Little Fairy Princess when my psychic abilities appeared." She looked away in embarrassment. "Sorry ... I began babbling."

Dorothy sat down. "I lost my father several months ago."

"Then you understand."

"Not really. I am still an android."

Cassandra looked up, somewhat startled, then nodded. "I keep forgetting. But you must have loved him."

"In my own way."

Cassandra nodded. "You have an idea, then." She leaned forward slightly to her. "Miss Wayneright ... Dorothy ... How is Roger taking my father's death?"

"He drank himself unconscious."

"I suspected. He looks like a zombie creature I read about - bloodshot eyes, general fatigue, pallid. Poor man's taking it worse than I am."

Dorothy glanced at Roger, then turned back to Cassandra. "He asked odd questions when he was semi-conscious."

"Most drunk men do." She sighed and went to close the book. "I feel a little better talking with you, Dorothy. I suppose it is true that shared pain is lessened."

Dorothy was silent a moment, then finally got up. "I do need to help Roger in his investigation."

"Yes, I'm sorry for interrupting." She took a look at Dorothy's outfit and added, "By the way, that dress looks great on you. A lot better than the other black dress - this is much more suited to your frame."

Roger leaned over the railing of one of the catwalks. "What did you say, Cassandra?"

"I was telling Dorothy this dress is nicer, fits her better than the other black one I saw her in."

Dorothy's head raised to look up at him. "Roger, the librarian said the same thing."

Roger nodded. "Have you been to the library since you joined my household?"

Dorothy shook her head. "This is my first visit to the library in my whole existence."

"What's going on?" Cassandra asked.

Roger stood back from the railing, bringing his hand to his chin and tapping his lips with a gloved finger. "It seems the librarian knows us from before ... "

"Brenda?" Cassandra inquired. "She's been a friend of Dad's since before I was born, probably even back before they lost their memories."

"And she admitted to working in the library before then, too ... " He went to the stairs, half-sliding, half-jumping down to the next walkway down to the floor. "What type of car does she drive?"

"I don't know ... why do you - Oh, no. Roger, you can't be serious - Not Brenda."

"Only way to find out - "

The lights shut off, the silver light from the rainy day poured through the windows, spreading grayness quickly over the musty books and the open book of fairy tales.

Cassandra brushed her red hair back. "Another power outage?" She shook her head. "Nevermind, I think I know."

Roger rushed to the door and tried the knob, discovering it locked. "Not quite."

The rainclouds outside became darker, the windows filled with purple clouds.

Dorothy's headband popped open and the emergency light flickered on. "Roger, there is an emergency exit over on that wall."

Roger nodded and gripped Cassandra's wrist. Dorothy followed both, her light illuminating the room and making shadows contort in unnatural shapes.

The door creaked open before the three reached it, a figure in a red cloak and hood appearing in the doorway, a pistol in hand..

Roger shielded Cassandra, his body immediately moving into defense posture. "Angel - "

A hand reached up and lifted the hood slightly, settling further back on silver hair. Brenda Elendt, the librarian, gazed at the three individuals with a mixture of sadness and contempt.

"No," she answered. "I am not whomever this Angel is." She regarded them. "Perhaps there are some things I should explain, before you bother with the military police."

"Did you murder Clark Neuwirth?" Roger Smith demanded.

"One thing at a time," Brenda Elendt replied, raising the pistol, a rather ornate gun with a curved handle and long iron barrel. "Come with me, and I will show you what you want to know."

She waved the gun and Roger led the way into the small corridor. "Where to?"

"The hall will take you where I want you to go - there's nothing else along the way." She smiled sadly, patting Cassandra's shoulder. "Cassie ... there's a lot I need to tell you - "

Cassandra brushed Ms. Elendt's hand away. "Don't touch me, Brenda."

Dorothy's light switched off and her headband slipped back into her head as she entered the hall behind Cassandra Neuwirth.

Ms. Elendt shut the door and took up the back. "You see, Mr. Smith, I told you the truth in a round-about way. Yes, I am a librarian, I have always been a librarian. The only memories I have from my youth are being in this place. After The Event, as our senate elders have so decreed the name, I was the only one who awoke in the library, memories gone, but surrounded by books. I discovered I was in a room underneath the library, one of the basements, and it was filled with nothing but books. I spent several days going through them, trying to remember to read - and I finally hit that one ingrained reflex and found this room had been filled with volumes concerning religion, politics, history, philosophy, ad infinitum."

"In other words," Roger said. "Books that define society and a civilization."

"Exactly. I don't know who had put the books there, honestly. I assumed I may have, considering the possibilities that would require our memories to be erased, and I hid these volumes. After all, The Event was quite thorough in destroying home libraries and bookstores and every other institutional library in the city - save for this library, which remained untouched."

"What does this have to do with Dad?" Cassandra asked.

"Child, I taught your father how to read. That's how he broke the 'code' - I taught him, and he was 'ever so grateful' for me to teach him." She purred at a long ago memory. "Clark was quite a man back then, dear. Intelligent and handsome, he was perfection for me. I would have very likely been your mother if he had not grown bored of my willingness."

Roger snorted. "I'm beginning to see what happened. After he jilted you and ran off with Cassandra's mother, you still had the power over the books he never found. It had been his life's work to find missing volumes concerning history and politics, and you knew there was no way he could get those unless he came back to you."

Ms. Elendt chuckled. "Very good, Mr. Smith. However, after his wife died, he did come back to me - but only as a colleague. Cassandra was a toddler, but she was quite bright - like her father - and I grew to love her as my own. Anyway, when the theatre writers came to the university and began researching for 'The Blossoming Rose' musical, they asked Clark to serve as consultant - " He voice began to shake. "He claimed credit for everything I taught him ... everything from learning to read to the speculation of pre-Event activity ...and I was not given my dues of the creation of the background!"

"Over an opera, Brenda Elendt?" Cassandra asked harshly.

"That was secondary, it was in everything else - the university, the elders, the public at large - my credit was not given, because Clark claimed all of it as his own work!"

"And that's what necessitated killing him," Roger finished.

"In the long line of insults, it was sending you to find the books that was the final act. He denied me everything I felt was worthy, so he was not going to get the satisfaction of finding out my books."

Roger paused before another door, Ms. Elendt raising the gun. "Open the door, Mr. Smith, and gaze upon the true history of mankind."

Roger opened the door.

The smell of old books wafted out, tickling his nose. He pushed the door open wider and looked in to see another large room spreading outward as far as he could see, teeming with even more volumes than the Old Books portion of the library.

The three moved into the room, gazing at the rows and piles of books, the florescent lights overhead dimly flickering from old age.

"My God," Cassandra whispered, staring in awe. "These are more precious than memories!"

Ms. Elendt smiled sadly. "I knew you would appreciate it, Cassie. Enough thought and argument here to fill the soul - books of dictatorship, of overthrown governments, of democracies, of empires - books of Christianity, of Islam, of Judaism, of Baha'i, of Paganism - books of places called Germany, China, Japan, Africa, Australia, Italy - books of times known as Renaissance, Stone Age, Bronze Age, Industrial Age, Information Age ... Proof that God exists in our world and in our bodies, that information is free to all, and that freedom to think is the most precious gift next to the ability to read."

Dorothy turned to look at the older woman, her expression flat. "Brenda Elendt, if you are convinced of the virtue of these volumes, then why not share them with the rest of humanity? For you had just said information is free to all - "

Ms. Elendt raised the pistol in Dorothy's face. "But I am the Goddess of this realm, child. I am the Queen of the Written Word, the Lady of Literature - "

"You're mad," Cassandra interrupted. "You killed my father over this!"

"And you'll be next," Ms. Elendt stated. "You wanted The Truth and I gave it to you. The world of Paradigm City is too corrupt to use this True Power honestly. I knew many of the Paradigm Group when they were youngsters - I could never trust them with the information these volumes hold. They will abuse the power within them." She raised the pistol toward Roger. "This may look old, Mr. Smith, but it has been updated with quite a kick, so it will also destroy your android companion." She pulled the hammer back with her thumb, aiming the barrel between Roger's eyes. "Say goodnight, Roger Smith - "

Cassandra's foot caught in Brenda Elendt's gut, the pistol shooting.

Roger hit the floor as the bullet grazed through the area where his nose would have been.

Dorothy gripped the old woman's hand holding the gun, crushing the bones around the metal and wood handle.

Ms. Elendt cried in pain, her foot going toward Dorothy's face.

She was rewarded with a broken foot as it impacted Dorothy's tough android skin.

Cassandra ripped the pistol from the broken hand and turned it on its owner. "You insensate bitch!"

Roger clutched Cassandra's shoulder. "No, don't. You'll only bring yourself to her level if you kill her."

"Killing is too kind and brief," Cassandra stated coldly. "I'm going to make the old whore suffer for what she did to Dad - "

"Cassandra ... "

Brenda Elendt giggled, pulling out a small remote control with her good hand. "Death really is kind, child. Mr. Smith, remember when I mentioned a book called Fahrenheit 451? Ever wonder what the title meant? That's the temperature when paper burns."

She hit a button on the remote.

Somewhere in the back of the room an explosion tore through the rows and shelves of volumes, sending burning books sailing through the air.

"And this place is filled with nothing but paper!" she cried triumphantly over the roar of the rapidly expanding fire. "If I go, this all goes with me!!!"

Roger coughed as the smoke thickened, swearing under his breath about insane old women. "Cassandra! Let's get out - "

"No!" she yelled, running toward the edges of the fire. "Help me get as many books - "

Roger slapped the books out of her hand. "Cassandra, we're going to die if we stay in here!"

She looked back at the burning books and pages, Brenda Elendt laying on the floor and giggling madly, lost in dementia.

Cassandra clutched Roger's arm. "Let's go."

"Dorothy!" Roger called. "Where are you??"

"Leaving, Roger," she answered from somewhere behind the thick smoke.

"Then let's get out of here!"

Roger dove through the smoke, pulling Cassandra behind him as he dashed through the door and down the small hallway.

By the time they emerged into the Old Book room, the door to the rest of the library was torn off its hinges by Dorothy.

"What are you doing?" Roger demanded as Cassandra released him and ran to the table she was at when they found her earlier.

"I'm getting this at least," she stated, picking up the book of fairy tales and grabbing her purse.

Roger nodded and guided Cassandra out of the room, locating a fire-alarm. He slammed the level down.

The building filled with rattling bell alarms. Students and elders hurried out with Roger and Cassandra following them.

By the time they emerged the fire truck sirens were already blaring down the street toward the library. Both turned to see smoke creeping through the basement windows at street level.

Cassandra clutched the fairy tale book to her chest. "All those books ... our history and thoughts ... burned."

Roger placed a hand on her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. A thought occurred to him and he looked around. "Dorothy??"

"Right here, Roger," she answered behind him. She stepped next to him and added, "I know you may disapprove, Roger, but I felt it was necessary. These are for you, Miss Neuwirth."

Roger and Cassandra turned to look at Dorothy.

Dorothy Wayneright held a stack of books, the stack reaching from her mid-thigh to her chin. She held them with little effort, their spines facing outward and perfectly straight.

Cassandra grinned, wiping her eyes with her coat sleeve. "Dorothy! Oh, my God, how did you - Thank-you!"

"You had given me pleasure with your singing," Dorothy explained. "I wished to return the favor, Cassandra Neuwirth."

Roger opened his mouth to reprimand the android, then closed it and smiled. "I'm proud of you, Dorothy."

Dorothy responded with a small smile.

Next Page >< Previous Page

This site, its design, and all content within are Copyright ©2003-26 by Krang & Shredder unless stated otherwise. All rights reserved. The BIG-O and related characters are © SUNRISE INC. Copyrights for the fan art, fan fiction, and other submitted content hosted on this site are held by their respective owners. This site is not affiliated with SUNRISE INC. or Bandai Entertainment, Inc. in any way.