[Fan Fiction] make up a big o scene!

quote:

Originally posted by Zola quote: Originally posted by Diverse Considerations Inside the cockpit, Roger watched his center display as it ran through a familiar pattern. The picture of his daughter holding her stuffed toy out was replaced with the judgment screen of the Big O. Cast in the name of God…ye not guilty. Well, I think Big O has just selected his next domineuse... Nice job.

Indeed, that was very cool.
Seems that being a dominus runs in the family, or at least it will from now on.

Oh wow! I want to see this fully developed! Another Mr. and Mrs. Smith series! YAY!

I'm liking this one...though, I'd like to know the background on how Dorothy could have children.

Later,
Pen1300

quote:

Originally posted by Wingnut Seems that being a dominus runs in the family, or at least it will from now on.

Good latin vocabulary states that the feminine equivalent of dominus (master) is domina (mistress).

Heh, I hadn't really intended that scene to be a statement of Big O's intent to select a new domin(us/a), but I suppose I could take it there. Remember, the girl is only five years old.

Pen, I do have an idea for backstory as to how Dorothy had kids. I'm hesitant to write it, it's a bit sciencey. For now, I will say only that the children have the blood of both Roger Smith and Dorothy Wayneright in them.

How's that for a teaser?

First, I wanted to say that I really enjoyed these little snippets. I'm a sucker for "family" fic. And Rachel sounds adorable, lugging around her stuffed Big. I too thought that her interaction with Big O meant that it had selected its' next domina. (Good catch on the Latin- were you forced to sit through it? Mine mostly comes from my biology courses and my vocal training.)

Why are you hesitant to write science? If the story's good, your average fan won't obsess over the tech. You should write this story, you really should. I know I'm curious to read it. I've had a theory about a possible child that sounds like it's close to what you might be thinking.

Okay. I'll shut up now. Have a good day, all!

I couldn't motivate myself to get on to write about the kids, but I was able to put this down. Not my best, but it's serviceable.

============

R. Dorothy Smith curled up on the sofa next to her sleeping husband. Freshly returned from their honeymoon to the pastoral Ailesberry Dome, both were glad to be home. Roger still had another week before he would start taking on cases again, so there would be a few more lazy afternoons like this one with just the two of them.

She glanced across the room where their freshly framed wedding portrait hung. She saw her husband standing behind her, his arms about her waist and a smile on his face. The tailcoat that he wore made him look even taller, so too the fact that he was swelling with obvious pride. It was the smile on his face that made the picture for her, the smile of someone who had everything he wanted in the world. Everything had been perfect.

Roger Smith woke with the change in pressure against his arm. He let his arm wrap around his wife and pulled her in close. Following her gaze, he too looked up at the portrait. Dorothy was leaning into his embrace, the veil up over her red hair and her head resting against his shoulder. She was positively radiant in her flowing white silk gown. Around her neck hung a lone diamond, a memory of the Heaven’s Day they had first expressed their love. Her tiny, gloved hands held a bouquet of white roses. Everything had been perfect.

==

Instro had played at the wedding, naturally. Dan Dastun, the best man, had looked wretchedly uncomfortable in the full dress uniform of military police general. Norman had walked Dorothy down the aisle, a smile on his face and his eye bright, as proud as if she were his own daughter.

Everyone they knew was there. Kelly Fitzgerald cried through the whole thing. Little Tammy McGowan fidgeted all through the service. Bonnie Frasier, recently released on parole, sat happily in civilian clothes beside his mother. Even Big Ear had shown up. He sat far in the back and didn’t stick around. He left a brief note wishing them every happiness and saying that this was the greatest news he'd ever heard.

The major surprise was when a slender blonde dressed in a smart pink suit walked into the church and sat down on the groom’s side. No one had expected Angel to show, least of all Angel herself.

==

And then there was the reception. Roger usually wasn’t one for parties, but Dorothy had been insistent upon it. He had finally caved in when his fiancée pleaded with him one evening after he had returned from a particularly rough negotiation. She cornered him with a glass of scotch, a backrub, some soft words, and precious little black silk. The negotiator never stood a chance.

Fate seemed to be working its magic that night, so it was no surprise when Angel, of all people, caught the bouquet. Nor was it really a surprise when Dastun caught the garter. It was a bit of a surprise, though, when he asked her to dinner that next week and she accepted.

Roger turned to his new wife as they danced on the rooftop terrace, bathed in the soft glow of lantern light. “You aimed for her.”

“You aimed for him.” She had replied, serenely. She didn’t even bother to lift her head off his shoulder while they danced. She simply glided along with him, following his lead. Her thoughts were caught up in the perfectly circular band of gold that encircled her ring finger.

He looked across the terrace to where Angel was attempting to make Dan look graceful as they tried some semblance of a waltz. He kept on trying, at least he looked a little more comfortable without his formal jacket on. “They’re not going to forgive us for this anytime soon, I think.”

Dorothy just sighed and held him close. Everything had been perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

That was, dare I say, even better than Lady Tesser's depiction of the times just after Roger and Dorothy getting married. Aiming for Angel and Dan, figures.

quote:

He had finally caved in when his fiancée pleaded with him one evening after he had returned from a particularly rough negotiation. She cornered him with a glass of scotch, a backrub, some soft words, and precious little black silk. The negotiator never stood a chance.

(Insert evil, Schwarzwaldic laughter here)

*Claps!* I hope to see this as a fully developed fic, or series of fics some day!

We have such a talented bunch here! I keep walking around telling my mom that.

I acutally just discovered two fanfic scenes of mine recently. I think I shall post them when I read over them, add some more, and type them up. I'd just hate to post against these happy ones! Mine are so depressing.

quote:

Pen, I do have an idea for backstory as to how Dorothy had kids. I'm hesitant to write it, it's a bit sciencey. For now, I will say only that the children have the blood of both Roger Smith and Dorothy Wayneright in them. How's that for a teaser?

ACK! That is a teaser! How sciencey could it be? The only way it would be "too sciencey" is if you keep using big, unfamiliar terms that would make our eyes glaze over. Though, I'm STILL CURIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "I want to know the truth!" LOL

Later,
Pen1300

Diverse Considerations, I'm really enjoying reading your pieces! I have to admit, I have a hard time picturing Dorothy as a mother and wife most of the time, but I like reading it anyway.


For a while, I was nearly obsessed with trying to write about the human Dorothy Wayneright and Major Smith. I started this back in June, but I doubt I'll ever finish more than this, so here it is just for kicks.



They met under circumstances usually found only in the campy sci-fi novels she had enjoyed when she was younger, or in Saturday-morning cartoons. He was to be the pilot of the giant robot her father was building. A giant robot! Even to her, who had grown up around the surreal surroundings of her father’s laboratory, it sounded absurd. But it was fact: Her father was building a giant robot, and he was to pilot it-- and, if all went well, save the world in the process.

He was a Major in the military, young and handsome in a classical kind of way, like the old movie stars she saw on T.V. on Sunday afternoons. His black hair was slicked back carefully, every strand in place perfectly. His uniform was crisp, starched, every pin and button fastened snugly and straight. He and her father were in the laboratory, a mug of tea in Father’s hand, coffee in his. It was black, she noticed, like his hair.

It was habit for her to go straight to the laboratory after school and tell Father how her day had gone, and maybe have tea before rushing off to study. She hung her coat as always, made her way down the arching hallways of the mansion until she reached the elevator that would take her to Father’s laboratory.

She peeked in the partially opened door, saw him with Father, and hesitated. She was painfully cautious of people other than Father, and shied away from speaking to his acquaintances. His voice was young, confident, and male. She suddenly did not want to go in.

However, Father’s voice made her decision for her. “Dorothy, come in. I want you to meet Major Smith.”

And their fate was sealed.

He extended his hand, and she raised hers to meet it slowly, warily. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wayneright.”

Her gaze was on the floor, on their reflections, watching their movements on the floor as if it were less painful than watching their actual selves. She wanted to leave. “Nice to meet you, Major Smith.” Her dainty voice was barely audible.

“Call me Roger, please,” he said cheerily, “since I’m sure I’ll be here often.”

“Very true,” Father laughed. “How was school, Dorothy?”

“Fine.” She shifted her weight. “I really must be going now, for my studies.” A courtsey, and she dashed off.

When she reached her room she rolled onto her bed, weary. She did not like the looks of Major Smith. She did not like the looks of anyone other than her father, for that matter. She had grown up sheltered and mostly hidden away from the outside world, remembering days with her mother as if they were dreams.



Her mother had been vibrant, a brilliant glow about her at all times, a sharp contrast to Timothy Wayneright’s perpetual dourness. Or, maybe it was not dourness, but rather his deep, obsessive thinking about his various projects, that, when viewed by an outsider to the family, was misunderstood as dourness. Whatever it was, it rubbed off on Dorothy after her mother died. She could not remember how to be lively in public, how to spark a conversation with a stranger without much thought or hesitation. Mrs. Wayneright had been a creature of attention, a spotlight always upon her. She loved the stage, performed regularly with the troupe at the Nightengale Club. Dorothy remembered watching her mother from the wings of the stage, trying not to get in the way of the stern-faced stage hands as they busied about keeping things in order while her mother, in all her radiance, captivated the audience.

Dorothy was the spitting image of her mother, but only physically. True, she had a love for the piano, and performed every so often at the Nightengale as well, but only out of obligation to her father. Timothy was the world to her, and the pleased smile upon his face as Dorothy’s ghostly hands danced upon the ivory was worth the stage fright she felt so severely. She was not her mother, though. She enjoyed the piano much more in private, feeling the cool keys under her fingers, stringing melodies together lazily, calmly, the room full of only herself and the music. She could become fully absorbed in whatever she was playing, all sense of independence lost as the notes took her over, and she felt as if she herself were a composition come to life.




The next time she met Major Roger Smith, she was in the piano room. Dark had settled in outside, and, with her schoolwork complete, she had tiptoed lightly down the hallway to the room Father had set aside for her. She did not know why she tiptoed; Father did not care (or perhaps did not know) about her playing the piano when she should have been sleeping.

She was very much a night person. At night she felt safer, knowing that most of the city was asleep and that people, strangers, that Father consorted with would not be wandering about the house. She felt at ease, knowing she did not have to work to avoid anyone, because it was only her and Father in the mansion.

This night, however, Father had neglected to mention that Major Smith would be staying late, working on near-final test runs on the robot. It was after midnight when a dark-haired head paused outside the door to the piano room, poked itself in hesitantly to see who was producing the lulling melody he’d heard.

She did not see him at first. Her shining head of red hair was bent down, eyes closed, the music flowing like liquid from her. It was a slow melody, almost like a lullaby. She was humming along with it, the words she’d written for it threatening to burst out. She did not feel like singing just yet, though, so hummed instead.

When she finished, she paused for a moment before opening her eyes to the sight of Major Smith in the doorway, a curious expression on his face. He seemed almost embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I only meant to stop and listen a moment and then continue on my way. It’s a lovely tune.”

She was frozen temporarily. She was not used to speaking to strangers when Father was not around, and Major Smith was still very much a stranger. Finally, she managed to squeak out, “It’s fine.” She stood from the bench, tiredly, wearily, and made her way past the military man.

He whirled around after her, watching her petite from glide down the hall. “Did you write that? It was beautiful.” She did not answer, so he continued, determined to converse with her as long as possible. “I haven’t played the piano in quite a long time, I’m afraid.”

He was a piano player? Those rough, large hands were capable of such a thing? They looked like hands meant for action, for-- well, for piloting giant robots or shooting a gun, or a fistfight. They did not look like hands that could play a piano.

“Yes, I wrote it.” She had turned back around, was facing him from roughly twenty feet away. She felt the need to say something more, but could not find anything that would sound adequate once spoken aloud.

“It sounded like a lullabye.” His feet shifted unsurely. “Would.. I mean, I only heard the middle and ending.. would you play it again? From the beginning.”

Play it again? Alone, in the room with this military boy who was too old for her? Who looked like the kind of boy who had a girl a week and forgot their names once he was finished with them?

Yet she found herself wordlessly walking back into the room, seated at the piano bench again, playing the tune for him. He sat in a chair near the door, and did not speak until she had finished.

“How long have you played the piano?”

She felt herself begin to be irritated, responded sharply. “Why are you bothering me, Mr. Smith?”

“’Mr.’ Smith? That makes me sound so old!” He laughed. “Because I heard you play. And because I’ve been spending a good deal of time here for the past several months, but I’ve only spoken to you once. I rarely even see you. I was beginning to wonder if you really existed at all.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t exist.” It certainly felt like it, sometimes.

He shrugged flippantly. “Maybe. It is pretty late, after all. You could be a ghost.” She was certainly pale enough. Her eyes were haunting, deep pools of violet.

She did not respond to that. She wanted to leave badly, to hide in the refuge of her room. How she wished the piano would fit in there!

“There is no reason to precipitate a relationship between you and I, Mr. Smith. You are a colleague of my Father’s, not mine. It is highly inappropriate for me to even be alone in this room with you, especially at this hour. It would be best if you continued on your original way and left this house right now. If my father finds you still here, alone with his daughter, I daresay you will not find yourself working with him much longer.”

His eyebrows arched. “Well, that’s the most I’ve heard you speak yet. Allright, Miss Dorothy--” he saw a look of shock on her face at this informality-- “I’ll go. For now. I must say, though.. it would do you a world of good not to be so cold and shy to people. You might find you enjoy human contact.”

And he was gone, to her… relief? Dismay? She seemed to be feeling glad that his annoying presence was no longer pestering her, but for some reason the room felt very large, and very empty.

Thank you very much for your kind words, Tifaria. They mean a lot to me.

Now it's a sin and a half that you aren't going to finish that up, it is very good and is very well written. I would like to hear more of it. ^_^

quote:

Originally posted by Tifaria And he was gone, to her… relief? Dismay? She seemed to be feeling glad that his annoying presence was no longer pestering her, but for some reason the room felt very large, and very empty.

Oh no you don't, Missy! What happens next?!?!?!

Oh no you don't! You so need to write more...please? Dorothy needs a chance to be won by her Major.

Please? Please?

Semi Lame but it just poped in.


Picture this Angel and Dorothy in a yoga class they are flexxing around stretching.

Angel: Why the heck did you come to this anyways? Your not human you don't have to worry about stretching?!

Dorothy: Says who?

Angel: Says me besides you can't even bend right since your so rigid!

Dorothy: Rigid?

Angel: You heard me!

Dorothy *wips out her matrix moves and excorsist like movements* (which in volve a head turn of a 360, 8 splits, 4 back wards flips, and 2 hand stands*

Angel: Whoa....

Dorothy: Whos rigid now?

Angel *rolls up her yoga mat and walks off*

SCENE ONE: Negotiation with the Dead, end sequence

"Get down!" The figure in black frantically ordered his companions, even while one of them, a dour young woman also in black, had leapt to action. With an unhuman speed she flew forward, tackling a younger girl to the ground. There was a flash of energy and the blue-eyed (and somewhat creepy) man in the wheelchair toppled to the ground, head blown apart in a shower of circuits and wiring.

The disc the man had removed from his forehead tumbled to the ground, but before it could hit, an aura of pink light surrounded it, carrying it to a pale hand.

"Dude!" Beast Boy exclaimed, "not cool!"

"Hahahahahaha!" cackled a female voice, eyes glaring out from beneath her fedora as she slipped the disc into her coat, "does Jump City's Negotiator only have robot clients?" The winged girl stared up at the newcomer, eyes wide in surprise.

"Jinx!" Bumblebee gasped.

"What the heck is she?" Beast Boy asked, casting a glance Bumblebee's way.

"Shoot!"

"Yo, shoot her!?" the large form next to Bumblebee asked in shock.

"That's what I said, Sparky!"

Jinx grinned as the mechanical officer reconfigured his arm into his Sonic Cannon.

"Afraid of some bad luck, kitty?" She flipped neatly backwards, narrowly avoiding being hit by the blue beams of energy, disappearing from view behind the mansion.

A sobbing sound pulled Beast Boy, Raven, Bumblebee, and Cyborg's attention away from the assassin's escape. Tears streaked down Kitten's face as she futilely gathered up the pieces of Killer Moth's head in her hand, as if she believed she could put him back together again.

Beast Boy frowned angrily, hand clenching in rage.

To Be Continued

[I](NOTE: Please don't hurt me..)[/I

"Humanity, stripped of it's grip of power on the world. Its own desire for control, brought it to it's knees..."
[A black screen is revealed, soon lines of gasoline pass by the screen, coating the black with lines of fuel. Schwarzwald's laugh fills the air as a match falls into to the gasoline. It ignites.]
[As the fire traces the gasoline, Big Duo's face is drawn out, then Big Fau, and finally, Big O.]
[Schwarzwald dances through the flames, spinning around laughing.]
"EEeahahah!!! The megadei brought humanity to it's end..."
[His face fills the screen as the camera zooms in on his eyes.]
"But we grew back....and reclaimed the Megadei...."
[The screen cuts to Schwarzwald watching Big Duo climb the walls of the crator the megaton missles made, reaching for the main dome.]
"Or did we? AHAHAHAHAH!!!"
[Flames consume the clip of Big Duo reaching for Paradigm's home office.]
"Now, a hero will rise from the ashes created by his most trusted weapon!"
[The flames continue tracing across the screen, drawing out the Big O logo in flames.]
[~BANG!~]
[Schwarzwald falls to the ground, blood dripping down his tear duct, dead.]
"......Some people never shut up..."
[Alan's feet are shown walking past Schwarzwald, putting out the flames. With water, but the screen doesn't display anything higher than Alan's knees.]
[Alan's foot steps a heard echoing off the walls of an ally way, as the screen fills with the steam and smoke from the dounced out fire.]

This is a scene I wrote last year for a fan fiction idea that never turned into anything. I still might do it someday. From what I remember this is set after act 26 Roger and Dorothy have come to some sort of resolution with their relationship. Dorothy is beginning to recover her, or more precisely the original Dorothy's Memories. In a way Dorothy's being consumed by the Memories.

This little bit of dialouge I think was the angle I was going for with people regaining their memories:

“It feels like she’s dying in your arms.”
“What does?”
“When people get their memories back."

And now the scene-
----------------------------


He looks into her eyes, and she looks into his and into past that’s validity was growing ever more suspect.

“Hi Roger,”

“Hey, sweetie,”

“I missed you”

There's something not quite right about her. It feels to Roger oddly like talking to a faded recording.

“Which one are you?” He asks her.

She smiles, lightly and un-Dorothy like. She shows her teeth. She laughs. She looks into his eyes and into the past.

“Are you my Dorothy?” He pulls a lock of red-brown hair from behind her ear. Each strand a marvel of ancient technology “Do I know you?”

Cool smooth finger tips dances over his face. She traces his lips with her finger and smiles at some forgotten memory. She laughes to herself and scoots closer to him. “Do you want to know something?” she whispers, leaning closer, her wandering hand sneaking around to pull his head closer to hers. Roger’s hand follows, inter-connecting his fingers with hers. Cool skin against warm flesh. Roger pulls their hands back, hold them between them. “Who are you?”

“Do you want to know how we met?”

“I know how we met”

“I meant the other you and Dorothy Wayneright”

“You are Dorothy Wayneright”

“Do you want to know how Roger and Dorothy met?”

“You are Dorothy”

“The sun was shining so she sat under an umbrella outside a café. . .”
Roger sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“. . .she ordered coffee, because, well, that’s what she always orders. . .”

He slams his bedroom door and sinks against the wall. He can hear her voice muffled through the walls. Soft. Steady. Slow. Speaking of the past.

“He said ‘Beautiful young women should never have to sit alone’. She couldn’t look at him. She was blushing. She never thought she was beautiful. All her life her father’s friends said thing like that and bought her flowers and she hated it because that’s just something people do to impress her father. She never thought any of them meant it. But he was wearing an army uniform and. . .”

Roger bangs his head against the wall. A slow steady pattern. He’s trying to remember how to breathe. Slow deep breathes. A swelling in the chest, until a pressure so intense you have to let it go. He rocks his body, banging his head every time he moves back.
“. . . they both liked Emerson. . .”

"You can’t do this to me-"

". . . and E.E. Cummings. . ."

"You can’t do this to me-"

". . . But he says he can’t stand Dickinson . . .”

“Please-“

“And neither can she. . .”

“. . .don’t do this. . .”

----------------------------------



muchlove
-Dork

This is from a unfinish fanfic still being written, heres a example from "Roger, Roger".
It’s been two years since R.D. made her return. Once again there is peace in Paradigm City, Angel is repairing the damages from Alex Rosewater doing. No longer there is a difference of citizens who live outside and inside the domes. As for the Big-O, it’s been a year since the black megaduce was in action. Norman continues to service the black megaduce. As for Dorothy and Roger they continue their jobs as negotiators and so this story begins.

The elevator makes a clicking sound and head towards to the first floor. Norman waits for the elevator to reach the top floor, the elevator reaches the top floor. Roger and Dorothy are inside the car. Both are dirty and tired from there last job there were hired for.

“Master Roger welcome home.” says Norman.
“Norman the griffon is going to need some work again.” Roger states.
“Hello Norman.” Smiles Dorothy.
“Well hello Ms, Dorothy did the job went well?”
“The job went sour at the end when one of the parties decided to blow up the drop off point/”
“All dear where you both injured”?
“Actually Roger suffer a bump on the head from the debris”.
“Is that so Master Roger”?
“I’m fine Norman, come on Dorothy lets get our selves all clean up for dinner”.
“You mean that I should shower with you”?
“R. Dorothy Wayneright.” Yelled Roger.
“I was only joking Roger.” Says Dorothy.

Norman began to fix dinner, as for Roger he is checking on the bump on his head from the explosion. Dorothy is brushing her hair and she changes her outfit. Roger walks by Dorothy’s room when he notices that Dorothy left the door sightly open facing towards Roger’s room. Dorothy was changing her clothes while Roger was taking a sneak peak of the android. Roger was amazed of how Dorothy look without her black dress. Dorothy reveals her backside towards Roger direction. Roger was shock when he saw the scars on her back. Roger stops watching Dorothy changing her clothes and heads towards to Norman. Dorothy’s door open even wider by Roger footsteps

I got the fire going for my Prometheus City plot again(WHY WONT ANYONE BUT LIBM GIVE ME FEEDBACK?!!?!). I've plotted out a small storyline from the final days of the Megadei war, concering the skilled pilots Roger Smith, Micheal Seebach, Alex Rosewater, and my elite forces pilots Gregory Diaz ( whose name spells roger if you take off the G and Y. By pure coincidence I assure you), Robert Johnson, and Etsuya Chiaki. The main character however, is Schwarzwalds nephew, who is a drafted pilot sent to combat enemy forces.


Dust to Dusk

"War is hell, ain't it Jack?"

The last words Jack F. Seebach heard from his only friend in the Terranian

Defense Force. Jack no longer pulled and pushed the controls under his hand

with the same cool demeanor he had always had. Rage fueled the force

behind the weapons that ended the life of many a foriegn pilot.

"GAAH!"

The young warrior sent forth both of the arms into the enemy Octopi. The

enemy were fond of this machine, with multiple limbs for any type of terrain

and combat. Jack fired off the pistons and knocked down the surrounding

group of them down.

"HEY! OUR ORDERS WERE TO KEEP THEM BACK UNTIL LT. DIAZ GETS HERE!

YOUR MAKING A BAD MOVE JACK!" said one of the other pilots fighting along

side him.

"Can't you see? No ones coming. They've left us for dead. We just gotta'

hang on ta' these controls and smash these sushi-rejects. Everybody,

Anchors Away!"

The twelve Bigs fired their Hip Anchors towards the enemy Megadeuses. Jack

and his gang were well trained, and choreographed the attack with deadly

precision. As they fought on, Jack recieved a message.

"Private Seebach. This is Liutenant Diaz. Fall back now. The bombing raid will

commence shortly."


and end trailer. How'd ya like it?

Unbeta'd and just or fun

The Dress
by Lilly Rose


A dress caught her attention.

R. Dorothy Wayneright stepped up to a storefront window. In the silvered reflection of glass, the dress material shone a true red. Perhaps the color drew her notice...

"Dorothy?"

During her preoccupation, Roger Smith joined her at the window.

"I was distracted," she told him, her dark eyes never leaving the dress.

"By that dress?" he asked her, and she nodded her agreement.

"I don't know why it fascinates me so," she added. "Only that it does."

At times, he forgot her enhanced abilities of perception. His remark was voiced low, obviously not meant to be heard. The meaning behind it was another issue Roger could not or would not discuss if asked. That being the case, she decided the best course of action was to ignore the remark.

.His eyes found hers in the glass. "Does your fascination mean that you like it?" He sounded truly curious. She quickly weighed color and fabric against her personal preferences. Then she added the cut of the dress in comparison to her small figure and...and...and...

She ruthlessly squashed that thought. "Yes," she decided. " I do like it."

The answer seemed to satisfy him. He turned away from the window without another word. She followed him back to the car, lost in her private thoughts. Her earlier, trampled thought refused to grant her peace. Resigned to having such a silly thought, Dorothy allowed its' completion.

A distraction on any woman, Roger had said. Would he feel the same if she were the one wearing the dress?

fin

quote:

Originally posted by LillyRose Unbeta'd and just or fun

And much fun it was.

Wow Dork, what a cool beginning. You just have to do something more with this. This could be facinating.