Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Gomen!
I'm so sorry I haven't updated in what...21 days? And know that I am, I can't think of anything to put... Oh wait! I will give you a story I wrote! Hope you like it...





R. Dorothy ChatDoll®
Of Alanite Industries

It was a cold day in Paradigm City, although in the high-rise penthouse of Alana Gabriel, it was quite warm. There was a low murmuring as reporters, celebrities, and (well, lets face it), random people waited for the leader of Alan Gabriel’s presidential campaign to appear.

The waiting didn’t last long, as Alana entered the room with a dramatic flourish, walked to her podium (yes, she had a podium in her house. Don’t you?), and bowed.

“It is my sad duty to inform you,” she purred, in a voice that didn’t really sound sad at all, “That my beloved brother, Alan, is resigning from his campaign. The constant insults and remarks on his personal integrity were too great for his already fragile psyche.” There were one or two incredulous sniggers from the back, instantly quelled by a seemingly eyeless glare. At this point, the rest of the crowd recovered from their stunned silence, shock etched clearly on their faces. The low murmurs returned…

“What?”

“No!”

“I thought we’d finally get the kind of government our city needed!”

“What planet are you from? It woulda been a night-agh!”

“Fred? You all right?” Fred, the unfortunate reporter who said the wrong thing, had seemingly disappeared. The cat purred.

Al Steele, one of the reporters, finally spoke up in something higher than a murmur. Of course he did…his next bonus depended on it.

“So…this is it? No more campaign?” His lips began to tremble. “How will I live? Taxes are too high! Reporting on this campaign gives me my bread and butter! I need –“ His photographer elbowed him in the ribs.

“There’s such a thing as laying it on too thick, dummy!” This, of course, went unnoticed. Alana smiled benevolently. It was a frightening sight.

“Oh, no, my dear fellow citizens. Alan has urged his running mate, R. D. Waynewright, to continue in his stead.” Al wiped his forehead dramatically.

“Well, that’s a relief. Ms. Wayneright may not be Alan, but she will at least continue to…um…” he faltered. His conscience winced. But…hey! Money was money! “Bring about the kind of change that Paradigm City needs!” He finished brightly, more than making up for the noticeable pause, ignoring the strange looks his fellow reporters were giving him.

“What will your brother be doing now?”

Alana’s face – the visible part, anyway – twitched. She sighed. She’d repeatedly told her doorman, bodyguards, even her cat, that THIS reporter was not to be allowed within a hundred foot radius of her person. But here she was…Ozy Jones, asking questions that SHE, Alana Gabriel, had NOT written out. Maybe the cat should’ve attacked her instead of Fred…oh, well. She could use this to her advantage.

“He may run again in the next election, but as for now he has taken to the toy business.” She struggled to keep from laughing. Every single reporter in the room…those not on her payroll, anyway…including that pesky Jones, looked as if they had just seen Alex Rosewater dance by in a ballet tutu. Now she struggled to keep from screaming. Where had that mental image come from? But you get the picture. They looked shocked, dismayed, sickened…and strangely intrigued. Except for trusty Al.

“What kind of toys, Miss Gabriel?” Alana reached under the podium, smiling sweetly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present…” Another graceful flourish brought the plush out into the open. “Alanite Industries first toy…the R. Dorothy ChatDoll!” She set the doll on the podium. Not even 10 inches tall, the stuffed doll was grinning in a most un-Dorothy-like manner, but other than that it looked exactly like a stuffed Dorothy. Little black dress, black shoes, white stockings, skin…bright, reddish brown hair…real android hair, none the less…it had been hard to keep R.D. from killing her after that, but it was worth it…and besides, androids didn’t really need hair…and there were wigs…Alana reminded herself to lock her doors again that night, though…just in case. Here Alana – cringing inwardly all the while – entered into “Used Car Saleswoman” mode.

“This lifelike replica of Paradigm City’s most popular android, “ I think I am going to be sick, “Walks and talks! Among its 399 phrases are…” she thwapped the doll on the top of its head.

“Hi! I’m Dorothy!” The doll said, in a voice that, well…the manufacturers had only had R. D.’s voice to work from, after multiple attempts to record normal Dorothy conversations had resulted in restraining orders and a visit from a lawyer and an irate Megadues…she still wasn’t sure which encounter had been more unsettling. Needless to say, “psychotically cute” was the only phrase that would describe the toy’s voice. She thwapped the doll again. “You really are a louse!” Again. “Your sense of fashion, Roger, really reeks.” She smirked. Thwapped. “I’m the booooogeyman!” Her grin froze. The reporters froze. The crowd froze.

“Um. This one seems to be defective.” Alan, you IDIOT!!! She set the doll back under the podium none too gently, replacing it with a new doll. Thwap. “I love you!” The crowd unfroze. The crowd unfroze quite in her favor.

“Awww!”

“That’s so cute!”

“I want one!” The doll continued to toddle unsteadily around the podium. Alana grinned to herself. They were eating out of the palm of her hand…

“It is funny that you mention that…” She pointed towards the door. “There’s a booth selling them right there. Hurry! We have a special introductory price $19.95, and supplies are…well…endless, actually, but that doesn’t mean you should wait!” She continued smirking as reporters, celebrities and random onlookers alike rushed for the booth, pushing and shoving to be the first in line.

Unfortunately, not all the reporters went…like that Jones woman, just leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with the three other non-doll-buyers. She looked up to see Alana watching her, and rolled her eyes, an incredulous look on her face. Alana resisted the un-cyborg-ish urge to stick her tongue out at her, deciding instead to listen to the doll buyers.

“They’re so CUTE!” One reporter squealed.

“I know! I already bought 17!” Al. One could always trust Al…the first squealer blinked.

“You must have a lot of relatives.” Al shook his head.

“Huh? Oh, no! These are all for me. I haven’t started buying for the relatives yet…That’s what I’m doing now!” Alana shook her head. She really should try to find smarter, bribable reporters…she plastered the happy grin back on her face, and went to wrap things up.

**********************************
Later that evening, once the unwelcome wave of humanity had been ushered to the door and Jones had (unfortunately) avoided meeting the same cat-aided fate as Fred, Alana and Alan sat in the living room, counting the piles of money mounded around them. Or rather, Alana was counting. Alan was busily scratching his name into the table over and over. And over. Alana rolled her eyes.

“How much do we have so far?” Alana glared at her figures.

“So far, we only have enough for Big E’s head…that still leaves the rest of Big E and all of Big N to go.” Alan sighed dramatically.

“I was all prepared to be the leader this city needed.” His shoulder slumped as he dug his metal fingers deeper into the table. “But nooo…constant insults…constant defamation of my character…they will regret this.”

“I know.” Alana rubbed her fingers through the pile of bills. “I have you scheduled to appear at the new store tomorrow to promote the dolls.” Alan jabbed the table one more time, snapping the edge off.

“Good! Soon, we will have enough money to construct Big Evil and Big Nasty! And then…oh, yes…and then they will rue the day they ever said Alan Gabriel was not reformed!”

Their sinister laughter filled the penthouse. Maybe if someone had heard it, things may have gone differently. But no one did…except for the cat…who purred, chewing on one of Fred’s shoes.

To Be Continued…




Comments (0)