And the BTVS Muse keeps talking...
Aug. 5th, 2003 09:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakFirst, my Bablyon 5 story, beta-read and hopefully sans typos and teutonisms now, is up here.
More Wagner yesterday, and being nice to the guestages (TM Andrew), but Warren wouldn't shut up, either. Ridley Scott, forgive me. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the third of Five Things Which Never Happened To Warren. The one with the Buffybot.
III.
In retrospect, Warren was grateful to Spike. His break-up with Katrina, or more accurately, Katrina leaving him in indignation and disgust, had left Warren feeling worse than at any point in his previous existence. He couldn’t imagine living without Katrina. He couldn’t face seeing her again and not be able to make everything the way it had been. He couldn’t even bear the idea of College, not without her to work with, and everyone staring at him, whispering behind his back, speculating why she might have left. Or maybe they had always expected her to. After all, why should a beautiful, smart woman like her bother with the likes of him?
When Spike showed up to intimidate and blackmail him into building another robot, Warren awoke of his post-Katrina-malaise to two useful realisations. One was that, romantic notions of Katrina weeping over his dead body and regretting every harsh word aside, he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to live, even without Katrina. The other was that living, with or without Katrina, would be difficult with a vampire whom his idiotic mother had given an invitation breezing in and out his place of residence. Who said Spike wouldn’t just drain him if Warren wasn’t useful anymore? Also, even if he did give Spike what he wanted and Spike wouldn’t bother him again, there was the distinct possibility the Slayer would kill him if she found out what he had build for Spike. Or at least hurt him very much. And Warren had just had about his share of Buffy Summers encounters. In the middle of his depression, he felt a distinct pang of hatred at the thought of her standing in his doorway and casually ruining his life with a few words.
Once he thought about it, the solution to both problems was obvious. He build and programmed the Slayer-lookalike as Spike had requested, but added a few hidden extras of his own. Spike didn’t even bother to run a program check when he showed up to collect his order, but that was a vampire for you. No sense of technical finesse. No, Spike just lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of the android throwing itself on him, and apparantly was so eager to get laid that he ran off with it without even bothering to deliver some final threat. Warren packed his stuff, and waited. Sure enough, some hours later his creation returned, with a wide, guileless smile.
“I had great sex with Spike!” it chirped. “Then I dusted him, like you said.”
“What is your first priority?” Warren asked, checking.
“Protect Warren,” the android said promptly.
“Second?”
“Do whatever you tell me to do. You are my creator. You are very wise.”
They both left Sunnydale then. Warren didn’t exactly know where they were going. He jus knew he couldn’t return to College, not with Katrina there and tormentingly out of his reach, and not if Katrina did not return and every corner would remind him of her. So he hit the road. He figured the Slayerbot would be a useful bodyguard, given the weirdos one was almost certain to encounter. Also, he was quite aware that while Buffy Summers wasn’t exactly his type, most people would describe her as pretty, and a guy travelling with such a girl would cut a far more impressive figure than Warren Meers on his own.
He could never pinpoint just when he started to think of the android as “her”, not “it”. Of course, he had always thought of April as “her”, but Warren was determined not to repeat the April mistake. This android was not there to love him, just to protect him, and he certainly was not inclined to love it, given its resemblance to Buffy Summers. At the utmost, he thought he’d feel a certain pride, given that it was the walking, talking proof of his genius. Still, after a while, he found he enjoyed watching her slay vampires in the sleepy Californian towns they came through. He certainly enjoyed having her beat the crap of some biker jerks who jeered at him and tried to make a pass at her. This, unfortunately, meant the clothes Spike had brought him to dress her in were somewhat damaged.
“We’ll go shopping,” Warren told her.
“I love shopping,” the Buffybot declared. “Shoes are very important.”
“Actually, I was thinking of a blouse first,” he corrected, and she pouted a bit. Warren was quite proud of this particular subprogramm, which had not been there in April. At the time, he had wondered why Spike insisted on it, but now he could see pouting did not need to look and sound annoying. It could be…quite endearing, actually.
“Blouses are good,” his creation said, “but shoes are better.” Her pout dissolved into a beaming smile again. “You should get new shoes, too.”
Remembering the first time he had tried to buy a gift for Katrina, Warren said ruefully: “I’m afraid we’ll run quickly out of cash this way.”
“Money is important, too,” she confirmed, and marched off. Not too long afterwards, she returned with the cash register of the petrol station Warren had gotten gas from earlier this day.
At first, he was shocked, until he realised he was actually thrilled. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? She was strong. Of course, they couldn’t just go on robbing petrol stations. Especially with her looking the way she did. People would remember her. But the next time she beat up some jerks, she could take their cash as well, and they wouldn’t dare to complain. They’d be too embarassed a little slip of a girl had been able to make mincemeat out of them.
They lived the high life then, Warren and his android. It was as good as Bonnie and Clyde, Warren thought. Without the ending. He upgraded her software so she could recognize worthy targets more easily, and after they could afford it, he equipped her with the ability to dial into phone calls, sorting and locating those who mentioned carrying money around as well. This resulted in a highly successful raid on some L.A. lawyers who were going to pay demons with unregistered cash for some hit operation or the other.
“They were evil,” the Buffybot declared. “They even talked of kidnapping and vivisecting little angels!”
Sometimes, she still managed to confuse him.
“Specify,” he said. She inclined her head and quoted, with a perfect voice recording:
“So that means you’ll deliver Angel’s brat this time, then? The doc is still waiting to look what his insides are made off.”
Warren lost interest. “Never mind,” he said. “Tell you what – we’ll go to Vegas next!”
Las Vegas was the best. It was such fun, buying her dresses, bringing her into Caesar’s Palace and winning with her ability to count the cards. Not too much, though; Warren had seen enough Mafia movies to know better, and he had never forgotten the injustice of Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman getting kicked out of the casino in Rain Man. By now, Warren himself thought he looked quite presentable. She had persuaded him to go for leather trousers, and a long trench coat, and the sun glasses were a given. He was having a great time. So he couldn’t understand it when he had another nightmare which had him wake up sobbing. It was Katrina turning away from him again, and he couldn’t comprehend why he should still mind about Katrina, who was stuck in her drab, colourless existence and would never know what she was missing.
The android, who lay next to him, recharging her batteries, turned her head and watched him. Her eyes looked incredibly big in the dim light of their suite.
“Don’t be sad, Warren,” she said, and moved her left hand to his head, stroking his hair. She had never done this before, and it confused him as much as his dream had done.
“I’m not,” he protested.
“You produce tears, and little hiccuppy noises,” she pointed out. “These are signs of human grief.”
“It will pass,” Warren muttered. Being seen like that would have irritated and infuriated him if it had been anyone else, but with her he found he didn’t mind.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I don’t want you to be sad.”
“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself. After all, he had not programmed her to love him, or even like him, just to protect him; protection did not include concern about his emotions.
“You are my creator,” she said simply. “Also, you should eat more vitamins.”
The end, when it came, wasn’t completely unexpected. Those lawyers she had robbed apparantly had friends. With helicopters. As Warren found himself being chased by police cars and helicopters, being driven towards a canyon where he would have to stop, he suddenly realized that this was it. And he didn’t mind that much. He had never felt as alive as now, he couldn’t be further from being a nobody, and he wasn’t alone anymore. Of course, as soon as they caught him it would end in beatings and prison or other humiliations, but he had no intention of letting this happen.
“They talk of capturing and harming you,” the Buffybot said, having listened to all the radio and cell phones.
“Won’t happen,” Warren declared confidently. He smiled at her, and took her hand. When she returned his smile, guileless, utterly believing, and full of affection, he hit the gas pedal, and the car drove into infinity.
More Wagner yesterday, and being nice to the guestages (TM Andrew), but Warren wouldn't shut up, either. Ridley Scott, forgive me. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the third of Five Things Which Never Happened To Warren. The one with the Buffybot.
III.
In retrospect, Warren was grateful to Spike. His break-up with Katrina, or more accurately, Katrina leaving him in indignation and disgust, had left Warren feeling worse than at any point in his previous existence. He couldn’t imagine living without Katrina. He couldn’t face seeing her again and not be able to make everything the way it had been. He couldn’t even bear the idea of College, not without her to work with, and everyone staring at him, whispering behind his back, speculating why she might have left. Or maybe they had always expected her to. After all, why should a beautiful, smart woman like her bother with the likes of him?
When Spike showed up to intimidate and blackmail him into building another robot, Warren awoke of his post-Katrina-malaise to two useful realisations. One was that, romantic notions of Katrina weeping over his dead body and regretting every harsh word aside, he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to live, even without Katrina. The other was that living, with or without Katrina, would be difficult with a vampire whom his idiotic mother had given an invitation breezing in and out his place of residence. Who said Spike wouldn’t just drain him if Warren wasn’t useful anymore? Also, even if he did give Spike what he wanted and Spike wouldn’t bother him again, there was the distinct possibility the Slayer would kill him if she found out what he had build for Spike. Or at least hurt him very much. And Warren had just had about his share of Buffy Summers encounters. In the middle of his depression, he felt a distinct pang of hatred at the thought of her standing in his doorway and casually ruining his life with a few words.
Once he thought about it, the solution to both problems was obvious. He build and programmed the Slayer-lookalike as Spike had requested, but added a few hidden extras of his own. Spike didn’t even bother to run a program check when he showed up to collect his order, but that was a vampire for you. No sense of technical finesse. No, Spike just lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of the android throwing itself on him, and apparantly was so eager to get laid that he ran off with it without even bothering to deliver some final threat. Warren packed his stuff, and waited. Sure enough, some hours later his creation returned, with a wide, guileless smile.
“I had great sex with Spike!” it chirped. “Then I dusted him, like you said.”
“What is your first priority?” Warren asked, checking.
“Protect Warren,” the android said promptly.
“Second?”
“Do whatever you tell me to do. You are my creator. You are very wise.”
They both left Sunnydale then. Warren didn’t exactly know where they were going. He jus knew he couldn’t return to College, not with Katrina there and tormentingly out of his reach, and not if Katrina did not return and every corner would remind him of her. So he hit the road. He figured the Slayerbot would be a useful bodyguard, given the weirdos one was almost certain to encounter. Also, he was quite aware that while Buffy Summers wasn’t exactly his type, most people would describe her as pretty, and a guy travelling with such a girl would cut a far more impressive figure than Warren Meers on his own.
He could never pinpoint just when he started to think of the android as “her”, not “it”. Of course, he had always thought of April as “her”, but Warren was determined not to repeat the April mistake. This android was not there to love him, just to protect him, and he certainly was not inclined to love it, given its resemblance to Buffy Summers. At the utmost, he thought he’d feel a certain pride, given that it was the walking, talking proof of his genius. Still, after a while, he found he enjoyed watching her slay vampires in the sleepy Californian towns they came through. He certainly enjoyed having her beat the crap of some biker jerks who jeered at him and tried to make a pass at her. This, unfortunately, meant the clothes Spike had brought him to dress her in were somewhat damaged.
“We’ll go shopping,” Warren told her.
“I love shopping,” the Buffybot declared. “Shoes are very important.”
“Actually, I was thinking of a blouse first,” he corrected, and she pouted a bit. Warren was quite proud of this particular subprogramm, which had not been there in April. At the time, he had wondered why Spike insisted on it, but now he could see pouting did not need to look and sound annoying. It could be…quite endearing, actually.
“Blouses are good,” his creation said, “but shoes are better.” Her pout dissolved into a beaming smile again. “You should get new shoes, too.”
Remembering the first time he had tried to buy a gift for Katrina, Warren said ruefully: “I’m afraid we’ll run quickly out of cash this way.”
“Money is important, too,” she confirmed, and marched off. Not too long afterwards, she returned with the cash register of the petrol station Warren had gotten gas from earlier this day.
At first, he was shocked, until he realised he was actually thrilled. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? She was strong. Of course, they couldn’t just go on robbing petrol stations. Especially with her looking the way she did. People would remember her. But the next time she beat up some jerks, she could take their cash as well, and they wouldn’t dare to complain. They’d be too embarassed a little slip of a girl had been able to make mincemeat out of them.
They lived the high life then, Warren and his android. It was as good as Bonnie and Clyde, Warren thought. Without the ending. He upgraded her software so she could recognize worthy targets more easily, and after they could afford it, he equipped her with the ability to dial into phone calls, sorting and locating those who mentioned carrying money around as well. This resulted in a highly successful raid on some L.A. lawyers who were going to pay demons with unregistered cash for some hit operation or the other.
“They were evil,” the Buffybot declared. “They even talked of kidnapping and vivisecting little angels!”
Sometimes, she still managed to confuse him.
“Specify,” he said. She inclined her head and quoted, with a perfect voice recording:
“So that means you’ll deliver Angel’s brat this time, then? The doc is still waiting to look what his insides are made off.”
Warren lost interest. “Never mind,” he said. “Tell you what – we’ll go to Vegas next!”
Las Vegas was the best. It was such fun, buying her dresses, bringing her into Caesar’s Palace and winning with her ability to count the cards. Not too much, though; Warren had seen enough Mafia movies to know better, and he had never forgotten the injustice of Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman getting kicked out of the casino in Rain Man. By now, Warren himself thought he looked quite presentable. She had persuaded him to go for leather trousers, and a long trench coat, and the sun glasses were a given. He was having a great time. So he couldn’t understand it when he had another nightmare which had him wake up sobbing. It was Katrina turning away from him again, and he couldn’t comprehend why he should still mind about Katrina, who was stuck in her drab, colourless existence and would never know what she was missing.
The android, who lay next to him, recharging her batteries, turned her head and watched him. Her eyes looked incredibly big in the dim light of their suite.
“Don’t be sad, Warren,” she said, and moved her left hand to his head, stroking his hair. She had never done this before, and it confused him as much as his dream had done.
“I’m not,” he protested.
“You produce tears, and little hiccuppy noises,” she pointed out. “These are signs of human grief.”
“It will pass,” Warren muttered. Being seen like that would have irritated and infuriated him if it had been anyone else, but with her he found he didn’t mind.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I don’t want you to be sad.”
“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself. After all, he had not programmed her to love him, or even like him, just to protect him; protection did not include concern about his emotions.
“You are my creator,” she said simply. “Also, you should eat more vitamins.”
The end, when it came, wasn’t completely unexpected. Those lawyers she had robbed apparantly had friends. With helicopters. As Warren found himself being chased by police cars and helicopters, being driven towards a canyon where he would have to stop, he suddenly realized that this was it. And he didn’t mind that much. He had never felt as alive as now, he couldn’t be further from being a nobody, and he wasn’t alone anymore. Of course, as soon as they caught him it would end in beatings and prison or other humiliations, but he had no intention of letting this happen.
“They talk of capturing and harming you,” the Buffybot said, having listened to all the radio and cell phones.
“Won’t happen,” Warren declared confidently. He smiled at her, and took her hand. When she returned his smile, guileless, utterly believing, and full of affection, he hit the gas pedal, and the car drove into infinity.
