Disclaimer: I don't own Big O, but I love it. I also love getting feedback :)
Adagio con attenzione
A spill of liquid notes trickled down the stairs and followed him to the elevator door, seeping under his collar and sending a little shiver down his spine. That's something new, something I've never heard her play before. He paused there, listening, trying to recall if he'd seen a sheet of music on the stand. First there had been the cacophony of her wake-up call, and he had responded in the traditional fashion by slamming open the door and growling "I'm up!". He had an early meeting so he went straight to the shower, and when he came out, she was playing something classical, possibly Tchaikovsky or one of the other Romantics. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be concentrating fully on the sounds, so he hadn't spoken when he passed her on the way to the stairs. And then the music changed.
"I don't understand what you mean," she glared at the sheet music in front of her as if it was to blame for her confusion.
"Play for yourself," he urged. "One you know the notes as the composer set them down, add variations that you find pleasing."
"But if the composer wanted it to be played in another way, he would have written it another way," she pointed out.
"Yet everyone who plays that piece of music does it just a little differently than anyone else," he said. "If you were going to play a concert, you would of course stay quite close to the original. But if you're playing it here for your own pleasure, why not experiment? Maybe you'll end up with something completely new."
"Androids aren't creative," she reminded him sourly, "and they don't have feelings."
"Strange" he said. "Looking at you now, I wouldn't say you weren't feeling anything. I'd say you were frustrated, and perhaps a bit annoyed."
She gave him a startled look. "The pieces don't fit," she said. "Pieces should fit."
He laughed. "And when they don't no matter how hard you try to arrange them, that's frustration."
She looked down at the piano keys, her expression thoughtful. "I will think about this further," she said.
The song ended abruptly, bringing his attention to the time. He'd have to get moving if he wanted a cup of coffee and the breakfast Norman was cooking.
"The memories mislead me," she said over supper a few days later.
"What do you mean?" He sipped his wine and set the glass down on the table.
"They are human memories," she said. "I do not have feelings the way I remember the original Dorothy having feelings."
"You aren't the same person, of course it would be different," he said.
"I never thought of that before," she said.
"I have an appointment with the lawyers for the Whittaker case today," Roger told Norman as he brought his plate and mug to the kitchen sink. "I don't know how long the meeting is going to run, but I can't see it going much past lunch. Is there anything you need me to pick up on the way home?"
"The dressmaker called a little while ago and said Miss Dorothy's wardrobe was ready," the butler said. "It would be a great help if you could pick up the packages."
"The one on Fourth, right?" At Norman's nod, he headed towards the garage. Perhaps Dorothy would smile when she saw her new clothes had arrived.