Here's a NemuroXTokiko Fanfic I wrote...it ties in with a goth loli manga called DOLL by Mitsukazu Mihara, about a world where people rely on androids called DOLLs.

She read up and down the specifications. Taking the smooth ink pen out of her lapel, she quickly scrawled down the corrections – the face needed to be a little bit more angular. The eyes had to be that exact shade of crimson. There was a bit of irregularity in the jaw of the last one – something that could not be accepted. She then handed it to the man in the desk across from her, a 30-something with gelled back hair and a striped blue suit. He had creases around his mouth and rings under his eyes – probably did blow in the company bathroom. He quickly eyed the paper, and then called for his assistant. She was a dead-eyed girl with a tiny black dress and large pumps, pale skin stretched tight over synthetic muscles and metal sockets.
    “Take that down to the workshop, and make sure they get it right this time.” The girl nodded, and quietly left the room. He looked over the table at the woman, older than him, in about her 70s. She wore a large black hat and an open-collared black blouse – almost as if she had just returned from a funeral. She clicked her painted, wrinkled fingers on the clasp of her little hand bag and looked up at him.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be any trouble, it’s just –“
    “Nonsense, Ms. Chida. Here at the SG Corp, it’s important to us that our customer gets exactly what they’re looking for in their product. I’m sorry the last model was unsatisfactory, and your new model should be ready in about a week.” A small smile played on his lips at this last sentence, making sure the last words oozed with a fake politeness. She thanked him, shook his hand, and left.
    The car waited for her outside. She got in, and as it moved, as the wisps of green trees shot past her in the back seat, she thought back to a time when she wasn’t this alone. A time when she wasn’t this guilty.

+

His hands stirred up and down her body in the hot dampness of the dark. His and her belongings laid strewn about the room, a glove here, a shirt there, his violet glasses flung to the far corner like some forgotten bit of refuse. He had remarked to her before he had never really done something like this. It shocked her a bit – the idea that someone this brilliant, this down to the earth had never really experienced something as perfectly human as making love. Sometimes it really did seem like he was a computer – no matter how normal or clear-headed he was the more out of touch with reality and the rest of the world he seemed. It was almost as if he didn’t belong here, like he was an adult among children, an ancient yet modern thing that didn’t really belong anywhere.
He bent down and kissed her stomach, sending a ripple of pleasure through her. Her tidy brown hair lay sprawled against the pillows, his own cherry-blossom locks soaked with sweat and sticking to his face. How very like a child he seemed to her, at this moment – not a computer, but a toy. Almost like a doll.

+

    She stood and stared at the thing which stood in her doorway.
    It was his spitting image – the tender rose-colored hair, the judging scarlet eyes, so quick and intelligent, covered by the sharp violet frames. It was all perfect, right down to the seams of the gloves that clasped his hands. This thing, this imitation man, he seemed so out of place here in his starched old-fashioned clothing, here among this future of plastic and formless function. He seemed like he belonged in a curling yellow photograph, dying along with its memories in the bottom of an attic. Yet still, it wasn’t Him. It could never be Him. It could never contain that willingness to achieve, to know. Never would it see the things he had seen – the duels. The fire. Her sickly, freckled brother in the wheelchair and the way his face glowed when He would walk into the room. No, merely a collection of fake things; of things once assembled, the people of this bright, hurting world could call a person. Not even a person, something they called a doll.
    “I am yours to do with as you wish, m’am. That is what you purchased me for. What is my first task?” he said, no emotion in his eyes or face. She walked toward him, and dropped her rope, her body glistening and firing for the cold piece of mechanical faux in front of her. All she could do was whisper
    “At last, Nemuro, you son of a bitch - you have achieved eternity.”

Hope you like it

Last edited by Z-Ko (12-30-2007 11:16:16 PM)