nysa overflow;

[originallutece]

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intro log; the egg and I

[originallutece]

[So, here's the thing: it's quiet here. Oh, the environment is perfectly lovely, yes, Rosalind can certainly appreciate that, and she quite enjoys the warmth of the water as she sticks her bare feet in, but really, the main draw? Is that it's empty. She's had more than enough of crowds lately, and so to get to bask in a secluded little spot is bliss.

It's also a bit warm, which is why (being alone) she's conceded to at least removing her jacket and vest. Her boots are off, as are her stockings (which is a bit risque in 1909, but it's not, thank god, 1909), and all in all, Rosalind is enjoying not being quite so dressed up at the moment. She'll be stiff and imposing all day long, but it's nice to have a few minutes in which she doesn't have to be.

Which is why, naturally, someone comes along.

She stiffens at the sound of footsteps, jerking to pull her feet out of the water and shove her skirt back down, but when the figure comes into view--]

Oh. It's you.

[Well. Never mind, then.

That's not a bad it's you. Rather the opposite, in fact: she settles down as she catches sight of him, because there's little point in being fussy. They spent an evening cuddled up together; it's hard to get worked up about mild modesty after that.]

I honestly don't know if I ought to reintroduce myself after that silly hallucination or not.

[tailorable]

[ Now that Eggsy has reached the final stop on his wander along the beach, it takes him a moment to put a name to it. He chatted with some local gals earlier at the bar. When he’d asked for recommendations, one had said Cupid’s Pool with a dust of pink on her cheeks and a giggle caught in her throat. He didn’t understand then and still doesn’t have the right of it now. Perhaps Cupid’s Pool is called as such due to its secluded nature. Perfect for stealing someone away for one-on-one time, innit?

In his floral shorts and pink snapback, he's far from inconspicuous. Fit, too, but that's not uncommon for boys his age. He strolls to the edge of pool, unable to recognise Ros from behind until she turns and speaks (though he makes note of the old-timey dress sense). ]

C'mon, you're unforgettable, yeah? [ light and teasing, but his wide smile suggests he means it sincerely. ] Dr. Ros, wasn't it?

[ It’s the delight of familiarity, of finding yet another person from the virtual reality simulator who’s real and already his friend. ‘Cause you don’t survive a blizzard or scoop wild animal shit while your memories are scattered without becoming mates. He drops down next to her, near enough to touch if he reached out. Never been big on propriety, this one. ]

rhys; intro log

[originallutece]

[i really wish i had a rosalind version of MOM HOLY FUCK b/c that's what I'd put here now if I did

Because mom, holy fuck, Rhys is suddenly 100% more interesting.]

How? With what? How on earth did you install it yourself-- what materials did you use?

[rhygret]

[ He's always interesting I don't understand what you mean????

That said her sudden keen interest has him leaning back a little in surprise as he runs a hand through his hair. ]

Parts of a busted space station...? Mostly. And the facility I managed to make it to had some supplies.

And fruit. Looootta fruit there.

bigby; intro log

[originallutece]

[The retort is crude, but not unappreciated; Rosalind's startled into an amused smile.]

Not quite, but the spirit of the message was conveyed. Have a name, or shall I continue to think of you as the man who enjoys beaches and overly aggressive men as much as I do?

[puffing]

[ that's a good way to sum up Bigby. except remove the "not" out of "not unappreciated" and then? bam. Bigby Wolf, in the flesh. ]

I don't discriminate. Overly aggressive women don't do it for me, either.

[ a smirk. he gives it a moment to formally introduce himself, fetching for his box of Huff 'n Puffs. hopefully no one minds him smoking on the beach. especially not his new friend. ]

Bigby. Feel free to think what you want of me, though. Sure as hell won't be the first time.

angel; intro log

[originallutece]

What kind of technology?

[A bit of a sore subject, then, or at least something she's self-conscious about. Hm.]

[r3f4c70r3d]

Interfacing, primarily. Plugging in to a device and accessing its protocols, the galaxy's wireless network, transmissions of various kinds. It is advanced but not entirely uncommon where I come from.

[ Though hers were significantly altered by Jack to receive data far beyond the average brain's capacity and intertwine with her powers. Not only does she have no compatible cables here to even try plugging in, she fears what would happen now that she's no longer a siren. Would her body be able to handle the input? ]

ardyn; intro log

[originallutece]

Show me.

[A beat, and then, a sardonic little smile on her face:]

Please. You saw my double. I want to see how close you can approximate his voice.

[And then, before he can call her out on dodging that question:]

Naturally it's curiosity fueling me. But I wouldn't dismissing it with mere.

ardyn "i'm not a villain at all no really ros" izunia

[originallutece]

[He's lucky he's not shaking that finger in implicit scolding of her behavior; she'd be a lot less amenable towards it if so. As it is, she looks doubtful, though amused.]

Really. And whom did you disguise yourself as?

[daemonized]

[A wide grin, as if just thinking back on this is hilarious. Because it is, in a way.]

As him.

angel;

[originallutece]

[She gives her one last lingering look, unimpressed by her doubt, but whatever, it is what it is. Rosalind watches the dragons as they come near. For the time being, they're ignoring Angel; Rosalind is what they're interested in, Rosalind and her bloody torso.

Their pace picks up. She's just standing there, and they're too stupid to think it's a trap; they imagine her easy prey, and yet as the first opens its jaws to bite at her--

--she disappears.

And reappears, four feet back, closer to the pen. The dragons start at that, but they're not so easily deterred; with a snarl they rush forward, and Rosalind disappears again, reappearing closer to the pen-- again and again, until she's in the pen proper and the dragons are frustrated beyond reason, snarling as they chase her inwards.]

Now, if you please--

sorry for the delay aaaaa

[r3f4c70r3d]

[ The first time it happens, it's 'blink and you'll miss it.' Angel isn't quite sure what she's just seen transpire. Then it happens again and Angel knows she isn't just seeing things. It reminds her of something- or more accurately someone- Rosalind is displaying a power similar to that of a particular Siren.

Angel by now has gotten an idea of the plan, waiting until Rosalind is inside, and so are the dragons, gnashing and snarling with frustration as they rush in after her and Angel slams the gate.

At least she hopes she's understood the plan, quickly pressing against the closed bars to look in and make sure Rosalind has once again vanished and isn't currently becoming dragon-chow. ]

aranea; the one with dragons

[originallutece]

You're far more appealing.

[To the dragons. Because she's bloody. Yeah. That's absolutely what she meant.

Rosalind teleports away on that note, going to stand by the side of the pen. Aranea's got to do this next part by herself; she's not going to risk getting bitten by a dragon who doesn't know you're only supposed to attack the proper bait.

Luckily for her, they are intrigued by Aranea. The boldest one is starting to trot, drool pooling in its mouth as it stares up at what clearly is some kind of bloody snack. The others, encouraged, start to follow; soon Aranea's got three dragons eyeing her up.

Time to run, hm?]

bigby; it was the heat of the moment

[originallutece]

[Absurdly, stupidly (sentimentally, and oh, she hates that part of herself), Rosalind is quietly pleased when he laces their fingers together. It's a moment of sweetness amid the overwhelming filth; it's a false assurance that surely means nothing at all, but that she latches onto gratefully as he spills down her throat. Her fingers grip his tightly as she moans, keening for how he forces himself down her throat again and again. She can just imagine how they must look, his cock thick and hard and leaving an outline against her throat, and god, what she wouldn't give for an outside perspective--

But then he's finishing, and that demands all her attention. Rosalind shudders in relief and pleasure both as he convulses in her mouth, throbbing for each wave of orgasm that hits him. He pulls out quickly enough that it leaves her mouth sticky, come and saliva mixing and dripping over her lips; Rosalind shoves the back of her wrist against her mouth hastily the moment he leaves her, swallowing the mess at the same time.

And then that's it. He sits beside her, his appearance regressing and his gaze amused, and it's such a contrast from the heat and noise of before that she's left a little stunned in its wake. She blinks at him once, twice, her blue eyes wide and her chest rising and falling as she pants--

--and then she gets a hold of herself. Her eyes go hooded and her expression falls into sardonic amusement rather than stunned pleasure. Pushing her fingers through her mussed hair, she tips her head in wry acknowledgement, her mouth quirking into a slight smile (she can still taste him on her; she has to resist the urge to lick her lips).]

I think I've rather an idea. Though you'll notice I'm not running for the hills just yet.

[Because really: while he's overwhelming, that's no bad thing. She can't say she's displeased with the past half hour. Far from it; she's all but soaked through her panties in eagerness, and though her throat is sore and her jaw aches terribly, she's not nearly ready to call it a night.

She can take a break, though. For a minute. She's riled up enough she can't wait more than that, but she'll let them both catch their breath. Rosalind turns slightly, legs curling under her and one elbow resting against the couch as she shifts to face him more.]

All this, and you still haven't gotten my clothes off yet.

[Her gaze wanders over him, her smile growing as she drinks in the view.]

I hope you're as good as giving as you are getting, Bigby. You owe me two.

[One, because she's going to come within a minute of him touching her and she knows it, and so two, because she won't stand for him only having his mouth on her for a few minutes.]

sorry for tl;dr

[puffing]

[ pardon Bigby for not spending a lot of time thinking about how oddly gentle he is being in the midst of taking his frustrations out on Rosalind in what is possibly the best way possible. he holds onto anything that he can at that point in time, but it's possible that he laces his fingers with hers as a way of attempting to gain her trust. sure, he is pounding her throat ruthlessly and with reckless abandon, but he still intends on remaining in control of himself enough to make sure he doesn't tear into the woman in ways that aren't beneficial to the both of them.

his orgasm comes, and by god did it come, and it's gone just as fast. Rosalind may be concerned that he is a typical guy, having emptied himself inside of her and ready to call it quits on the spot. that is not the case. not in the slightest. as the two of them sit on the ground of all places, thighs pressing together, she can probably sneak a peek down below and see how his cock hasn't even teased the idea of losing its erection. in fact, it's still pulsating in a lively fashion, a few remnants of pre dribbling out of his slit along with her spit. ]

You're a tough one. I'll give you that much. Surprised you can talk right now.

[ seriously, he's going to go ahead and give her kudos. Rosalind said how much she enjoyed having a cock inside her mouth as a way of toying with him before, but he wholeheartedly believes that statement now. as he watches the conflict in her eyes, just knowing she wants more of his taste, he just barely reveals his teeth to her in a confident, typically-smile of sorts. his intent is probably more obvious in the tug of his lips than anything else on his face right now. ]

Seemed rude to stop you to make sure I pulled your skirt off. Sue me.

[ there won't be a minute to rest. it isn't more than a handful of seconds later before Bigby is jumping back up to his feet at an unreasonably fast speed. Rosalind will find herself following him whether or not she likes it, pulled up and off of the ground as if, again, she weighed nothing. she's thrown into the couch before she may even realize what is going on, and just like that, Bigby is on his knees again. perhaps it's out of spite or perhaps it's impatience to get right to it, but her skirt isn't pulled off. it is instead rolled up her legs until the creamy white flesh of her inner thighs is exposed, likely glistening with arousal.

perhaps it would also make sense to at least pull her panties off. he does not. she doesn't get another peep from him as he grabs her by the ankles and drags her straight down into his awaiting maw. his face stuffs itself underneath the bunched up skirt and he is met with immediate warmth and wetness. Bigby lets out another familiar noise akin to a growl as he mouths against her clothed cunt, dragging a tongue stronger than most along the lace repeatedly, only stopping to tease her with the idea of his teeth nipping at the fabric to pull it away. she'll get what she wants. soon. ]

sansa; a happy fun conversation between ladies

[originallutece]

[There's an awful lot of information being left out here, Rosalind knows. She can hear the gaps in her story, and she wonders what information fills them. Who was Joffrey marrying, then? And what had this Ramsay done, that he deserved such a fate?

(He did deserve it, she has no doubt. Cold Sansa might be, but sadistic she is not).

Rosalind watches her for a few more seconds, speculating privately, before saying:]

. . . one was shot. Of mine, I mean. He took a bullet to the face, though it was not at my hand, to my eternal disappointment. I would have dearly liked to be the one to slaughter Jeremiah Fink. And the other . . .

[She smiles faintly.]

A massive drill. Right--

[She slides her fingers under her ribcage, just above her stomach. Oh, yes. Comstock had died horribly, gurgling and choking on his own blood, gasping his shock as he'd reached up towards the people whose lives he'd destroyed.]

I've been told revenge brings no relief, but I found it quite satisfying. And if either of them wake, I'm more than ready to revisit their deaths upon them.

the most fun c':

[unprays]

[ there is understanding in her eyes as she looks at Rosalind, understanding that one can only have after experiencing the same thing, knowing just how it feels, to know that a monster is gone and will never again hurt you or your loved ones. ]

... I wish it had been me who killed Joffrey. Queen Cersei, Joffrey's mother, she blamed me for it, but it hadn't been me. I never saw him die, either... I fled before that.

[ then, she falls silent, until: ] Ramsay did wake. And if he ever hurts my family again, I'll make sure there's nothing left of him to come back, this time. [ this time, yes. which is about the closest one will get to the admission that it was her who killed him the first time. ]

November intro log;

[originallutece]

Ardyn;

[originallutece]

Yes.

[It's a quiet admission. Her voice doesn't change, but she stands just a little straighter as she says it, her posture stiffer.]

The likes of which I've never had before. Vivid ones. Ones where I'm drowning, or where I'm suffocating, but not in water.

[Ones where she isn't the one dying, too. Ones where she's standing on the edge of a black ocean, the water thick as oil; where it's Robert drowning, gasping for air, clawing at her and screaming for her to save him, and Rosalind unable to do anything but watch.

Jon;

[originallutece]

[She'll pay him back, she's determined, but for the moment she tucks it away with a nod of thanks.]

Manage and enjoy are two different things, and simply because I can survive doesn't mean I wish to undertake the journey.

[She nods, though, indicating they can walk and talk.]

. . . and I thank you for the offer, but I've a friend in mind. One I imagine won't mind me staying the night. Though I'd enjoy visiting-- I've still yet to see your house properly.

[She only saw it the once, guiding Sansa back home-- and even then, she was too preoccupied playing the part of Catelyn, determined not to break Sansa's delusion.]

Majima;

[originallutece]

Ah--

[What is it with this universe and everyone being so willing to strip down? Eggsy, Aranea, now Majima . . . it's not that she minds, necessarily, but on the other hand, good grief.

On the other hand, it is awfully hot. Rosalind wavers, then sits, pulling at her shoes.]

My feet, at least. Turn around, please.

[Because she has to take off her stockings. They're far enough away from the others that there's no real risk of being seen, thank god.]

Dutch;

[originallutece]

In what fashion?

[But that's imprecise. She shakes her head, dismissing the question, and instead clarifies:]

Was he a childhood friend, or--?

Ermes;

[originallutece]

And so what you're saying is that, in fact, you'd need someone to make some for you.

Gala;

[originallutece]

Bigby

[originallutece]

[He grabs her by the throat and she inhales sharply, both startled and utterly turned on by the way he so casually does it. He'll feel her heart racing beneath his fingers, an excited thrum that only increases when he squeezes.

Which isn't to say she looks pleased. That selfsame frustration that had been present in the gala proper crosses her expression once more when he oh-so-casually dismisses all her demands. For a moment Rosalind opens her mouth, ready to argue, hungry to snap and bicker and get in his face. But ah . . . no, that's not the way. Not a direct fight, but rather something she can actually win.

Licking her lips, Rosalind steps forward, pressing up against him once more. Her hands dart down to tug at his trousers, deftly popping the button and unzipping him without looking, as she leans in to nip at his bottom lip. Murmured, then:]

Get us caught, Bigby Wolf, and I'll teleport you out of the room without your trousers. I might even put you square in the middle of all those dancers. You can gain a reputation as the man who wandered around a party with his prick out-- but then, I should hardly think you'd mind, hm? Since you don't seem to care about being loud.

[Is she serious? It's hard to say, but there's enough honesty in her tone that he ought to be left wondering. Of all the kinks they might or might not ever indulge in, exhibitionism isn't one of them. The threat of being caught is a turn-on, and god knows he can get her wet by taunting her with the possibility, but actually being caught? Unacceptable. Even here, she won't allow for such a thing.

But with that threat hanging in the air, Rosalind sees no reason to deprive herself (or him) any further. Sweeping her dress carefully forward, she drops to her knees before him, licking her lips in open anticipation. That ache is back, leaving her mouth sore and in desperate need of being filled, and thank god, here he is to tend to her. Rosalind inhales sharply as she draws him out, and gives herself just one moment of glancing up at him, delighted by the picture he makes. God, look at him, and it's hard not to think of something a little hideous when they're in a classroom like this. She bites her lip one last time just for the tease of it before she darts forward, taking him in her mouth proper.

And god, but it feels good. The instant he slips past her lips Rosalind moans, tongue darting forward to swirl eagerly around the head. There's absolutely something at work here, because even she doesn't usually feel this dizzy with delight over blowing someone, but Christ, this feels good. It feels right, satisfying, like fulfilling a craving or scratching an itch. She moans again, her lips tightening, and leans forward, intent on taking as much of him as she can stand.

(And if he goes to touch her hair, he'll get the back of his hand swatted quite hard. She might be enjoying herself, but she hasn't lost her mind completely).]