[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.
[ 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. ]
[But her tone is a bit more relaxed than it might otherwise be. They spent an evening together chatting about princesses and work (and how much of that was real, she wonders; is there some unattainable girl at home he's still stuck on); it's hard to be her usual stiff self after that. So Rosalind corrects him, but amiably so, and doesn't pointedly shift away when he sits close.
The proximity is nice, honestly. And god knows he's a sight; all that skin would be illegal in 1909, but Rosalind isn't going to complain if he wants to show himself off.]
Now, is this how you normally dress, or did some idiot accost you with an offer of money and a leering suggestion?
[ Madam, how very amusing. The use of formal titles doesn't bother him. ]
Still just Eggsy.
[ He laughs, entirely unshamed by her line of questioning and the accompanying implications. Idly, he wonders if she's as retro as she looks. He already met a few faux Brits from times long since past. ]
Picked these ones, actually, but I'd only wear 'em to the beach. [ He flicks the bill of his hat and cants his head to face her. Again, he seems unoffended. If anything, mischief glitters in his eyes. ] 'Course I did meet some perv matching that description earlier. [ a sly smile. ] He put me in the smallest shorts I've ever seen. Must've blinded everyone who saw me in 'em.
[ with his miles of white skin, seeing as he last recalls the London winter. ]
Good god, man, there's better ways to earn a few Ea-- well. Coins, I suppose.
[She seems amused, though.]
Still. I'd wager you'd make a far better sight in those than some of the others I saw. At the very least, you're fitter.
[And she means that in the physical fitness sense, not the slang. Ah, the joys of being old-timey.]
What is it you used to do? Not a guard, I assume, but something related to that-- or do you keep in shape simply to impress whatever girls you run across?
Madam Lutece. [ intoned with mock scandal. However she means fit, she clearly got a good look at him waltzing over half-dressed. If his cheeks pink slightly, it's only fair — Rosalind's a pretty woman far more dressed than he is, presently, and thinking he's some kind of prozzer. ] I promise I only pretended. Haven't resorted to selling myself just yet.
[ It's not the sort of thing he'd be comfortable with, given the history of Dean's shitheads calling him rentboy and the like. He isn't even entirely convinced by the need for honeypot missions at Kingsman, but that's a problem for later. Best not to dwell on it.
With a wink, he sets his bright hat aside to slip into the water, resurfacing pleasantly soaked, light brown hair sticking to his forehead. Then, with a bit of soldier boy politeness — ] Former Royal Marine. Plus gymnastics, freerunning, and troublemaking before that.
[Gymnastics, hm? That's interesting. As is the solider bit, honestly; she hadn't expected that from a boy so cheerful. But, she supposes, she has a bit of a dour outlook on military-types in general.]
And your rank? It's been a long time since I've been home, but I think I can recall enough about the English military to appropriately react with the right amount of surprise and wonderment if you've made it past private.
[ Although his expression softens, he doesn't look away. ]
'Fraid I'll disappoint you here.
[ There's a genuine flicker of conflict across his features. His cover is as truthful as can be, even down to the disappointing aspects of his personal history. ]
Didn't make it past second lieutenant. [ He clears his throat. ] My family needed me, so my service ended abruptly.
[ said simply. He doesn't regret it, not when the alternative meant leaving Michelle and Daisy alone with Dean. Besides, second lieutenant's an upgrade, considering he actually quit before he finished training. ]
[God, Ros, that's nosy, but on the other hand, it's not as if he's compelled to answer, and one never gets anywhere by being soft. Her gaze is intent, but not piercing; she's not just asking to get more information. She rather likes talking to this boy; it's natural she wants to learn more about him.
Less natural is the way she seems compelled to want to brush her fingers over him, an impulse odd enough that a little frown flickers over her features. It's the most absurd urge, but his hair is damp and hanging in his eyes and suddenly Ros wants nothing more than to sweep it back.
No, she tells herself, annoyed that the thought had even come to mind in the first place, and tangles her fingers together in her lap to stop herself from acting on it.]
[ Despite the topic, he lets out a startled laugh. He moves closer unthinkingly. Of course her question's unexpected, seeing as most people know not to follow up a vague statement like his, particularly when coupled with the emotional tells on his face. ]
[ wryly — ] Good to know you're still a nosy parker.
[ She didn't hold back questions in the VR, which makes the continuity in her character surprisingly comforting. The topic remains tetchy for him, despite his success at Kingsman. Where his mouth would once twist into something sharp, (angled to defend he and his family's honour), it merely thins. He looks her over once, more obvious this time, though there's nothing unsavoury about his stare, more like he's searching for something (and remembering all the things they spoke of in the cave, easily shifting between personal tales and lighter jibes). Briefly, he settles on the hands in her lap. Would it be comforting to hold her hand? Yes, undoubtedly. Don't mean you should fucking do it. Right, back to her face.
He cards a hand through his hair, sighing with the motion. Fat lot of good it does him, only serving to rearrange the wet mess. ]
My dad died when I was little. [ A beat. He doesn't know how much information he intends to share until the words are out of his mouth. ] While he was serving in the Marines. [ Then, admiration colours his tone. ] Threw himself on a grenade to save everyone, like a proper hero.
[ Your father noticed something I didn't, Harry had said. Cleverer than a group of fully-trained agents and fucking brave, to boot. Lee was a golden boy in every way, without Eggsy's rough edges and hesitant hands. The medal sits secure in he and Harry's flat, away from his person for the first time in years. He brushes fingers over where it would be around his neck before dropping his hand back into the water. Oh. ]
Mum started going mental, banging on about losing me, too. Didn't help that she married a dickhead who — [ for the first time, he stumbles over the words. He inhales a sharp breath. ] — well, he's nothing like my dad. [ A half-hearted shrug. His final words, at least, are firm. ] I couldn't leave her behind like that.
[ He doesn't regret his decision, no matter what Harry thinks. That was the only time quitting was more than his own weakness. Staying for his family, choosing not to shoot JB... there are some things he won't allow himself to feel guilty over. And he certainly doesn't need to an elaborate lie to cover it up. He doesn't seem to be hoping for any particular reaction from Ros, either, though he holds her gaze. She asked, and he answered directly. That's how it goes. ]
[Well, now. Well, now, that's certainly a fair amount of information, isn't it? Eggsy is as open with his emotions as ever, and despite the fact she's attending to the story, there's a small part of her that notes that. He's hardly got tears in his eyes, but the way he goes from stiff to admiring to . . . what? Uncertain? Angry? Regretful? when he speaks about his stepfather . . . she can't understand how someone can be so free with them. Surely he must know that to show all those emotions is a weakness? How can he not? How can he possibly say all that to her, not knowing if she'll take advantage of all that?
She won't (or at least, she won't casually; Rosalind is ever selfish, but she won't betray his trust on a whim), but it still surprises her.
Odd. Had she ever felt anything like that for her own mother? No. Frankly, she still doesn't; presumably Madam Lutece died in her old world, but Rosalind can't summon more than a vague regret. She certainly can't imagine giving up an entire career for her sake, but, Rosalind knows, most people have more emotional connections with her. There's only one person in all the worlds that she would ever think about compromising herself for, and he's still asleep in the station above them.
Robert, Robert, Robert. She won't think of him now, and Rosalind forces her thoughts back to the present.]
A noble gesture.
[Is that approval? Mm, no. It isn't disapproval, though. It's just an observation. Her eyes settle on his neck, lingering on where he'd brushed his fingers, before focusing back up at him. Her fingers tighten again in her lap.]
And did it help, being close to her? I imagine she was comforted, at least, by the assurance you wouldn't die in the same way your father had. But . . . well. I suppose it depends on what you did afterwards. Or was that when you were taken from there and brought here?
[ He can't read the statement. Not pitying or patronizing, no, which is the most important thing. Neutrality is better than judgment, if nothing else. The word choice of noble makes him think of Byerly, telling him he was like a little Robin Hood. He never thought of himself in that way, but perhaps it's how he appears to others.
Nah, that's bonkers. He probably just seems like every other young soldier boy out there. People are taught to think that shit's brave, even if he didn't do a thing with the opportunity. He nods in answer. ]
Yeah, it helped. [ In a manner of speaking. Eggsy had been a lightning rod for Dean's swings. Why direct trouble at Michelle or Daisy when there's a smart-mouthed brat dicking about enough to get an ASBO any day now, pushing back just enough to warrant harsher treatment? A second pair of hands helped better care for Daisy, too. Seeing her gurgling up at him was worth it alone. The tension starts to fall from his shoulders, as he shifts away from the hard memories. ] Ended up here a while after that, actually. Had just got my shit together. [ He musters a smile. ] Proper, safe job and all.
[ Only one, tiny part of that is untrue. Safe. ]
What were you doing before the end of the worlds, anyway?
[She is, too. She's seen too many lives end horridly; she's glad his gesture at least did some good, even if it wasn't an ideal resolution.
And here's a thing: for all she'd been unrepentant in her nosiness a moment before, Rosalind doesn't seem all that pleased to share in return. She pauses for a long few seconds, staring at the water, before saying slowly:]
. . . correcting a mistake. A very large one I'd made when I was a bit younger than you, actually, and a very tricky one to undo. It had put me in a man and his daughter's moral debt, and I owed them the effort.
Edited (just amps up the parallels ) 2017-09-25 21:39 (UTC)
[ Ah, yes, this is something he understands. Debt. A favour he could cash in at any point in his rotten life, saving it for when he needed the help most.
She reveals enough to satisfy him. He doesn't expect everyone to be as forthright and heartfelt as he is. In fact, he hardly realizes the emotionality of his own behavior. Her explanation only makes him want to learn more, of course, keen to earn the information rather than ask for it outright. ]
A noble gesture. [ echoing her words, delivered as evenly as they were in her mouth. He moves as close as can be without crossing into touching, leaning over the side of the pool to look up at her directly beside him. ] Did it work out alright?
[ The crease in his brows suggest he very much cares for her opinion on the matter. ]
[She glances down at him, soaking wet and staring up at her so sincerely. He's very close now, nearly in her space but not quite, and this time she can't help the impulse: she glides her fingers lightly against his shoulder, pleased at the easy way they slide over slick skin. It's almost an idle gesture, and certainly Rosalind doesn't seem to pay it much mind.]
To their satisfaction, at any rate, though I wouldn't call it a happy ending. But yes. I was finally freed from that debt, free to pursue my own pleasures as I saw fit, and then the world had the audacity to end.
[ He leans into the touch instinctively and sighs, relief washing over him. It's as if he'd been waiting for physical reassurance. Otherwise, he doesn't react too obviously, with only his lashes fluttering in surprise over the initial contact. From his recollection of their night in the VR, Rosalind hadn't been overly keen on intimate contact. Practical, yes, but interested — that's new. ]
You're still free here, yeah? [ He perks up, his smile returning as easily as it had disappeared. They're not entirely free here, with the city bounded and their futures uncertain, but it could be far worse. ] So... what pleasures did you want to pursue?
[ which sounds far more like innuendo when repeated back in his rougher tones. A slight flush would indicate that he's aware of the verbal misstep, particularly given how close they are. ]
Besides getting your feet wet by yourself, I mean. [ 'cause he has to tease her for not fully enjoying the beach. ]
[ He won't do anything about the hand on his bare shoulder unless she moves to take it away. It's just nice, resting somewhere quiet with a familiar face. ]
[One eyebrow ticks up, suggesting that little bit of unintended innuendo wasn't lost on her, but she doesn't take offense. But that hesitance and flush is sweet, and she keeps her fingers where they are, the tips lightly tracing over the line of shoulder.]
I don't take well to crowds.
[Sad but true: she's simply not a people person. Rosalind hums softly as her fingers keep tracing him: closer towards his neck, towards the jutting bone of his clavicle, her touch more exploratory than anything else. There's a very small part of her staring in horror at the rest of her, because what is she doing, what the hell is she doing, this is a boy she barely knows (one night of curling up close aside) and she's feeling him up like she's a right to it--
But that's a very small part, emphatic but quiet, drowned out by this cove.]
. . . truthfully, Eggsy, I don't know. W-- I hadn't really thought that far, frankly, and most of the vague thoughts I had involved doing things now utterly inaccessible.
[It's a bit hard to visit New York in 1922 or Japan in the 80's when the whole world is destroyed.]
So I suppose for the first time in nearly two decades, I'm simply winging it.
[ No, the touch isn't comforting or reassuring — Eggsy doesn't know what it is, exactly, but he finds it difficult to keep his flush from spreading down his throat in reaction to her, ah, exploration. Again, he considers how divergent her behaviour is from the VR, especially when he's hardly clothed. Hard not to think, then, of how close they were in the cave and of how pleasant it might feel to touch her like that again. With his thoughts scattering, and her fingers inching near his neck, he ought to shake her off.
Yet pulling away seems impossible, especially when her answer proves more vulnerable than he expected. Perhaps she is from another time, making her transition to this world uniquely difficult. Regardless, he recognises the feeling of uncertainty. ]
That ain't easy. [ It's his way of saying I'm sorry without invoking pity. He closes his hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest. After a moment, he tugs her hand away from his skin, holding it captive to brush his fingers over her knuckles. ] Even though I get the feeling you'll figure something out. [ Clever and intrepid as she is. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth tick up over a delightfully bold idea. ]
[ in a drawl: ] 'Course I'm around, if you ever want a wingman. [ He lifts her hand to his lips, smiling into the chaste kiss. ] Madam Lutece.
[ It's witty 'cause he's acting posh around someone who unironically introduced herself as Madam. He doesn't know whether he hopes she laughs or blushes. Any reaction would be thrilling, when she appears so composed. ]
[It startles her, that's for sure, and for an entirely stupid reason. From the moment she woke up, she's gotten used to brisk handshakes and loose formalities-- a brief exchange of names, a curt nod or two, as casual as a swap of currency. Introductions lack the grandiose manners and formalities she'd grown up with, and while that isn't a bad thing, it is different.
And so to suddenly have something even remotely resembling something from home-- something from someone charming, someone she's even a little endeared to, sets her heart racing.
(Robert, her heart sings miserably, Robert Robert Robert, but he isn't here and it's unfair to compare someone to him; it's unfair that such a charming little action reminds her of him, but he was the only one to ever manage to straddle the line between genuine graciousness and impudent charm, how can she help but think of him?)
So she laughs, startled and amused and endeared. It only lasts a moment; soon she's pressing her lips together, biting it back.]
What a charming offer.
[She has absolutely no idea what wingman means, but that's all right, she can fake it.]
[ Having won a laugh and a compliment, he beams up at her. Although his actions achieved their desired effect, he doesn't release her hand just yet. ]
Means I'll be your back-up, if you want, while you're winging it 'round here.
[ A play on words and a genuine offer, if she ever wants someone around in this new world. He can't imagine navigating Kingsman without Roxy or exploring Olympia without Harry. Knowing someone's in your corner, even in small ways, makes all the difference. ]
[He hasn't let go of her hand, but to her surprise, she doesn't tug it back. She has before. She's loathed when men took too many liberties, who held on just to say they had, who take and take and take simply because they can.
But this isn't that. Rosalind feels no sense of entrapment; she's certain he'd let go if she gave the slightest inclination she wanted him to. But no: he's holding on, and it's lovely to have those rough fingers sliding over her own slender ones, just as it was nice to feel his cool skin and the lines of his body.]
That had best not be a prelude to you leaving me now.
[But that's a very kind offer, and good god, she's still smiling. It's faint, but it's there.]
Come up here. I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I keep looking down.
[Or I mean, she could go into the water, that would be fair too, but fat chance of that.]
[ He almost says as much. Why not join me? (Or even I've heard I look best from this angle.) But she remains over-dressed, and he doesn't want to press her, lest she lose interest in being near him entirely. He sighs, making a show of being put-upon, squeezing her hand and guiding it back to rest on her knee. Not touching her there, mind, merely avoiding dropping her hand into the water. ]
Wouldn't dream of it. [ of leaving now, though he sounds amused by the implicated she'd like him to stay. ]
[ Dropping beneath the water, he enjoys a last refresher before planting his hands on the side of the pool and easily lifting himself up beside her ]
'Course you might still get wet. [ — from the water running rivulets down his skin, pooling beneath the damp fabric of his shorts and where his hands meet the ground, centimeters from her. Intentionally or unintentionally, following her orders has nearly pressed them side-by-side. He cants his head to give her a sideways glance, the curve of his mouth evident even from her intimate vantage point. ] Better for you?
[It certainly is a nicer view, she has to admit. Her eyes flick up and down his form, lingering on the curve of his hip and the leanness of his torso, and she really doesn't mean to give him a once-over, but it's hard not to stare at all that. He's a sight, and he is getting her wet, her shirt is getting damp by proximity and that ought to annoy her, but she can't be bothered to pay it mind.]
. . . you'd be a scandal where I come from, you know. This would be a scandal for about twenty different reasons, but you alone might just do it, Eggsy.
[ Oh, well then. It all sounds posh and a little roundaboutly phrased, but surely that's a chat-up line. Chatting of some kind is happening, alright. If she's looking at him (and seeing far more than he can), he's allowed to peak at her, isn't he? To flick his eyes over her wet shirt for a moment and then refocus on her sharp features, particularly her pink mouth. No. Back to the eyes.
Regardless of her intentions, the thought of being a scandal is delightful. It sends mischief sparking across his eyes and a grin blooming wide enough to reveal the little gap on the left side of his teeth. ]
View ain't bad from here, either. [ said in low tone as he leans toward her, sending more water droplets to dot her clothes. ] But would you mind a scandal?
[ because kissing her, like he's consiodering doing right now, would be scandalous. ]
[Well then indeed, and for just a moment, Rosalind pauses. It isn't a hesitation, but rather a moment in which she allows herself the room to think.
So. So there's a man leaning in, clearly eager to kiss her. What does she want to do about that? No, wait-- there's only two real decisions she can make, so rather the question becomes: what are the factors that contribute to each one?
Emotional, that's the first thing that comes to mind, but ah, there's nothing here to worry about there. Flings, kissing and flirting and all that, have never been a problem when it comes to she and Robert. Love, that's another thing entirely, but Ros very much doubts Eggsy is the sort to take a kiss or two as an indication of love. No, if they do this (whatever this is), it's going to be something purely self-indulgent. It might be more on the sweet side (because he seems very sweet beneath that pride), but it won't be anything approaching romantic.
Is that selfish? Perhaps. But she hasn't gotten to be selfish since before her death, frankly. A hundred and twenty-two trials, god, watching the same man fail over and over, a hundred and twenty-two exercises in futility and then when it had finally all gone right, she and Robert had been denied their reward. So isn't she owed a bit of selfishness?
It's scandalous, too, but honestly, that's barely a thought. She's never much cared about the standards of others beyond what she needed to know to get ahead. And anyway, even if this was forbidden at home, they're hardly in Columbia, are they? The whole beach would be considered a scandal at home; a bit of kissing on top of it isn't worth much.
And he's quite appealing. And she's very warm, and her shirt is starting to stick to her skin, and while the logical little core at the center of her mind is impatiently listing out all the reasons she oughtn't do this (she doesn't know him, she doesn't know the repercussions, simply because he seems sweet doesn't mean he is, she's still establishing herself and what if he goes off to tell stories, what if this damages her reputation in some way, what if she can't find a job because of this, this is stupid, this is silly, she doesn't need this, she ought to just get up and go and dive into her work), she doesn't seem to really be able to hear them all that well.
All of that flashes by in a moment, and then her smile turns decidedly sharper.]
Would you? I'm at least a decade older than you, Mr. Unwin.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
originallutece) wrote2017-09-22 05:41 pm
intro log; the egg and I
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[But her tone is a bit more relaxed than it might otherwise be. They spent an evening together chatting about princesses and work (and how much of that was real, she wonders; is there some unattainable girl at home he's still stuck on); it's hard to be her usual stiff self after that. So Rosalind corrects him, but amiably so, and doesn't pointedly shift away when he sits close.
The proximity is nice, honestly. And god knows he's a sight; all that skin would be illegal in 1909, but Rosalind isn't going to complain if he wants to show himself off.]
Now, is this how you normally dress, or did some idiot accost you with an offer of money and a leering suggestion?
no subject
Still just Eggsy.
[ He laughs, entirely unshamed by her line of questioning and the accompanying implications. Idly, he wonders if she's as retro as she looks. He already met a few faux Brits from times long since past. ]
Picked these ones, actually, but I'd only wear 'em to the beach. [ He flicks the bill of his hat and cants his head to face her. Again, he seems unoffended. If anything, mischief glitters in his eyes. ] 'Course I did meet some perv matching that description earlier. [ a sly smile. ] He put me in the smallest shorts I've ever seen. Must've blinded everyone who saw me in 'em.
[ with his miles of white skin, seeing as he last recalls the London winter. ]
no subject
[She seems amused, though.]
Still. I'd wager you'd make a far better sight in those than some of the others I saw. At the very least, you're fitter.
[And she means that in the physical fitness sense, not the slang. Ah, the joys of being old-timey.]
What is it you used to do? Not a guard, I assume, but something related to that-- or do you keep in shape simply to impress whatever girls you run across?
no subject
[ It's not the sort of thing he'd be comfortable with, given the history of Dean's shitheads calling him rentboy and the like. He isn't even entirely convinced by the need for honeypot missions at Kingsman, but that's a problem for later. Best not to dwell on it.
With a wink, he sets his bright hat aside to slip into the water, resurfacing pleasantly soaked, light brown hair sticking to his forehead. Then, with a bit of soldier boy politeness — ] Former Royal Marine. Plus gymnastics, freerunning, and troublemaking before that.
no subject
[Gymnastics, hm? That's interesting. As is the solider bit, honestly; she hadn't expected that from a boy so cheerful. But, she supposes, she has a bit of a dour outlook on military-types in general.]
And your rank? It's been a long time since I've been home, but I think I can recall enough about the English military to appropriately react with the right amount of surprise and wonderment if you've made it past private.
no subject
'Fraid I'll disappoint you here.
[ There's a genuine flicker of conflict across his features. His cover is as truthful as can be, even down to the disappointing aspects of his personal history. ]
Didn't make it past second lieutenant. [ He clears his throat. ] My family needed me, so my service ended abruptly.
[ said simply. He doesn't regret it, not when the alternative meant leaving Michelle and Daisy alone with Dean. Besides, second lieutenant's an upgrade, considering he actually quit before he finished training. ]
no subject
[God, Ros, that's nosy, but on the other hand, it's not as if he's compelled to answer, and one never gets anywhere by being soft. Her gaze is intent, but not piercing; she's not just asking to get more information. She rather likes talking to this boy; it's natural she wants to learn more about him.
Less natural is the way she seems compelled to want to brush her fingers over him, an impulse odd enough that a little frown flickers over her features. It's the most absurd urge, but his hair is damp and hanging in his eyes and suddenly Ros wants nothing more than to sweep it back.
No, she tells herself, annoyed that the thought had even come to mind in the first place, and tangles her fingers together in her lap to stop herself from acting on it.]
no subject
[ wryly — ] Good to know you're still a nosy parker.
[ She didn't hold back questions in the VR, which makes the continuity in her character surprisingly comforting. The topic remains tetchy for him, despite his success at Kingsman. Where his mouth would once twist into something sharp, (angled to defend he and his family's honour), it merely thins. He looks her over once, more obvious this time, though there's nothing unsavoury about his stare, more like he's searching for something (and remembering all the things they spoke of in the cave, easily shifting between personal tales and lighter jibes). Briefly, he settles on the hands in her lap. Would it be comforting to hold her hand? Yes, undoubtedly. Don't mean you should fucking do it. Right, back to her face.
He cards a hand through his hair, sighing with the motion. Fat lot of good it does him, only serving to rearrange the wet mess. ]
My dad died when I was little. [ A beat. He doesn't know how much information he intends to share until the words are out of his mouth. ] While he was serving in the Marines. [ Then, admiration colours his tone. ] Threw himself on a grenade to save everyone, like a proper hero.
[ Your father noticed something I didn't, Harry had said. Cleverer than a group of fully-trained agents and fucking brave, to boot. Lee was a golden boy in every way, without Eggsy's rough edges and hesitant hands. The medal sits secure in he and Harry's flat, away from his person for the first time in years. He brushes fingers over where it would be around his neck before dropping his hand back into the water. Oh. ]
Mum started going mental, banging on about losing me, too. Didn't help that she married a dickhead who — [ for the first time, he stumbles over the words. He inhales a sharp breath. ] — well, he's nothing like my dad. [ A half-hearted shrug. His final words, at least, are firm. ] I couldn't leave her behind like that.
[ He doesn't regret his decision, no matter what Harry thinks. That was the only time quitting was more than his own weakness. Staying for his family, choosing not to shoot JB... there are some things he won't allow himself to feel guilty over. And he certainly doesn't need to an elaborate lie to cover it up. He doesn't seem to be hoping for any particular reaction from Ros, either, though he holds her gaze. She asked, and he answered directly. That's how it goes. ]
no subject
She won't (or at least, she won't casually; Rosalind is ever selfish, but she won't betray his trust on a whim), but it still surprises her.
Odd. Had she ever felt anything like that for her own mother? No. Frankly, she still doesn't; presumably Madam Lutece died in her old world, but Rosalind can't summon more than a vague regret. She certainly can't imagine giving up an entire career for her sake, but, Rosalind knows, most people have more emotional connections with her. There's only one person in all the worlds that she would ever think about compromising herself for, and he's still asleep in the station above them.
Robert, Robert, Robert. She won't think of him now, and Rosalind forces her thoughts back to the present.]
A noble gesture.
[Is that approval? Mm, no. It isn't disapproval, though. It's just an observation. Her eyes settle on his neck, lingering on where he'd brushed his fingers, before focusing back up at him. Her fingers tighten again in her lap.]
And did it help, being close to her? I imagine she was comforted, at least, by the assurance you wouldn't die in the same way your father had. But . . . well. I suppose it depends on what you did afterwards. Or was that when you were taken from there and brought here?
no subject
Nah, that's bonkers. He probably just seems like every other young soldier boy out there. People are taught to think that shit's brave, even if he didn't do a thing with the opportunity. He nods in answer. ]
Yeah, it helped. [ In a manner of speaking. Eggsy had been a lightning rod for Dean's swings. Why direct trouble at Michelle or Daisy when there's a smart-mouthed brat dicking about enough to get an ASBO any day now, pushing back just enough to warrant harsher treatment? A second pair of hands helped better care for Daisy, too. Seeing her gurgling up at him was worth it alone. The tension starts to fall from his shoulders, as he shifts away from the hard memories. ] Ended up here a while after that, actually. Had just got my shit together. [ He musters a smile. ] Proper, safe job and all.
[ Only one, tiny part of that is untrue. Safe. ]
What were you doing before the end of the worlds, anyway?
no subject
[She is, too. She's seen too many lives end horridly; she's glad his gesture at least did some good, even if it wasn't an ideal resolution.
And here's a thing: for all she'd been unrepentant in her nosiness a moment before, Rosalind doesn't seem all that pleased to share in return. She pauses for a long few seconds, staring at the water, before saying slowly:]
. . . correcting a mistake. A very large one I'd made when I was a bit younger than you, actually, and a very tricky one to undo. It had put me in a man and his daughter's moral debt, and I owed them the effort.
no subject
She reveals enough to satisfy him. He doesn't expect everyone to be as forthright and heartfelt as he is. In fact, he hardly realizes the emotionality of his own behavior. Her explanation only makes him want to learn more, of course, keen to earn the information rather than ask for it outright. ]
A noble gesture. [ echoing her words, delivered as evenly as they were in her mouth. He moves as close as can be without crossing into touching, leaning over the side of the pool to look up at her directly beside him. ] Did it work out alright?
[ The crease in his brows suggest he very much cares for her opinion on the matter. ]
no subject
[She glances down at him, soaking wet and staring up at her so sincerely. He's very close now, nearly in her space but not quite, and this time she can't help the impulse: she glides her fingers lightly against his shoulder, pleased at the easy way they slide over slick skin. It's almost an idle gesture, and certainly Rosalind doesn't seem to pay it much mind.]
To their satisfaction, at any rate, though I wouldn't call it a happy ending. But yes. I was finally freed from that debt, free to pursue my own pleasures as I saw fit, and then the world had the audacity to end.
no subject
You're still free here, yeah? [ He perks up, his smile returning as easily as it had disappeared. They're not entirely free here, with the city bounded and their futures uncertain, but it could be far worse. ] So... what pleasures did you want to pursue?
[ which sounds far more like innuendo when repeated back in his rougher tones. A slight flush would indicate that he's aware of the verbal misstep, particularly given how close they are. ]
Besides getting your feet wet by yourself, I mean. [ 'cause he has to tease her for not fully enjoying the beach. ]
[ He won't do anything about the hand on his bare shoulder unless she moves to take it away. It's just nice, resting somewhere quiet with a familiar face. ]
no subject
I don't take well to crowds.
[Sad but true: she's simply not a people person. Rosalind hums softly as her fingers keep tracing him: closer towards his neck, towards the jutting bone of his clavicle, her touch more exploratory than anything else. There's a very small part of her staring in horror at the rest of her, because what is she doing, what the hell is she doing, this is a boy she barely knows (one night of curling up close aside) and she's feeling him up like she's a right to it--
But that's a very small part, emphatic but quiet, drowned out by this cove.]
. . . truthfully, Eggsy, I don't know. W-- I hadn't really thought that far, frankly, and most of the vague thoughts I had involved doing things now utterly inaccessible.
[It's a bit hard to visit New York in 1922 or Japan in the 80's when the whole world is destroyed.]
So I suppose for the first time in nearly two decades, I'm simply winging it.
no subject
Yet pulling away seems impossible, especially when her answer proves more vulnerable than he expected. Perhaps she is from another time, making her transition to this world uniquely difficult. Regardless, he recognises the feeling of uncertainty. ]
That ain't easy. [ It's his way of saying I'm sorry without invoking pity. He closes his hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest. After a moment, he tugs her hand away from his skin, holding it captive to brush his fingers over her knuckles. ] Even though I get the feeling you'll figure something out. [ Clever and intrepid as she is. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth tick up over a delightfully bold idea. ]
[ in a drawl: ] 'Course I'm around, if you ever want a wingman. [ He lifts her hand to his lips, smiling into the chaste kiss. ] Madam Lutece.
[ It's witty 'cause he's acting posh around someone who unironically introduced herself as Madam. He doesn't know whether he hopes she laughs or blushes. Any reaction would be thrilling, when she appears so composed. ]
no subject
And so to suddenly have something even remotely resembling something from home-- something from someone charming, someone she's even a little endeared to, sets her heart racing.
(Robert, her heart sings miserably, Robert Robert Robert, but he isn't here and it's unfair to compare someone to him; it's unfair that such a charming little action reminds her of him, but he was the only one to ever manage to straddle the line between genuine graciousness and impudent charm, how can she help but think of him?)
So she laughs, startled and amused and endeared. It only lasts a moment; soon she's pressing her lips together, biting it back.]
What a charming offer.
[She has absolutely no idea what wingman means, but that's all right, she can fake it.]
And what does that entail, dare I ask?
no subject
Means I'll be your back-up, if you want, while you're winging it 'round here.
[ A play on words and a genuine offer, if she ever wants someone around in this new world. He can't imagine navigating Kingsman without Roxy or exploring Olympia without Harry. Knowing someone's in your corner, even in small ways, makes all the difference. ]
no subject
But this isn't that. Rosalind feels no sense of entrapment; she's certain he'd let go if she gave the slightest inclination she wanted him to. But no: he's holding on, and it's lovely to have those rough fingers sliding over her own slender ones, just as it was nice to feel his cool skin and the lines of his body.]
That had best not be a prelude to you leaving me now.
[But that's a very kind offer, and good god, she's still smiling. It's faint, but it's there.]
Come up here. I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I keep looking down.
[Or I mean, she could go into the water, that would be fair too, but fat chance of that.]
no subject
Wouldn't dream of it. [ of leaving now, though he sounds amused by the implicated she'd like him to stay. ]
[ Dropping beneath the water, he enjoys a last refresher before planting his hands on the side of the pool and easily lifting himself up beside her ]
'Course you might still get wet. [ — from the water running rivulets down his skin, pooling beneath the damp fabric of his shorts and where his hands meet the ground, centimeters from her. Intentionally or unintentionally, following her orders has nearly pressed them side-by-side. He cants his head to give her a sideways glance, the curve of his mouth evident even from her intimate vantage point. ] Better for you?
no subject
[It certainly is a nicer view, she has to admit. Her eyes flick up and down his form, lingering on the curve of his hip and the leanness of his torso, and she really doesn't mean to give him a once-over, but it's hard not to stare at all that. He's a sight, and he is getting her wet, her shirt is getting damp by proximity and that ought to annoy her, but she can't be bothered to pay it mind.]
. . . you'd be a scandal where I come from, you know. This would be a scandal for about twenty different reasons, but you alone might just do it, Eggsy.
Which isn't to say I mind the sight.
no subject
Regardless of her intentions, the thought of being a scandal is delightful. It sends mischief sparking across his eyes and a grin blooming wide enough to reveal the little gap on the left side of his teeth. ]
View ain't bad from here, either. [ said in low tone as he leans toward her, sending more water droplets to dot her clothes. ] But would you mind a scandal?
[ because kissing her, like he's consiodering doing right now, would be scandalous. ]
no subject
So. So there's a man leaning in, clearly eager to kiss her. What does she want to do about that? No, wait-- there's only two real decisions she can make, so rather the question becomes: what are the factors that contribute to each one?
Emotional, that's the first thing that comes to mind, but ah, there's nothing here to worry about there. Flings, kissing and flirting and all that, have never been a problem when it comes to she and Robert. Love, that's another thing entirely, but Ros very much doubts Eggsy is the sort to take a kiss or two as an indication of love. No, if they do this (whatever this is), it's going to be something purely self-indulgent. It might be more on the sweet side (because he seems very sweet beneath that pride), but it won't be anything approaching romantic.
Is that selfish? Perhaps. But she hasn't gotten to be selfish since before her death, frankly. A hundred and twenty-two trials, god, watching the same man fail over and over, a hundred and twenty-two exercises in futility and then when it had finally all gone right, she and Robert had been denied their reward. So isn't she owed a bit of selfishness?
It's scandalous, too, but honestly, that's barely a thought. She's never much cared about the standards of others beyond what she needed to know to get ahead. And anyway, even if this was forbidden at home, they're hardly in Columbia, are they? The whole beach would be considered a scandal at home; a bit of kissing on top of it isn't worth much.
And he's quite appealing. And she's very warm, and her shirt is starting to stick to her skin, and while the logical little core at the center of her mind is impatiently listing out all the reasons she oughtn't do this (she doesn't know him, she doesn't know the repercussions, simply because he seems sweet doesn't mean he is, she's still establishing herself and what if he goes off to tell stories, what if this damages her reputation in some way, what if she can't find a job because of this, this is stupid, this is silly, she doesn't need this, she ought to just get up and go and dive into her work), she doesn't seem to really be able to hear them all that well.
All of that flashes by in a moment, and then her smile turns decidedly sharper.]
Would you? I'm at least a decade older than you, Mr. Unwin.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)