[ 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.
[ He remains unsure of what to think of the edge to her smile. Eggsy believes he isn't so fragile as to cut himself on it — but he hardly knows her, really, even if he believes he knows enough. Her age hadn't even been considered as a factor (the age she hails from had been a more interesting thought; a distant past, perhaps). 'Course he knows she's older, given her titles. Doctor and now Madam.
Any tension from waiting bleeds out in a light laugh. ]
Oh, come off it. You're well-fit. [ Ah, will she understand that? ] Pretty, I mean. [ and she must be aware of it. She carries herself with confidence, even if she doesn't strike him as the sort to usually kiss young men ten years her junior. ] And I'm already a walking-talking scandal, aren't I?
[ He pulls back just a touch, however, not wanting to push her more than his brazen request already did. Eggsy has always been of the mindset that people will act with interest, if they're interested. They'll say what they want, if you're only willing to ask. And if someone wants a kiss — well, they won't pass up the opportunity for one. Maybe that makes him a romantic. ]
[No, she's very confident in her own appearance, though it's not something she has any particular pride in. Rosalind raises an eyebrow when he draws back, not certain if he's changed his mind, but-- oh. no. No, he hasn't. He's giving her the option to plunge on ahead, and it just reaffirms what she'd thought before: sweet.
She isn't, but he is, and that's nice. Rosalind hooks two fingers beneath his chin, tipping his head up just a little. Her smile is still there, sharp but not unfriendly. After a moment, her grip shifts, her fingers wrapping lightly around his chin so she can brush her thumb lightly against his bottom lip.]
But you are that. If I hear word of this outside this cove, Eggsy, I'll be quite disappointed.
[ There's no mistaking the soft glide of her fingers on his chin and the brush of her thumb against his mouth — Rosalind must have an interest in scandal. He feels his pulse quicken under his skin. It's not that it's been a while since he's kissed a girl, exactly, with Dutch catching him shortly after his arrival on Thesa Station. What he hasn't had since before Kingsman training is this: tension ratcheting and coy insinuations, circling each other until someone finally gives. And not with a girl from his neighborhood or a boy on a night out, no, but a woman secure in her skin, who wouldn't look twice at Eggsy, if they ever had any reason to meet in London.
He parts his lips invitingly and leans forward once more. He may be sweet to the core, but he's very attracted to her, too, eyes glittering with interest over being able to touch her — and the idea of having to keep his mouth shut because she asked, though he doesn't dwell on that line of thought. ]
[ His voice drops to a low murmur. ] Well, I'd hate to disappoint you.
[ With that, he brings a hand to the nape of her neck, toying with the hair there, and presses his mouth to hers, firm, chaste, testing. ]
[Strictly speaking, it's only been a few weeks since she's been kissed herself, but still Rosalind leans into it just as eagerly as if it's been ages. His mouth is hard and he kisses with confidence, and god, but she's hungry for it. Her hand settles lightly on his shoulder, but that doesn't last.
Because, see, Robert is, of course, the ideal man. No one could or will ever match Robert, not in Rosalind's mind. But Eggsy is very attractive, and very wet, and very shirtless, and how is she meant to resist that? So no, her hand doesn't stay on his shoulder. She drags it over his torso like she's got a right to it; like they've done this often enough that she knows she's allowed. Down the lines of his body, over his torso, her fingers firm and ever-moving.
(What is she doing? She'll wonder at this later. She'll be horrified at this later, frankly, but not for any reason to do with Eggsy himself. Madam Lutece can't ever go around kissing anyone, not ever, and especially not some strange boy ten years younger than her. She'll burn with embarrassment and choke with the horror of what might have happened, but oh, that's for later).
For now, she opens her mouth to it, her tongue slipping forward, because what's the point of being older and more experienced if you don't do anything with it?]
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originallutece) wrote2017-09-22 05:41 pm
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'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. ]
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[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.]
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[ 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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
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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.]
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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?
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[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.
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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. ]
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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.
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Any tension from waiting bleeds out in a light laugh. ]
Oh, come off it. You're well-fit. [ Ah, will she understand that? ] Pretty, I mean. [ and she must be aware of it. She carries herself with confidence, even if she doesn't strike him as the sort to usually kiss young men ten years her junior. ] And I'm already a walking-talking scandal, aren't I?
[ He pulls back just a touch, however, not wanting to push her more than his brazen request already did. Eggsy has always been of the mindset that people will act with interest, if they're interested. They'll say what they want, if you're only willing to ask. And if someone wants a kiss — well, they won't pass up the opportunity for one. Maybe that makes him a romantic. ]
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[No, she's very confident in her own appearance, though it's not something she has any particular pride in. Rosalind raises an eyebrow when he draws back, not certain if he's changed his mind, but-- oh. no. No, he hasn't. He's giving her the option to plunge on ahead, and it just reaffirms what she'd thought before: sweet.
She isn't, but he is, and that's nice. Rosalind hooks two fingers beneath his chin, tipping his head up just a little. Her smile is still there, sharp but not unfriendly. After a moment, her grip shifts, her fingers wrapping lightly around his chin so she can brush her thumb lightly against his bottom lip.]
But you are that. If I hear word of this outside this cove, Eggsy, I'll be quite disappointed.
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He parts his lips invitingly and leans forward once more. He may be sweet to the core, but he's very attracted to her, too, eyes glittering with interest over being able to touch her — and the idea of having to keep his mouth shut because she asked, though he doesn't dwell on that line of thought. ]
[ His voice drops to a low murmur. ] Well, I'd hate to disappoint you.
[ With that, he brings a hand to the nape of her neck, toying with the hair there, and presses his mouth to hers, firm, chaste, testing. ]
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Because, see, Robert is, of course, the ideal man. No one could or will ever match Robert, not in Rosalind's mind. But Eggsy is very attractive, and very wet, and very shirtless, and how is she meant to resist that? So no, her hand doesn't stay on his shoulder. She drags it over his torso like she's got a right to it; like they've done this often enough that she knows she's allowed. Down the lines of his body, over his torso, her fingers firm and ever-moving.
(What is she doing? She'll wonder at this later. She'll be horrified at this later, frankly, but not for any reason to do with Eggsy himself. Madam Lutece can't ever go around kissing anyone, not ever, and especially not some strange boy ten years younger than her. She'll burn with embarrassment and choke with the horror of what might have happened, but oh, that's for later).
For now, she opens her mouth to it, her tongue slipping forward, because what's the point of being older and more experienced if you don't do anything with it?]