originallutece | (no subject)

Behavior here defined as . . .?

[She just wants to hear him say it.]

[Rosalind pls]

Taking advantage of you.

[~~lbr he only does that to people he doesn't respect, and also not in that way~~]

Your taking advantage of me-- that is, pinning me to a wall and shoving your fingers in me in semi-public-- was . . . uncouth. And you think that because the circumstances brought out the worst in all of us, that's an excuse.

Edited 2018-10-23 03:19 (UTC)

You will notice, Akande, that not once did I mention that I took advantage of someone.

Because I didn't.

It wasn't a difficult thing to abstain from.

I simply looked at someone and thought, "Ah! Shall I take advantage of them? No I shall not."

It's three steps. You may want to take note of them for the next time you see me.

But. With all that being said . . . I am aware of the effects that the circumstances had upon all our psyches. And so long as you don't try such a thing in public again . . .

I suppose your apology is accepted.

[Akande can honestly not remember the last time he received such a scolding. He is reminded, very briefly, of his mother.

God damn, Madame Lucete. He needs a minute, that sort of knocked him out of the ring.]

So noted.

[There's silence for a while. Not unfriendly, but that could be the end of the conversation. Except--]

Can you cook, Akande?

[is this a trick]

Simple things. Nothing fancy. [he can make decent rice, does that count?]

Make me dinner tonight.

[It was, in fact, a trap. This would never fly in Talon; he'd maybe be expected to owe someone a favor, possibly take someone out to dinner, but not cook for them. This is completely out of the ordinary and he has no idea how to respond.

There's another bit of a pause, and then;]

Can you handle spicy food, or should I temper it?

[alternatively, should he find a cookbook.]

Spicy food is fine.

[Or she'll make believe it's fine and then down a bunch of milk. Whatever. Can't show weakness.]

Eight o'clock, shall we say?

Eight o'clock.

[Well, he's in this challenge now. Time to see how rusty his skills are in this department.]

[Eight o'clock, and she dresses nicely. Not absurdly so, but pleasantly enough, her corset fitted and her dress elegant. She looks a little more old fashioned tonight, though not so much so someone would gawk.]

Hallo, Akande.

[She smiles, and oh, it's so terribly smug as she breezes past him and into his apartment.]

Dinner coming along nicely?

[There are many battles the fabled Doomfist has won. Few foes can defeat him, fewer still more than once.

There are approximately three (3) failed attempts in the trash, and the only saving grace timewise is that he started early. So when Rosalind arrives and is allowed in, his final try - kebabs over rice, something simple but god damn if he's going to try anything fancy again - is only about halfway done.

No, he is not wearing an apron. He is, however, wearing a nice button up shirt with its sleeves rolled up. ~~This may be is second shirt of the night, after his disastrous first attempt~~.]

It's coming along. It should be done in another fifteen minutes. Would you like something to drink?

Wine, if you have it. Scotch or whiskey would do nicely as well.

[He looks very good in that shirt, she will admit only to herself. She's always fond of that kind of look, dressed up but mussed, and the sight of his sleeves rolled up his arms is one she'll admire over the course of the evening. But oh, she's still so terribly smug as she perches on his couch, one leg crossing over the other.]

And what is it we're having tonight, hm?

[She's so lucky he's actively trying to court her. Not as a bedding partner, but as an ally. Anyone else would have been ignored long ago, much less reached out to post such an event. As it is, he moves for the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine]

Suya on rice. [He briefly considers the bottle, then replaces it for another one] I imagine it might be new for you, unless you've visited Nigeria before. [This one'll do. He gets a couple of glasses and pours them both a serving]

[She shakes her head in agreement: no, she's never had such a thing, because she's never been to any country in Africa, never mind Nigeria. But there's intrigue in trying new things, she certainly doesn't mind.

She sits up only to take her glass, then settles back, sipping lightly at it, looking for all the world like she's the queen of this castle.]

So tell me, Akande . . . what was it that made you so remorseful?

[Akande isn't stupid. He knows the posturing is meant to say something. Or, perhaps, to reestablish Rosalind's control of their interactions. Which he doesn't necessarily mind; if anything, making a fool of the kitchen is what's bothered him the most so far. A(n admittedly) privileged man working on his weak points?

Only so enjoyable.

As for her question? He doesn't respond immediately, instead checking on the oven to turn the meat]

I have a degree of pride, Madame Lucete. There are things I find beneath me, and that was one of them. Especially to people I hold in esteem, who have their own pride.

[See. It's not just all about him. (That, or he has the mind to at least imply such.)]

And yet you must have had some desire to do it. It broke down our superegos, but that doesn't mean it planted ideas in our heads.

[One leg crosses over the other, her eyes following him as he heads into the kitchen.]

Though I find it a bit hard to believe you hold me in esteem after all that.

I enjoy testing limits. [The open floor plan keeps him in mostly full view.] Among other things.

[The comment has him stiffen, however. As though he's taken offense, which, to a point, he has. Would he really be playing the domestic host if he didn't have some level of respect for her?

He frowns, straightening and turning to look at her.]

What kind of man do you think I am? Taking everything in to account, I invite your full honesty. [And yes, he is aware he's practically inviting another scorching, but there's a point to it, really]

[Ah. That struck a blow, though she isn't entirely certain why. But he invites her to share her thoughts, and there's not a moment of hesitation; she takes only the time to organize them.]

I've lost count of how many men have threatened me, saying the things you said to me that day. How many men have wanted to see me broken, bent, bowing at their feet; to beg them and mewl for them, my face red and my voice trembling. I've heard it since I was fifteen, and it hasn't stopped in the past twenty years. Do you know why?

Because I wouldn't. Because it was intolerable to them to see a woman who would not melt for them. Worse still: a woman who scorned them. Who dared to act as though she was better than them, when everyone knows women are stupid things, decent only for sex and domesticity.

They didn't all think they were threatening me, of course. Some thought it flirtation. But it was still a threat.

[She tips her head.]

So. What kind of man do I think you are? I think you're prideful. I think you're sadistic. And I think that if it hadn't been for this festival, you would have never pinned me to that wall-- but you would have thought about it. Not just because you're attracted to me, but because I'm justifiably proud of what I am, and I don't bow in awe before you. And on some level or another, that pricks at you.

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DONE

that was beautiful and i love it

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