Rosalind Lutece (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
originallutece) wrote2016-11-17 11:18 pm
originallutece) wrote2016-11-17 11:18 pm
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What a positively absurd man.
[That's a polite way of putting it, probably. Certainly there are other words he could use.
He finishes up with his chopping, then picks up the apples and transfers them into a mixing bowl, to which he begins to add sugar and cinnamon to coat them.]
...There were humans like him back home, I suspect. Notorious ones. I suppose you might say, just brilliant enough to be dangerous, and amoral enough to use that brilliance ruthlessly.
[That's a polite way of putting it, probably. Certainly there are other words he could use.
He finishes up with his chopping, then picks up the apples and transfers them into a mixing bowl, to which he begins to add sugar and cinnamon to coat them.]
...There were humans like him back home, I suspect. Notorious ones. I suppose you might say, just brilliant enough to be dangerous, and amoral enough to use that brilliance ruthlessly.
There always are.
[It would be easy to fall into the trap of thinking she's one of those humans. Certainly she's brilliant, and they'd discussed her lack of morality during all that mirror madness. But while she lacks in morality, it isn't that kind. Rosalind has her limits, and Fink had always happily skipped past them.]
. . . how aware were humans of demons, in your world?
[It would be easy to fall into the trap of thinking she's one of those humans. Certainly she's brilliant, and they'd discussed her lack of morality during all that mirror madness. But while she lacks in morality, it isn't that kind. Rosalind has her limits, and Fink had always happily skipped past them.]
. . . how aware were humans of demons, in your world?
The majority remain blissfully unaware of them. That's Spirit World's doing, in large part; I believe it's a standing aspect of Yusuke's job description to operate on behalf of Spirit World in the human realm to maintain that status quo, actually.
[He pauses, as much to reflect on his thought as to dig around for a pair of spoons to use toward tossing the apples in their sweet coating.]
I think I've also mentioned the Kekkai Barrier — it's a net, essentially, erected by Spirit World between Makai and the human realm. It only catches the most powerful of demons, preventing the most heinous of threats from reaching the humans. Lesser demons, however, have a way of slipping through.
Envision it as a...tunnel, of sorts. A narrow space through which a demon might slip through, and emerge in the human realm.
[His hands tighten slightly on the handles of the spoons.]
A small subgroup of very rich humans, however, have been known to stake out those tunnel entrances and capture unsuspecting demons who slip through. Those ones are aware. So I suppose I'll ask you: what do you suppose Fink would do, if he were to find himself in that same situation?
[He pauses, as much to reflect on his thought as to dig around for a pair of spoons to use toward tossing the apples in their sweet coating.]
I think I've also mentioned the Kekkai Barrier — it's a net, essentially, erected by Spirit World between Makai and the human realm. It only catches the most powerful of demons, preventing the most heinous of threats from reaching the humans. Lesser demons, however, have a way of slipping through.
Envision it as a...tunnel, of sorts. A narrow space through which a demon might slip through, and emerge in the human realm.
[His hands tighten slightly on the handles of the spoons.]
A small subgroup of very rich humans, however, have been known to stake out those tunnel entrances and capture unsuspecting demons who slip through. Those ones are aware. So I suppose I'll ask you: what do you suppose Fink would do, if he were to find himself in that same situation?
[She knows, of course. Not just because that sort of person is so terribly predictable, but because she knows Fink so well. Spend nearly twenty years in the general company of a man, and soon you start knowing how he works, whether you'd like to or not.]
Profit from them.
[This is horrid, perhaps, but she thinks Kurama, caught in such a trap. What would Fink do to him? Ah, but the better question is: what wouldn't he do?]
Exploit them for their abilities. Force them into some kind of service. [. . .] Sell them to other wealthy elites, for both their exotic quality and the sheer novelty of owning a demon. And I think . . .
[She hesitates, then, her eyes lingering on the way his fingers have gone tight around the handles of the spoons.]
I've told you of some of his misdeeds, but they largely concerned myself and Robert. What he did to those he employed-- [she emphasizes the word in distaste, because quite frankly owned was the far better term for those wretched souls in Finkton,] was far worse. There are few cruelties he did not inflict upon them. And I know, because he did not hesitate to brag about it later on.
Profit from them.
[This is horrid, perhaps, but she thinks Kurama, caught in such a trap. What would Fink do to him? Ah, but the better question is: what wouldn't he do?]
Exploit them for their abilities. Force them into some kind of service. [. . .] Sell them to other wealthy elites, for both their exotic quality and the sheer novelty of owning a demon. And I think . . .
[She hesitates, then, her eyes lingering on the way his fingers have gone tight around the handles of the spoons.]
I've told you of some of his misdeeds, but they largely concerned myself and Robert. What he did to those he employed-- [she emphasizes the word in distaste, because quite frankly owned was the far better term for those wretched souls in Finkton,] was far worse. There are few cruelties he did not inflict upon them. And I know, because he did not hesitate to brag about it later on.
...Rosalind. There's something I want to tell you, before I go on, and I hope you'll take it to heart.
[He glances up at her, all green eyes and a solemn expression, but in a way that for once actually makes him look young from its earnest sincerity, as opposed to old beyond his apparent years.]
You are brilliant. And you are ruthless. But never forget that whatever evils you may or may not embody, necessary or otherwise, you are nowhere close to comparable to the worst that humanity has to offer.
[He glances up at her, all green eyes and a solemn expression, but in a way that for once actually makes him look young from its earnest sincerity, as opposed to old beyond his apparent years.]
You are brilliant. And you are ruthless. But never forget that whatever evils you may or may not embody, necessary or otherwise, you are nowhere close to comparable to the worst that humanity has to offer.
[Her breath catches, and she stares back at him, her eyes widening in surprise.
It isn't as if she'd believed that about herself, of course. She's aware of her crimes, but that awareness is just that: knowledge of a fact, unburdened by an inordinate amount of guilt or self-loathing. She and Robert have atoned, and so while nothing can make up for the fact they committed those crimes to begin with, they at least have made things right.
No. It's not some absolution of guilt that has her pausing. It's just--
It's the sincerity in his voice, maybe. It's the underscoring of the fact that they're on the other side of her confession, and he still cares for her. This is an assurance, and the raw honesty of it is what leaves her a little stunned.
But there's an implication there, woven between his words, one she'd be a fool not to see.]
What did they do?
It isn't as if she'd believed that about herself, of course. She's aware of her crimes, but that awareness is just that: knowledge of a fact, unburdened by an inordinate amount of guilt or self-loathing. She and Robert have atoned, and so while nothing can make up for the fact they committed those crimes to begin with, they at least have made things right.
No. It's not some absolution of guilt that has her pausing. It's just--
It's the sincerity in his voice, maybe. It's the underscoring of the fact that they're on the other side of her confession, and he still cares for her. This is an assurance, and the raw honesty of it is what leaves her a little stunned.
But there's an implication there, woven between his words, one she'd be a fool not to see.]
What did they do?
They sold the thrill of murder.
[He says, quietly and simply.]
The experience of torturing and slaughtering the exotic novelties that came through the tunnel. They didn't keep them or exploit them. They held parties and reveled in murdering them in increasingly elaborate and creative ways.
[He says, quietly and simply.]
The experience of torturing and slaughtering the exotic novelties that came through the tunnel. They didn't keep them or exploit them. They held parties and reveled in murdering them in increasingly elaborate and creative ways.
. . . ah.
[Her expression doesn't change a bit, but the color drains from her cheeks. Her fingers curl and uncurl, and she stares at the counter as she thinks about all the implications of that. They unfold one by one, a little layer of horror that she realizes and then pushes away, only to reveal yet another beneath it.
Parties, first of all. Parties, plural. Suppose the demonic population is as numerous as humanity is. Kurama had once told her lesser demons were far, far more common than powerful ones, so surely there was a steady stream of them emerging from the tunnel. So how many had been killed, then? How many-- hundreds, surely. Hundreds, tortured and slaughtered for the amusement of the elites of--
Not Columbia. But it's their faces that fill her mind as she imagines this. Fink and Saltonstall and Marlowe, all those pompous, wealthy men who'd made up Columbia's upper crust, all those Founders, this would be precisely up their alley. The slaughter of creatures so beneath them they didn't even register as people anymore. Just things. Things that lived and died for their amusement.
Another layer: Kurama somehow knows of this, and yet that such practices must have been a relative secret, or else no demon would ever leave Makai. How precisely had he learned of it? But there's only two real options available there. Either Kurama had known of a person who had escaped, and listened to their tale. Unlikely, given that she imagines such a tale would spread. Which leaves her with the other option: that Kurama had, at some point in his long life, experienced such an event firsthand.
She looks over at him. His expression is as still as hers, but there's something deadened in his gaze that chills Rosalind.]
. . . your friend's sister. The one who cried gems. They coerced her to cry, you said. Were these the same people?
[But Urameshi had rescued her. And it's absurd, really, that such a thought is comforting, when hundreds have already died, but perhaps it's because she has more of a connection to the girl than some anonymous demon.]
[Her expression doesn't change a bit, but the color drains from her cheeks. Her fingers curl and uncurl, and she stares at the counter as she thinks about all the implications of that. They unfold one by one, a little layer of horror that she realizes and then pushes away, only to reveal yet another beneath it.
Parties, first of all. Parties, plural. Suppose the demonic population is as numerous as humanity is. Kurama had once told her lesser demons were far, far more common than powerful ones, so surely there was a steady stream of them emerging from the tunnel. So how many had been killed, then? How many-- hundreds, surely. Hundreds, tortured and slaughtered for the amusement of the elites of--
Not Columbia. But it's their faces that fill her mind as she imagines this. Fink and Saltonstall and Marlowe, all those pompous, wealthy men who'd made up Columbia's upper crust, all those Founders, this would be precisely up their alley. The slaughter of creatures so beneath them they didn't even register as people anymore. Just things. Things that lived and died for their amusement.
Another layer: Kurama somehow knows of this, and yet that such practices must have been a relative secret, or else no demon would ever leave Makai. How precisely had he learned of it? But there's only two real options available there. Either Kurama had known of a person who had escaped, and listened to their tale. Unlikely, given that she imagines such a tale would spread. Which leaves her with the other option: that Kurama had, at some point in his long life, experienced such an event firsthand.
She looks over at him. His expression is as still as hers, but there's something deadened in his gaze that chills Rosalind.]
. . . your friend's sister. The one who cried gems. They coerced her to cry, you said. Were these the same people?
[But Urameshi had rescued her. And it's absurd, really, that such a thought is comforting, when hundreds have already died, but perhaps it's because she has more of a connection to the girl than some anonymous demon.]
Edited 2017-03-16 01:11 (UTC)
I believe it's very likely. The one who had her was something of a collector, and housed a menagerie of demons on the premises of his estate. But he was one member of a group.
[He hums under his breath, turning his attention back to his bowl of work and stabbing at it with the spoons a little more forcefully than necessary.]
That group of people comprises a group of men so wealthy that normal entertainments have lost all meaning to them. So they gamble, or engage in black market crimes, because the only things left to them in the world are the prospect of increasing their income, and the thrill of victory.
[He hums under his breath, turning his attention back to his bowl of work and stabbing at it with the spoons a little more forcefully than necessary.]
That group of people comprises a group of men so wealthy that normal entertainments have lost all meaning to them. So they gamble, or engage in black market crimes, because the only things left to them in the world are the prospect of increasing their income, and the thrill of victory.
I'm familiar with the type.
[Not to that precise degree, but oh, that had been Fink all over, hadn't it? He'd been the wealthiest man by far in Columbia, and yet he was obsessed with increasing his fortune in all kinds of ways. And in the meantime, he'd indulged in everything he could think of, because why shouldn't he?]
You . . . did you . . . witness such an event for yourself?
[Not to that precise degree, but oh, that had been Fink all over, hadn't it? He'd been the wealthiest man by far in Columbia, and yet he was obsessed with increasing his fortune in all kinds of ways. And in the meantime, he'd indulged in everything he could think of, because why shouldn't he?]
You . . . did you . . . witness such an event for yourself?
No.
[It's quiet, but gentle. Her hesitation — even fear, perhaps — stings him with a sorrow that surprises even him; it's not that he didn't think she cared about him, of course, but she sounds so apprehensive about receiving the confirmation that he might have been present for one of those aforementioned orgies of cruelty, even with firsthand confirmation right in front of her that he'd survived it if he had.
So he seeks to comfort her. He speaks gently, and reassures her immediately before elaborating.]
Spirit World often turns a blind eye to crimes committed against demons, but these incidents were so heinous that even Spirit World couldn't feasibly ignore them. I caught wind of it through them — certainly that group of individuals are on Spirit World's figurative radar for a number of ongoing transgressions, not just those events.
[It's quiet, but gentle. Her hesitation — even fear, perhaps — stings him with a sorrow that surprises even him; it's not that he didn't think she cared about him, of course, but she sounds so apprehensive about receiving the confirmation that he might have been present for one of those aforementioned orgies of cruelty, even with firsthand confirmation right in front of her that he'd survived it if he had.
So he seeks to comfort her. He speaks gently, and reassures her immediately before elaborating.]
Spirit World often turns a blind eye to crimes committed against demons, but these incidents were so heinous that even Spirit World couldn't feasibly ignore them. I caught wind of it through them — certainly that group of individuals are on Spirit World's figurative radar for a number of ongoing transgressions, not just those events.
[Thank god, and some of the tension eases out of her. Not all of it, no, but-- god, thank god, and Rosalind has to duck her head and focus on the pie for a moment, her fingers clenching and loosening, til she can get control of her expression once more.
And as she stares at nothing, she wonders at that confession. She'd known little of Makai, yes, but from the way he'd spoken of it before, she hadn't thought them some kind of-- of oppressed population. God, the way he'd spoken of Youko, he'd made it sound as though he was some kind of king, swaggering around, too powerful to ever be contained.]
Are you all so hated?
[Certainly the word demon doesn't bring much good to mind. But her world is entirely separate from his, and anyway, demons don't exist at all in her home. She'd assumed the rules were vastly different.]
And as she stares at nothing, she wonders at that confession. She'd known little of Makai, yes, but from the way he'd spoken of it before, she hadn't thought them some kind of-- of oppressed population. God, the way he'd spoken of Youko, he'd made it sound as though he was some kind of king, swaggering around, too powerful to ever be contained.]
Are you all so hated?
[Certainly the word demon doesn't bring much good to mind. But her world is entirely separate from his, and anyway, demons don't exist at all in her home. She'd assumed the rules were vastly different.]
Edited 2017-03-16 06:05 (UTC)
[Oh. Now that's a good question, isn't it? Are you all so hated, and the easy answer is no. No, of course not, certainly there are degrees of tolerance. Certainly a demon that causes no harm is at least judged differently than one who plots to harm humankind and overrun the earth.
And yet even as that kneejerk impulse passes through his mind, it occurs to him just how unlikely and naive an impulse it actually is. Why were two paroled demons sent to assist the Spirit Detective in his attempt to quell a rebellion and uprising? Certainly something like that couldn't reasonably be construed as "community service" on the part of Spirit World. Was it because they stood a high chance of success at best — and were expendable at worst?
And why, furthermore, did Koenma link their two sentences, so that any transgression on Hiei's part would be reflected back on him as well? His deeds have nothing to do with Hiei's. Not unless his selfish interest in his own freedom would incentivize him to control Hiei.
And Hiei was ready to kill humans for the sake of his sister. Why had Koenma moved? Was it really for Yukina's sake — or was it out of concern of what Hiei might do in the course of rescuing her?
Are demons all so hated?]
Hated, feared. Demons tend to be a fairly straightforward breed — immensely powerful, generally violent. In intelligence we tend to vary widely from little more than beasts to creatures with perception on the level of the human conception of gods.
But I don't know that we're inherently any more evil than humans are. A few humans have come to conclude that, thankfully, but not many, and they're few and far between.
And yet even as that kneejerk impulse passes through his mind, it occurs to him just how unlikely and naive an impulse it actually is. Why were two paroled demons sent to assist the Spirit Detective in his attempt to quell a rebellion and uprising? Certainly something like that couldn't reasonably be construed as "community service" on the part of Spirit World. Was it because they stood a high chance of success at best — and were expendable at worst?
And why, furthermore, did Koenma link their two sentences, so that any transgression on Hiei's part would be reflected back on him as well? His deeds have nothing to do with Hiei's. Not unless his selfish interest in his own freedom would incentivize him to control Hiei.
And Hiei was ready to kill humans for the sake of his sister. Why had Koenma moved? Was it really for Yukina's sake — or was it out of concern of what Hiei might do in the course of rescuing her?
Are demons all so hated?]
Hated, feared. Demons tend to be a fairly straightforward breed — immensely powerful, generally violent. In intelligence we tend to vary widely from little more than beasts to creatures with perception on the level of the human conception of gods.
But I don't know that we're inherently any more evil than humans are. A few humans have come to conclude that, thankfully, but not many, and they're few and far between.
[She isn't certain how to respond to that. I'm sorry? Only that's both pathetic and useless, even if she truly does feel the sentiment. I'm sorry your entire species is hated and feared, I can't possibly imagine-- no. He knows her well enough to see her sympathy and horror, and that's enough. Not every emotion needs to be articulated.]
I should think humanity a bit worse, frankly.
[Not that he's confessed every demonic crime. But Rosalind has seen too much of humanity's worst to ever think particularly fondly of the species as a whole. And frankly, there's something refreshingly straightforward about the label of violence, especially as a means to acquire power. It isn't good, but it's a far sight better than, say, something being mutilated and told it was for their own good.
Perhaps someday she'll tell him of the Handymen. Of the Firemen, of all of Fink's terrifying inventions, all the horrific little details that had made up day-to-day life in Columbia. But not today.]
. . . we've strayed a bit from pie-making, I think.
I should think humanity a bit worse, frankly.
[Not that he's confessed every demonic crime. But Rosalind has seen too much of humanity's worst to ever think particularly fondly of the species as a whole. And frankly, there's something refreshingly straightforward about the label of violence, especially as a means to acquire power. It isn't good, but it's a far sight better than, say, something being mutilated and told it was for their own good.
Perhaps someday she'll tell him of the Handymen. Of the Firemen, of all of Fink's terrifying inventions, all the horrific little details that had made up day-to-day life in Columbia. But not today.]
. . . we've strayed a bit from pie-making, I think.
We have. But I think it comes full-circle, in terms of the scope of humanity.
[He offers her a faint smile, finishing up with the apples and then tipping the bowl toward her for a taste of the same.]
Your range, I think, is far wider in scope than demonkind's. Capable of far more cruelty, to be sure, but also sometimes...a model for how we could be better, as well.
[He offers her a faint smile, finishing up with the apples and then tipping the bowl toward her for a taste of the same.]
Your range, I think, is far wider in scope than demonkind's. Capable of far more cruelty, to be sure, but also sometimes...a model for how we could be better, as well.
You're speaking to the wrong twin if you'd like that perspective, Kurama.
[But her voice is a little brisker now. It's a tart reply, lighter and easier than the slow, somber replies she'd given before. Rosalind steals one more apple piece, humming softly in pleasure as the sweetness hits her tongue.]
Especially on the heels of thinking of Jeremiah Fink.
[But her voice is a little brisker now. It's a tart reply, lighter and easier than the slow, somber replies she'd given before. Rosalind steals one more apple piece, humming softly in pleasure as the sweetness hits her tongue.]
Especially on the heels of thinking of Jeremiah Fink.
I would've said that's a case in point. You've seen a world whose human race encompasses both Jeremiah Fink and Robert Lutece.
[What endpoints. The worst and the best of what the world has to offer — from one person's very biased viewpoint, at least.
But then, that's sort of the point.]
But I'll tell him the same, if you like. Someday.
[What endpoints. The worst and the best of what the world has to offer — from one person's very biased viewpoint, at least.
But then, that's sort of the point.]
But I'll tell him the same, if you like. Someday.
Someday.
[Someday, someday. Someday, he will come to get her, Rosalind knows. He'll find his way into her arms once more, because Robert is as attached to her as she is him, and a life without her will be very nearly intolerable. They tore open the universe once to find one another, and he will again. But . . .
She remembers Booker. Seventy-two years, Elizabeth had once waited for him. Robert will come for her, yes, of course he will, but there's no guarantee it'll be anytime soon. A year? Two years? But ah, does it truly matter? He'll come for her, and they'll find a way out, and time will once again cease to have any meaning for them. They can spend an eternity making up for lost time.
(She dreams of him sometimes. She dreams of him stepping off that train, of falling asleep in his arms, his fingers tangled in her hair, his breath slow and even. The way he'd look, dressed down the way she is, his crisp waistcoats and suit jackets traded in for nothing more than an Oxford shirt. The way he'd act, giddy that they were in a place where they could act as a proper couple, delighted by all the friends she's made for them. She knows him so well, her mind knows precisely what he'd say, what he'd do, right down to the way his hand would feel in hers, and--
And then she wakes up, and her longing grows all the worse for it).]
I suppose I'll brag to your mother on that day. Your son's by far the best pie maker I've ever met, even if he lets people sneak bites, something like that.
[Someday, someday. Someday, he will come to get her, Rosalind knows. He'll find his way into her arms once more, because Robert is as attached to her as she is him, and a life without her will be very nearly intolerable. They tore open the universe once to find one another, and he will again. But . . .
She remembers Booker. Seventy-two years, Elizabeth had once waited for him. Robert will come for her, yes, of course he will, but there's no guarantee it'll be anytime soon. A year? Two years? But ah, does it truly matter? He'll come for her, and they'll find a way out, and time will once again cease to have any meaning for them. They can spend an eternity making up for lost time.
(She dreams of him sometimes. She dreams of him stepping off that train, of falling asleep in his arms, his fingers tangled in her hair, his breath slow and even. The way he'd look, dressed down the way she is, his crisp waistcoats and suit jackets traded in for nothing more than an Oxford shirt. The way he'd act, giddy that they were in a place where they could act as a proper couple, delighted by all the friends she's made for them. She knows him so well, her mind knows precisely what he'd say, what he'd do, right down to the way his hand would feel in hers, and--
And then she wakes up, and her longing grows all the worse for it).]
I suppose I'll brag to your mother on that day. Your son's by far the best pie maker I've ever met, even if he lets people sneak bites, something like that.
[As continued from here!]
Ros—
[Ah, but then it's all irrelevant. Any protest he might've made, any biological need for air he might've insisted upon, it all goes by the wayside because this is so new and so strange and so different. He's got her caught up in his arms now, and she's leaning on him heavily, with abandon, holding on tight to his tie like it's a leash and kissing him like they've only ever done behind locked doors and heavy curtains. She's kissing him like the first time they'd kissed after he'd come through the tear, or at least the first he remembers; he suspects there might've been others that he was simply far too delusional to record and remember, but there's one of them that he does, and he remembers it'd felt just like this.
So naturally, it takes him a long time to draw away, but he is the one who does it in the end. He does it because he knows she won't, not after everything, and if someone doesn't take a firm hand of things, then they're never going to get "home" to begin with.]
There. Better, my dear?
Ros—
[Ah, but then it's all irrelevant. Any protest he might've made, any biological need for air he might've insisted upon, it all goes by the wayside because this is so new and so strange and so different. He's got her caught up in his arms now, and she's leaning on him heavily, with abandon, holding on tight to his tie like it's a leash and kissing him like they've only ever done behind locked doors and heavy curtains. She's kissing him like the first time they'd kissed after he'd come through the tear, or at least the first he remembers; he suspects there might've been others that he was simply far too delusional to record and remember, but there's one of them that he does, and he remembers it'd felt just like this.
So naturally, it takes him a long time to draw away, but he is the one who does it in the end. He does it because he knows she won't, not after everything, and if someone doesn't take a firm hand of things, then they're never going to get "home" to begin with.]
There. Better, my dear?
[She follows as he draws back, stealing one last kiss even as he tries to get them in order. He absolutely right in his actions, of course; if they keep kissing like this, they really won't ever get home, and home is precisely where she wants to be: home and alone with him, free to do whatever they please.
Still. It's sore, losing him, and Rosalind licks her lips as she tries to get herself together.]
. . . for now.
[She doesn't want to lose his arms around her, either, but that's another treat that she'll simply have to postpone. With a little sigh she steps back, taking his arm once more.]
It's going to take quite a few hours for me to tell you everything that's gone on the past few months. Certainly we'll have a delay once we arrive home. So you'd best ask right now what you're most interested in learning, because you've got til we reach the end of the walk to hear it.
Still. It's sore, losing him, and Rosalind licks her lips as she tries to get herself together.]
. . . for now.
[She doesn't want to lose his arms around her, either, but that's another treat that she'll simply have to postpone. With a little sigh she steps back, taking his arm once more.]
It's going to take quite a few hours for me to tell you everything that's gone on the past few months. Certainly we'll have a delay once we arrive home. So you'd best ask right now what you're most interested in learning, because you've got til we reach the end of the walk to hear it.
A full accounting of the events I've missed. I'm sure it won't be the strangest bout of pillow talk we've ever engaged in.
[But he feels it too, the soreness of having her and then losing her, and even if it's not rubbed raw with the agony of five months, it's still a sentiment he shares. Of course he shares it; how couldn't he, when it's something she's feeling too?
So he doesn't let her go, or at least he doesn't let her go unscathed. His free hand slips up to the comb in her hair, catching it easily and tugging it free with playful mischief, as much so she'll have to suffer through her long loose hair for the trip home as so he'll have something to occupy his fingers with for the duration.]
I ought to ask about any number of things, I suppose. Your friends, your students, your living circumstances. But...truth be told, the only thing I really want to hear about at the moment is you.
[But he feels it too, the soreness of having her and then losing her, and even if it's not rubbed raw with the agony of five months, it's still a sentiment he shares. Of course he shares it; how couldn't he, when it's something she's feeling too?
So he doesn't let her go, or at least he doesn't let her go unscathed. His free hand slips up to the comb in her hair, catching it easily and tugging it free with playful mischief, as much so she'll have to suffer through her long loose hair for the trip home as so he'll have something to occupy his fingers with for the duration.]
I ought to ask about any number of things, I suppose. Your friends, your students, your living circumstances. But...truth be told, the only thing I really want to hear about at the moment is you.
Robert--
[They're not in Columbia, and a woman with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders isn't the fashion scandal it once was. But still, honestly, she'd taken the time to at least put her hair up, the least he could do was allow her to stay respectable until they get home, what a prat, that Robert Lutece, absolutely the worst, and yet all she does in retaliation is nudge him with her hip.]
. . . well. I've told you I've a shop. Lutece Labs, so we shan't even have to modify the name of the store in order to accommodate you. It's more an alchemist shop that what we used to have, frankly, but it's pleasant to have something to do during the day. When I'm not busy with that . . . there's plenty of strange creatures that reside just outside the city. I'm building up a bestiary.
[Ah, that's another thing she has to tell him . . . but not yet. Let that wait until tonight, when they're locked away at home and she's got his arms around her.]
[They're not in Columbia, and a woman with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders isn't the fashion scandal it once was. But still, honestly, she'd taken the time to at least put her hair up, the least he could do was allow her to stay respectable until they get home, what a prat, that Robert Lutece, absolutely the worst, and yet all she does in retaliation is nudge him with her hip.]
. . . well. I've told you I've a shop. Lutece Labs, so we shan't even have to modify the name of the store in order to accommodate you. It's more an alchemist shop that what we used to have, frankly, but it's pleasant to have something to do during the day. When I'm not busy with that . . . there's plenty of strange creatures that reside just outside the city. I'm building up a bestiary.
[Ah, that's another thing she has to tell him . . . but not yet. Let that wait until tonight, when they're locked away at home and she's got his arms around her.]
That's not what I meant, my dear.
[He turns her comb over and over in his fingers, letting her pull him along as he turns his gaze to the horizon and reflects, at length, about what he's about to say next. The trick is to find the right words, gentle while still no-nonsense, and press her just enough without pushing her into a place where she doesn't want to be.]
You cried on my shoulder. You — the accomplishments can wait with everything else, Rosie. I want...I meant that I want to know about you.
We've not been out of touch with each other for a period longer than a day or two since we were seventeen. Seventeen, and now it's been five months. I want to hear your feelings — as much because I think you need the chance to say them as I need to hear them.
[He turns her comb over and over in his fingers, letting her pull him along as he turns his gaze to the horizon and reflects, at length, about what he's about to say next. The trick is to find the right words, gentle while still no-nonsense, and press her just enough without pushing her into a place where she doesn't want to be.]
You cried on my shoulder. You — the accomplishments can wait with everything else, Rosie. I want...I meant that I want to know about you.
We've not been out of touch with each other for a period longer than a day or two since we were seventeen. Seventeen, and now it's been five months. I want to hear your feelings — as much because I think you need the chance to say them as I need to hear them.
[There's a slight stutter in her footsteps, something minor that she corrects almost immediately, but which gives her dead away. And again, she thinks of what she's trying desperately not to: all the horrors that have happened to her over these past five months, all the little things she's going to have to confess to him.]
. . . I hardly know what you want me to say.
[Yes, she does. She knows precisely what it is he's getting at. But it's not half so easy as that, not for her. So perhaps she'll be forgiven for the slight stiffness in her tone as she says:]
I missed you, of course.
. . . I hardly know what you want me to say.
[Yes, she does. She knows precisely what it is he's getting at. But it's not half so easy as that, not for her. So perhaps she'll be forgiven for the slight stiffness in her tone as she says:]
I missed you, of course.
...I want you to promise me you'll ask for what you need, when you need it.
[He says, softly, and lets it alone. There's pressing and then there's pushing, and he's done what he can. She'll meet him halfway when he needs must be met there, or so he hopes.]
If you'll do that, then that's all of your feelings I'll demand, for right now.
[He says, softly, and lets it alone. There's pressing and then there's pushing, and he's done what he can. She'll meet him halfway when he needs must be met there, or so he hopes.]
If you'll do that, then that's all of your feelings I'll demand, for right now.
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