originallutece | ic contact;

Technically I would learn very quickly if I were to simply get immediate positive reinforcement, but it wouldn't be the behavior you're hoping for.

[What's this? He's being deprived of her completely? Oh, well, that's intolerable. Forget the bourbon completely, he now has a much more pressing priority to address and it is catching hold of her and dragging her back into his arms.]

[It would be a lie to say she hadn't been wanting precisely this. Rosalind grins as she slumps back against him, perfectly pleased at the way his arms are wrapped around her hips.]

Menace. What if I didn't want to be caught by you?

[She says, and half turns, squirming to fit better against him.]

Impossible. Constants and variables. And that —

[Good, good, let's just settle her in comfortably, which comes with the added bonus side effect of putting the bourbon within snatching distance, when he decides to snatch for it in a minute or two.]

...is a constant.

[Rude. But not entirely unexpected, and so Rosalind allows it. It means she's left with both hands free, anyway, which is a boon when she's pressed in close like this.]

It isn't the only constant around here.

[Hm hm hm. She stretches out her legs, settling more firmly against him, and adds:]

Hurry up. You're lagging behind at least two more drinks.

Yes, and whose doing is that? Snatching it away and refusing to share...

[Two more drinks right on the heels of each other is probably a highly inadvisable thing to do, and yet he's conveniently not feeling bad about young Mr. Strider anymore, and that's as good a reason as any to carry on with the inadvisable, if it's having such favorable outcomes in return.]

Now, getting back to this business of the chickens...

[She makes a sort of grumbling noise, an emphatic mnnn that indicates that isn't quite the topic she'd been hoping to get back to.]

Why do you want to hear about those stupid things?

Because I am envisioning your flight across the moors, or some approximation of moors. On a chicken.

[Good, that's an opportunity to have a third drink, so now they're either even or he's ahead. Devious!]

Perhaps we should utilize those for our explorations, rather than having me simply zip us everywhere...

[At least he isn't laughing. Rosalind still huffs, though.]

No.

[. . . oh, is that it? That's the argument? No? Apparently so, because now she's finally hoisting herself up enough to take another drink. If he wants to keep holding the bottle while she's taking it, so be it.]

[JUST POUR STRAIGHT BOURBON RIGHT INTO YOUR GIRL'S MOUTH WHILE CUDDLING, JUST DO IT]

I'm only saying, it's an important subject of inquiry. Chickens.

[And they even manage to not spill while they do it! Truly, a feat of science and general entanglement! Though it means her argument is further reduced to a wordless nnnn as she swallows, but whatever.]

It's--

[Jesus Christ, bourbon tastes awful.]

Mm, it's not. It's not, it's a bloody stupid subject of inquiry, and I'm not going to ride a chicken when you can just teleport us. Don't be lazy!

When you can just ride something else, did you mean to say?

[OH GOD, HERE IT COMES, EVERYBODY STRAP IN BECAUSE IT'S TIME FOR ILL-ADVISED DRUNK TELEPORTING, BOY HOWDY.

Blip! Goodbye, couch. Hello, bedroom.]

But surely that's not more entertaining than a chicken!

[That's precisely what she was trying to avoid saying, actually, thanks, Robert. But look at them, drunkenly teleporting and not missing any limbs or anything, well done them!

And they're in bed, and she's still cuddled up against Robert, so she supposes this isn't so bad.]

I'm not going to say no, Robert, you're far more entertaining, if that's what you're hoping for.

Oh, come now, I know I make a fine old draft horse. In the, er, non-Euclidean sense.

[What does that even mean? We just don't know. But at least he's got the good sense to set aside the bourbon so they don't end up spilling it all over the comforter, since that'd be much more of an inconvenience than dumping it all over the couch and carpet.

But look at them! They landed on the mattress! Good show!]

I'm glad you concede the entertainment value of the giant chicken, however.

Very well, then. You can teleport me to the hot springs, and then if you're so keen on it, you can ride the bloody chicken for the three days it takes to get there.

[She lifts her head briefly, considering the alcohol. Does she want more? Ye-es? But maybe not right this second, she's at that lovely warm state of being heavily tipsy without outright drunk.

Rosalind sighs and scoots up, til she can tuck her face into the crook of his neck.]

After three days of sitting in a hot springs, I will find you positively raisin-y upon my arrival.

[When he tips his head to kiss at her, it's a little too heavily — owing mostly to some subtle fuzziness in his motor control, moreso than any intention on his conscious part.]

...Rosie?

[It's not their best kiss, that's for sure, but she's too far gone to mind it in the slightest. She's even smiling when he pulls back, her toes curling happily.]

Mm?

We're free.

[He says, as he pulls her snug against him and shifts, very nearly on the verge of smothering her in his possessive, encompassing embrace.]

And together.

. . . yes.

[Yes, they are, and Rosalind's eyes close, her fingers tightening their grip in his shirt as she remembers it. Yes, they are: free and together, able to say or do anything they please without fear of death or destruction.

God, look at them now: cuddling and kissing with the window open and the shades flung wide. They're on the second floor, yes, it's not as if anyone could see in anyway, but they'd never have allowed such a thing in Columbia.]

I love you.

[Maybe they'd settle down after that. Maybe not. It hardly matters, because it's about then Punnett decides he's not feeling enough of the love, and also incidentally doesn't appreciate Mum and Not!Mum simply disappearing on him. It had taken him a while to heft his way up the stairs, but here he is, edging into the room with a petulant spitting noise.

Rosalind laughs, though she doesn't move a bit from Robert's possessive grip.]

[Coincidental, that, because Robert himself has just gone positively rigid and a little white, so he's actually not moving period, much less moving from Rosalind's arms.]

You didn't tell me it can climb stairs.

[That's a funny way of pronouncing "I love you too".]

Shh-- shh, shh--

[That's for Robert, though the words are a little wobbled, given that she's trying not to laugh. Poor Punnett, unloved by his not!Mum. The plant is peering over the end of the bed, tendrils sliding over the sheets in a vaguely investigative manner.]

He's not going to hurt you, my love.

Oh, now don't you start laughing. If I can't laugh then you can't either, that's a rule.

[GOD IN HEAVEN THERE ARE VINES ON THE BED]

...We ought to just zip away again, before it finds us.

No.

[Not only will that distress poor Punnett, but she doesn't want to leave the bed. Rosalind shifts, swinging her legs over so she's sitting in Robert's lap instead of merely being draped on him. That . . . won't actually stop him from teleporting them, but it's the thought that counts.]

He came up here to guard us-- us, plural, not just me. You ought to be pleased he's so vigilant.

But guarding us from what, precisely? There's nothing up here but us.

[Oh. Hello, darling. Nice to suddenly have a lapful of you, too.]

...And what made you decide it to be a "him"?

Well, he's a plant. He hardly knows what might attack next, does he? He was built to guard, so that's what he's doing.

[As for his other question . . . Rosalind thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. Punnett's retreated, thank god, heading over to sit in the corner instead of creeping on the bed.]

I don't know. I suppose I thought him was better than it, and given Kurama is male, the association was already there.

I see. So he simply...waits, in your presence, contingent on anything that might happen.

[It could almost be cute, in theory, if it weren't for the fact that the reality is so horrifying. But at least the vines have retreated, which means he and Rosalind can spread out a little, not to untangle but to enjoy each other's presence more leisurely.]

Well, I suppose I shall have to get used to him. And I approve of his goals, of course — no doubt about that.

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