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It's not dangerous. How on earth is it dangerous!

[Oh, no. Oh, no, what a terrible fate, surely she ought to resist, except no, no, she's just tipping her head back, grinning up at the ceiling. A moment, and then she squirms, just to encourage him.]

A lack of proper unit of measure. Rendering us, ah. Unable to...measure.

[Is he distracted by the alcohol or the fact that he's shifting into nibbling rather than kissing in what are probably the preliminary stages of just outright biting her? Quite possibly both.]

We're drinking too much, Rosie.

No, we're not.

[No, they probably are. Certainly it's a good thing she hasn't yet gotten to her feet. Rosalind hums happily, squirming again-- yes, good, go on, keep going, because things like bruises that are too high on her neck are things for a future Rosalind to fuss about.]

We're not, 'cos we're still coherent. Perfectly able to keep up a conversation. Perfectly able to, to teleport.

You still can't teleport. Which is horrid, by the way. Absolutely unfair.

[Hmmm.]

Hedons and heathens, it seems we're being. But we're being it together.

Which is all that truly matters, in the end, isn't it? You're here, and you're not leaving, so you can simply carry me and teleport me everywhere. Isn't an inconvenience at all.

And you like that. Carrying me. So it works out, doesn't it?

...It does.

[Which seems to give him pause a minute, because this seems vaguely like a stacked deck somehow, but he can't quite put his finger on how it's stacked against him in the face of this LOGIC]

So. ...I suppose I'm carrying you everywhere, then.

Mmhmm.

[She slides a hand up, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him in a little. Bite, please.]

You ought to be pleased. You can start sweeping me off my feet regularly.

[THIS STILL SEEMS VAGUELY SKETCH but Rosalind does usually know best and also: he has biting to do.]

Mm, I am always pleased by the prospect of that, yes...

Ah--

[She inhales sharply, her eyes closing tightly. Fantastic, and she squirms again, her fingers tightening in his hair.]

Y-you'll get to be my darling hero-- always helping me in my time of need-- nn, I do want to show you what little outside of the city I've seen, it really is quite beautiful-- you'd like the plains, we could picnic there when it gets warmer--

[Come the morning they are going to look at themselves and think: what disasters we are, and probably regret a lot of this, but surprisingly also not as much of it as one might otherwise think,

For now, though, there is no regret. There is only each other, and each other is warm and pliant and smiling.]

I do want to see it, if you think it's beautiful. Really I want to see it if you think anything of it. Because it's you. You want to go on a picnic?

Mmhmm.

[NO REGRET JUST LOVE AND BITEY KISSES]

I want to do everything with you here. God, Robert, I spent-- nn-- I spent hours thinking about all the things we'd do, I--

[One thought leads to another, and Rosalind smiles.]

You know what I have?

[It'll take him forever to guess, and incidentally his mouth needs to stay occupied with other things.]

Our-- our notebooks. My notebooks. From the beginning, from, from all those hours at the atom. All our conversations.

Your notebooks! All of them?

[ASTOUNDING.]

Well — where are they? Let's read them! Did you always draw in the margins the way I did?

No-- no--

[But she's laughing.]

I don't want to get up! And yes, I did-- which reminds me, I don't want you to see those, you've a large enough ego as it is--

[Because really: it isn't as if Robert was the only one daydreaming about what his counterpart might look like.]

Oho, so you were drawing me, were you. Well, now we've got to see them, we've got to know how your artistic conceptions fared!

[Except that he's pretty busy aggressively cuddling her right now, so. Moving isn't high on his priority list either.]

Did you get the nose all wrong? I always got your nose all wrong.

Yes.

[Though, as it will turn out, a little less wrong than he had gotten hers. Rosalind sighs and tucks herself in, her eyes closing.]

Mm. I thought you'd be skinnier. And, ah . . . not as tall. Hair and freckles I was correct about, though . . . and I thought you might have a mustache of some sort, though I was quite pleased I was wrong about that.

Oh, good god, don't remind me about the ill-advised mustache. Horrid.

[Good thing she's comfortable, too, because "cuddling" has somehow turned into "half rolling on her" at this point, lazy thing that he is.]

So I'm what, taller and fatter than you'd imagined?

Taller and broader.

[God, they're disgusting, look at them, pressed so tight together. She's a little overwhelmed with him, which is precisely as she likes it.]

I didn't think we-- you-- would have muscles. I didn't think of us participating in sports. So.

[She pats him twice, a little brisk but ultimately fond.]

Rather a nice surprise for me.

Good lord, you thought I'd be a weedy little bean of a lad, is that it?

[Oops. He's exclaiming that just a little too loudly, actually, and probably attracting Punnett's attention as a result just from the sudden unexpected increase in volume.]

Lucky indeed for you. Hooked yourself a man.

[HE IS SO FAR BEYOND A BRAIN TO MOUTH FILTER RIGHT NOW]

[Indeed, Punnett is wiggling in the background, displeased with the sudden disruption in the status quo. Don't shout, Robert. Don't shout and don't move, just stay right there.

At least Rosalind's reaction is far more positive. She squirms beneath him, laughing as she does: not at him, but more simply utterly delighted.]

Mmhmm. One of the few times I was perfectly pleased to be wrong. You came through and--

[Well. He'd bled out, actually. But once all the blood was gone, once he was safely in bed, once she was done messing about with IVs and transfusions and all was quiet, she'd gotten a right proper look at him.]

--ah. And I was. Pleased. As I said.

...You said you were afraid to touch me! You cheeky thing, what a liar you are!

[He is so delighted by this, somehow. This is disgusting. They are disgusting. There are no words for how disgusting these grown-ass people are being right now.]

I wasn't lying! I simply-- good god, Robert, you were covered in blood, I couldn't very well let you stay in those clothes.

[And in order to change him, she'd had to touch him. She really had been nervous, but one never knows if one doesn't take a risk, onwards and upwards, et cetera et cetera. She'd started small, and when he hadn't suddenly hemorrhaged thanks to a finger pressed carefully to his wrist, she'd gone a little further.]

Nor was I improper, before you get started.

Edited 2017-04-06 21:35 (UTC)

Tragic, handsome, covered in blood, disheveled and laid out in your bed...

[He pauses, then catches her efficiently in his arms before he finishes his thought as a safeguard against her slapping him or kicking him or seeking to wriggle away.]

It must've been just like living the cover of one of your favorite novels...

[It's an excellent precaution, because she seeks to do just that: squirm pointedly away, and quite possibly shove him in the process. But he's strong, and she's just a little too comfortable to make an effort of it, so she contents herself with a scowl.]

Shut up.

Mm, yes, I can think of one fine way of doing that.

[Do you know what it is, Rosie? He'll give you a hint. IT INVOLVES SMOOCHING.]

[MAYBE SHE DOESN'T WANNA SMOOCH HIM, HUH, MAYBE TH no just kidding she always wants to kiss him, even when he's being an utter prat. She squirms again, just to feel him tighten his arms around her, and when he finally pulls back, she sticks her tongue out at him.]

You weren't that well-muscled.

[SO THERE.]

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