originallutece | (no subject)

So it would seem. The correlation between our memories and our granted "abilities" strengthens.

Where are you? May I stop by? I'd like to see these for myself.

I'm at home right now, and while I'll not dismiss the company, you realize someone needs to be injured for me to show you how it works?

I'm aware. A few cuts will hardly be the worst I've ever experienced.

[And she's all but bolting to her BMW, because holy shit, she wants to see this firsthand. Her phone goes quiet, but not quite as long as it ought to-- but hey, you know what, fuck speeding laws. What matters is that she gets to his home quickly, and to that end, she accomplishes her goal: soon she's knocking at his door, a notebook, a pen and some small equipment jammed into her purse.]

Edited 2017-05-12 21:10 (UTC)

[Holy shit, Ros.

Any attempts at texting her back are met with silence, which would be more worrying if Ardyn didn't know exactly what she was doing this very moment. And when he hears a knock at his door (record time, jesus), he almost rolls his eyes as he saunters over to open it.]

Don't you think this is a bit excessive? Take my word that it worked and leave it at that.

[Good lord.]

No.

[She frowns up at him as she brushes past, because of course she's welcome.]

You can't simply dangle the prospect of solving the mystery of magic in front of me and then not expect me to react. I don't know what you expected if not this.

[Rosalind brushes past, and Ardyn already knows there's no point in trying to make her return to her car and drive back home. She's a stubborn one, that's for sure.

So he closes the door behind her with a tiny bit of exasperation. Meanwhile, Rosalind will be greeted by one slender black cat named Erebus, who meows in her direction when she draws close.]

What, then? Are we going to perform a few experiments? [He opens his arms wide in a dramatic gesture.] What if you cannot unravel magic with science, hm? You'll never leave my home at this rate.

I suppose you'll have to make me a bed on the couch, won't you? But I think I can get quite a good sample from tonight alone.

[The cat is given a mild look, but Rosalind isn't precisely at home with pets. She's not going to hurt the animal, not in the least, but nor is she going to get on her knees and start cooing nonsensical phrases.]

And to start . . . have you experimented at all with it yet?

[JUST MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME, ROS. Seriously: she starts unpacking on the nearest flat surface, unloading empty vials and pipettes.]

My little brother currently lives on my couch. You'd have to duel him to the death for the spot.

[The cat (Erebus) takes no offense at not being given attention, but it will follow Ros back into the living room. And the living area is where the nearest flat surface is (in the form of Ardyn's coffee table, in front of the couch), considering that it isn't a long walk from the entrance hallway.

Ardyn follows, of course, brow quirked at the question and at the supplies she's unpacking.]

I have not. I see no reason to ask for people to hurt themselves just for my own benefit.

[If this were another time, she'd tease that she'd simply boot Ardyn out of his bed, but there are more interesting things at stake. Rosalind finishes setting up at the coffee table and sits on the couch, then nods towards the other end.]

Fortunately for us, this isn't just for your benefit.

[And ah, that's the last thing in her bag: a small kitchen knife. It's, alas, mostly unused, but that means it's still fairly sharp.]

Now. Do you remember how this works?

[And that kitchen knife definitely gets a frown from Ardyn. He shakes his head at her, his disapproval very clear.]

Yes, though you will not be cutting yourself with that, Rosalind. This is exceedingly unnecessary. Give me that.

[what is wrong with you people!!! Ardyn steps forward, extending his hand, as if saying give it here immediately.]

[LET HER LIVE

Really: she isn't cutting anything yet, but Rosalind scowls right back up at him, very firmly not offering him anything.]

You'd best have an alternative in mind.

[N O

The hand is still out, and Ardyn is still waiting expectantly.]

Something less extreme. A paper cut is easy enough, if we must do this.

A paper cut?

[It might be called a pout, if the esteemed Dr. Lutece ever did anything so undignified as pout.]

Good god, Ardyn, we're not going to learn anything from something tiny like that. I'm not planning on slashing my palm open, just a small cut on my finger.

[It's totally a pout, Ros. Ardyn stares at her, petulant in his own way. They're both too stubborn for their own good.

Some sort of compromise needs to be made, he knows this. Otherwise they'll just be throwing unamused glances at each other all day.]

...Only a small cut. I don't want you drawing the sort of blood that Fynn did.

Well, obviously.

[As if she's going to risk bleeding out on his carpet; that would be pathetic. Rosalind gestures, waving him down towards her level. Sit, and it's most definitely an order, not a request.]

Now. Walk me through how this is done, if you can.

[he can't believe she's bossing him around in his own home

With an exhale, he moves to sit directly next to her. He gestures at her hand.]

Well, obviously, you'll have to cut yourself. And after that, it's straightforward enough. I'll reach out, taking your hand in mine, and you'll my... fingers will glow and emanate a faint warmth. Your pain will presumably fade, and your cut will heal itself in record time.

That's how it happened the first time, anyway.

[She'll boss him anywhere. It's a gift.

Rosalind sighs softly and nods. Is that a note of apprehension as she holds out her left hand? Surely not. Surely she's not hesitating just for a moment as she presses the knife's tip to her finger? No, of course not, because Dr. Lutece doesn't hesitate. No, that must have been a trick, because there she does: pressing the knife down firmly enough to break skin. It's a deep cut, but she doesn't hiss in pain, because she's got her teeth clenched together to prevent just that.]

Here.

[Wow, she really had cut deep; that's a lot of blood welling to the surface.]

[Ardyn almost opens his mouth to say something when she hesitates. He wants to say, again, that they don't have to do this, but-

Well, it's too late now. Her finger starts to bleed, indicative of a cut that was a bit deeper than what Ardyn was expecting. Deeper than something small, which is what he thought they had agreed on.]

Rosalind.

[His frown is prominent, and he doesn't hide his disapproval. He reaches out to grasp at her hand, gingerly, his concern only felt in the pressure of his fingertips.]

This isn't what I agreed to. [But he can't back out now, can he? And so he focuses on her wound, though his frowning concern is prevalent in his expression.

It's funny how naturally it comes to him. He had doubted his ability to recreate what happened originally, but it's mere moments before his fingers seems to glow with a faint, warming light. How the pain of her cut will transfer into him (sharp, poignant, stinging), and the bleeding will begin to slow, then stop.

And now she has a front-row seat to her skin sealing itself closed, too.]

Oh . . .

[Good god, no wonder he'd called it magic. It's only her severe dislike of the word that prevents her from using it right now. Just like that, the pain fades and the wound disappears, and Rosalind stares in awe as her finger goes right back to the way it was: entirely whole and free of any new blood.

Before he pulls away, she takes his hand: drawing it carefully back to her, her thumb skimming over the palm as she inspects it closely. It's not that she thinks she'll see anything particularly unusual, but one has to observe in order to draw conclusions.]

. . . I hadn't intended to, ah, cut that deep.

[She murmurs it as she inspects his hand.]

Did you feel the pain?

[He moves to retract his hand, wanting to find something to wipe away the excess blood, when Rosalind draws it close.]

Yes. Very much so.

[There are no signs of bleeding on his side, of course. But his body is telling him otherwise. It burns in the same place relative to where she had cut herself, it feels like a wound cut too deep into flesh.]

But it will fade.

Well. I'm sorry, then, for the pain I've caused you.

[And she is, actually. It's one thing to hurt herself; it's another to hurt him. But she's apologized, and it was a cut, not a gash, so Rosalind soon adds:]

Have you tried . . . what did Fynn do, exactly?

Don't apologize. [A figurative waving away of her apology with his words. All the matters is that she's healed up, even as he flexes his hand, as if that'll be rid of the stinging faster.] I wasn't complaining about it.

Fynn sported a cut, much like yours, but deeper. He likes to cook, so he keeps the kitchen knives quite sharp. I thought he might have needed stitches.

And you used to do this with disease, too . . .

[So it isn't just rapid cellular repair, as she'd first thought. That would explain cuts and gashes, but not illnesses. His . . . whatever it is . . . seeks out illness and corrects whatever it is that's wrong, that's . . . good god, she can't imagine the scope of what this might mean in the future. If he can do it for anything, just imagine the consequences. Imagine a doctor being able to study what it is his ability did to a patient with a terminal illness; imagine how many cures might be made simply from studying what he does.]

This might be an ability you want to keep to yourself for the time being.

[Really, Ardyn wonders at the potency of it. Just how badly of an injury could he cure? How terrible of an illness? What responsibilities does he now suddenly shoulder, now that he possesses a literal magic touch? Is such an ability even fair, or existent? He didn't ask for it, after all, it was merely deposited in his lap with no rhyme or reason.

But, no, that wasn't true. The reason was there, a flash of a memory ingrained into his mind, now. A healer. The talent might have always been his, it was only just returning. And in that other life, he had felt more than happy to help the afflicted, no matter the consequences to himself. How parallel should he run to such a man?

All these thoughts, and Ardyn responds quite simply.]

For my own safety, you mean.

:')

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