originallutece | (no subject)

[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.

Precisely.

[She flexes her hand. There's not a trace of the cut that had marred her finger, and that only cements her decision.]

You'd be mobbed, to say the least. Regarded as some kind of miracle cure. God only knows what the religious sort would do with you, but I should worry more about organized crime and their interest. I'm not say you ought to never use it, but . . . be very careful, Ardyn.

I know.

[He tilts his head a little, looking at her with a furrowed brow.]

The last thing I want to become is a source of constant observation and experimentation, and yet-

[A shrug.] Well, it needn't be said if you're ever hurt in my presence, I won't hesitate to try to use them.

[And that goes for all of his close friends and family.]

[For just a moment, a little smile lights up her face. It's surprised and flattered, and it lasts for only a few seconds.]

Is that a fact? I'll remember that, the next time I end up scalded in the lab.

[She watches him for a few seconds longer, then grabs for her equipment, busying herself with obtaining a tissue sample from off her healed finger.]

. . . thank you. For that offer. It's a kind one.

[It isn't empty flattery, either, it's sincere. His concern for his friends will of course manifest as wanting to help them, and being granted healing powers? The slots in nicely with this desire.]

I'm a kind man when I choose to be. Surely it's not so surprising.

[Spoiler, Ros: Ardyn is indeed something of a bleeding heart. But don't you dare tell anyone.]

Though as I've mentioned to others before, this is no excuse for you to be reckless.

You can't put limits on this, that's not on.

[But she's smiling as she says it, relieved to be able to latch onto something else.]

Besides, when have you ever known me to be reckless?

[It's amazing she can say that with a straight face, even as she collects the blood off the knife and puts it in a container.]

[At that, all Ardyn has to do is look at her so very skeptically, giving a pointed look at the knife as she puts it away.]

[Oh, there goes the smile, replaced by an arch little look.]

And? It worked out, didn't it? Don't act as if I came in here brandishing a switchblade and cut off my hand, honestly.

Perhaps nothing so extreme, but don't pretend that you'd have been against the idea of something more questionable than a mere cut on the finger to begin with. You're quite the zealot when it comes to unravelling mysteries, Rosalind.

[She wrinkles her nose at him, a clear sign that he's won and she doesn't want to admit it.]

Only to a certain point. Anyway, this is how discoveries are made. No one ever discovered anything by playing it safe.

And that is something I must concede to.

[He looks satisfied at having made his previous point, though.]

Now then, you should clean off any excess blood on you, and let me play the part of a host that isn't allowing his guests to gouge at their fingers. Do you want something to drink while you're here?

Yes, all right. Tea, if you have it, and water if you don't.

[Technically, the real reason for her visit is over with, but . . . she's also never gotten to see where Ardyn lives. This is intriguing. Absently, she bites at her (thankfully nonbloody) thumb as she makes her way to the sink.]

Is your brother living with you temporarily, or is it a more permanent situation?

[Ardyn's home is was one that was built probably in the 50's or 60's, and its rooms are laid out accordingly, though the rounded design of the living room is certainly unique. Also, I am lazy and will just link you this picture for a general #aesthetic of it.

Ardyn keeps his home immaculately clean (the part visible to visitors, at least), so she shouldn't have any difficulties taking in the decor. But here and there, there are books on various flat surfaces stacked along the way to the kitchen -- even in the kitchen, there seems to be a law book that's wandered its way onto the counter.

He does have tea, and so he'll begin to prepare it for her, gathering up a tea kettle to fill with water and let boil on the stove. At some point, Erebus wanders in, but mostly ignores the two of them as he flops down in the middle of the kitchen on his side, for the sake of a nap.]

Temporarily. [A quick answer to that.] Though it seems to be growing more and more permanent. His spending habits are not always the most reasonable, you know.

Edited 2017-05-18 20:21 (UTC)