originallutece | (no subject)

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)

I have an idea. I was hopeless with money when I first moved here.

[So is Katherine, a fair bit. Not entirely awful, but one of these days she and Rosalind really ought to go over how to make a budget. Rinsing her hands off, she moves to lean against the counter, watching him as he works.]

Although I'm happy to say I was never so awful I lost my flat.

[He laughs, waiting for the water to boil, turning to look at her.]

No, that requires an impressive level of irresponsibility. Fynn is impulsive in many ways, and he decided to purchase a car that was far beyond his means. I suppose somewhere in all that madness he had forgotten that he still has to pay for rent. And food. And gas.

[He'll cross the kitchen to open up a cabinet, gathering up a mug.]

Though I can't blame him too much for it. When you come from an exceedingly rich family, it's difficult to control one's spending. It sounds like you know about that, as well.

I'd rather beg Fawkes for a place on his couch than ever give up my BMW.

[AH, TO BE YOUNG AND WEALTHY . . . to be perfectly fair, she's exaggerating.

But not by a whole lot. She likes what she likes, all right.]

Although, actually, you know, I hardly think I'd have to beg. He's the best assistant I've had yet-- do you know, he actually brought two umbrellas to class the other day, because he thought I might forget mine?

I wouldn't be terribly sad to see my BMW go. [His was gift from his parents, all those years ago. That's the only reason why.] The Mustang on the other hand, well...

[But he shrugs.]

It sounds like he knows you too well. That when your focus hones onto one certain thing, you're liable to forget everything else. Or am I wrong?

Certainly he's spent enough evenings listening to me complain about students to get a good grasp on my personality. But, ah . . . no, you're not. Not about my dedication, nor his knowing me.

I'm going to be sorry to lose him, once he finally finishes his thesis.

No need to be sad about it.

A bit more rummaging around, and he pulls out a couple of boxes of tea. It's not loose leaf, sorry, Ros, but it'll do for now.]

There's nothing to say that you can't still keep in touch after he's gone. I still speak to a few of my old students on occasion. Sometimes more than just on occasion.

[He motions at the tea.] Earl Grey? Oolong? ...Camomile?

Oh, Ardyn--

[Bagged tea? Really? Bro. Still, soon she nods towards the Earl Grey.]

I'm not sad, precisely. But I should think being friends with former students-- or assistants, for that matter-- is frowned upon.

[Listen, Rosalind, it's easy and convenient and he prefers coffee anyway! No judgment! (All the judgment.)

Still, Earl Grey it is. In goes a bag into the mug, and now they just continue to wait for the water.]

Frowned upon? There's nothing wrong with keeping in touch with your former students in a friendly, helpful capacity. I certainly don't expect to become best friends with any of mine, though- [Well, he shrugs.] A few of them have been affected by Retrospec recently as well. As a result, there are a handful of which that I speak with, with growing frequency. We complain about memories to each other, or try to unravel the city's mysteries. That sort of thing.

[DISGUSTING. SO MUCH JUDGEMENT.]

Mm.

[That's not a happy mm, not by any means. He's been doing this longer than her, and normally she'd defer to his experience, but there's something about the whole we're all friends on social media thing that seems as if it's going to somehow backfire, despite the fact that no one from the outside can see into this app.

Or maybe she's just a little odd when it comes to Fawkes. Who can say?]

Well. In any case, he's stuck with me for a bit of time yet. Is the water boiling?

[He raises a brow at her, though he doesn't say anything. He wonders how much the notion of losing her assistant really bothers her -- after all, everyone knows that it's only a matter of time before one's most favored students and assistants eventually leave to move along with their own lives. Such was the reality of being a professor, and how much contact one wished to keep with them depended wholeheartedly on preference.

But right on time, the kettle begins to whistle. Ardyn will prepare her tea, asking for her preference of sugar, etc., and eventually places the mug down on the counter close to her, offering it.]

You must be very fond of him.