originallutece | (no subject)

Quality, Ardyn, not quantity. I may not have many notches in my metaphoric bedpost, but I've done perfectly all right.

[And really, there haven't been very many, but Rosalind doesn't seem too bothered by that.]

And what about you? If we're going to gossip, it's got to go two ways. What is it you look for when you're eyeing someone up?

[It's reasoning that's fair enough, and Ardyn can't fault her if she seems satisfied by it. He quirks a brow when the question is returned to him, clearly entertained that he's expected to describe his own tastes.]

Ah, well- [He feigns thinking about it for a bit, though in reality the answer comes swiftly enough to his mind.] Intellect is key. Someone who can keep up a clever repartee is just as important, which in turn means that they share my particular brand of humor.

And, I suppose, they must be a patient sort. That or easily unfazed. I hear my personality can be frustrating at times, you know.

[really tho ardyn just say grell]

[Ohhh buddy just you wait til she founds out]

And we were so compatible right up until then.

[She gives a mocking little sigh, her wry humor apparently returned to her.]

I think I'd end up killing you after two weeks, but what a lovely two weeks they'd be.

[It's certainly no secret, all she has to do is ask and he'll tell.]

What a shame. [He laughs as well, good-humored as it is.]

As lovely as it might be, I can't help but think that murder would ruin the romance.

It worked for Bonnie and Clyde.

[She grins over her tea.]

Besides, don't focus on the negatives. Focus on the two weeks. We'd be wonderful together, we could annoy the entire city together.

[He looks amused at that, straightening a little.]

Two weeks of bliss? Of annoying bliss to everyone else, at any rate.

[A gesture of a hand.]

And if I were a free man, it would be something to consider. However, I doubt a certain someone would take very kindly to the notion.

[To say she's delighted is an understatement. Rosalind's entire expression lights up, because in some ways she loves gossip just as much as him.]

Who!

[His grin widens, and of course he's not going to immediately give her a straight answer only because she seems so eager.]

Curious, are you? Maybe I should keep you in suspense for a bit longer.

Ardyn.

[Don't start, buddy.]

After all that nonsense with Fawkes, the very least you can do is give me a name.

Oh, fine.

[Said with a lilt, as if he's doing her a favor by admitting to it.]

Dr. Grell Sutcliffe.

[It takes her a moment, but oh, she remembers her. They've spoken on the network a few times, and while Rosalind can't say she knows her all the well, she'd enjoyed the few conversations she has had.

Her smile has softened. It's not a grin, not anymore. She honestly just seems happy for him.]

How long has this gone on, then?

Our first date was on Valentine's Day. It was admittedly something of a joke then.

[Not so much now, but well, funny how these things work out. Regardless, he sees recognition in her features, so of course he feels inclined to ask.]

Do you know her? She's someone who's also been graced by the app known as Retrospec, so perhaps you recognize the name?

More the name than anything. I haven't yet had the chance to get to know her properly.

[But now she sure has some more motivation.]

Tell me about her.

[rip ardyn, he brought this on himself]

Well, you asked what it was I looked for in a person, didn't you? Apply all of those descriptions to her, and you've got the general idea. And then... [His eyes fall onto some nondescript part of the wall, as he explains, that amused smiles still on his features.] She's striking, intelligent, and possesses a flair for the dramatic that I appreciate. And she's been able to put up with me for an extended period of time.

Which is the most important feature, heaven only knows. I'm glad, Ardyn.

[She really is, too.]

You deserve to be happy.

Thank you, Rosalind.

[His smile softens just a little, and only for a short moment, but he's quick to look at her again.]

But come now, that's enough sentimentality for the day. We were supposed to be talking about your love life, not mine.

My love life is currently nonexistent, unless you want to hear about Carter's latest passes towards me.

[--actually. She smiles faintly.]

He did something quite sweet for me the other day, actually. He gave me the key towards a collection full of rare books and manuscripts that I can peruse anytime I like.

[Are you kidding? Of course he wants to hear about them.]

Oh? And that sounds like a very successful "pass" if you don't mind me saying so.

Well, I didn't bed him afterwards, so you can determine for yourself if that's a success or not.

[But she's still smiling. Rosalind hops up on the counter, settling in.]

But it was . . . ah, it was the night I remembered my gentleman. We tend to go out to dinner once or twice a month, but that night Tony did his best to distract me. We went to dinner, yes, and then he brought me to a concert hall of all things, and then . . . he has a friend, apparently, who collects old books and manuscripts. Writings. Works from Galileo and Curie and and Darwin, all mine for the looking. And he gave me a key, so I can go back whenever I'd like.

That depends on what he was expecting, I suppose.

[But, you know, given what she's just told him, it was probably a success either way.]

You have to admit that is a rather romantic gesture. Not to mention I bet you were as giddy as a schoolgirl.

Did it work? Distracting you, I mean.

Oh, yes.

[Certainly for the evening. Thoughts of him had crept back once she'd settled down to go to sleep, but that was an inevitability, and no distraction in the world would have stopped that.]

Truth be told, I don't quite understand why he does the things he does. Which, don't misunderstand me, doesn't mean I don't enjoy them. But you're right: it is a romantic gesture. And yet . . . that's not what we are.

Would it be something worth considering?

[He's curious, and not necessarily in a teasing way this time.]

Or have you delegated him into the category of... well. "Just friends"?

It's not that I'm not fond of him, but . . .

[She shrugs.]

Not that way. And again: while I am fond of him, the drinking is a bit much.

We all have our vices, don't we?

[But it's less of a defense of drinking, instead meaning to be a throwaway comment.]

Though drinking is a rather dangerous one to have.

Especially in the quantities he does.

[A beat, and she offers him a slight smile, more teasing than anything.]

You're so eager to see me fall in love with someone. Fawkes or Tony . . . is there a third candidate I ought to know about?