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[originallutece]

Rosalind Lutece

Doctor of physics, professor at Recollé University.

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[roseblooms]

What! Which of them wanted you to get the — oh, wait, no, it was Professor Dawes, wasn't it.

[originallutece]

Of course it was.

[She wrinkles her nose.]

Back when we were all shrunk to six inches. A spider attacked, he grabbed me and we dove into a crack in the sidewalk. While we were waiting for the spider to leave us be, we started talking, and it ended in him . . .

[She hesitates again.]

Rather daring me to get one, with the understanding that if I didn't, I'd be too scared to do it. I'm a bit too competitive for my own good, so before I knew it I'd agreed.

[roseblooms]

Oh, I see. He played you like a kazoo, then.

[FAWKES.]

[originallutece]

He did not!

[roseblooms]

He absolutely did. You're far more than "a bit" too competitive for your own good.

[originallutece]

I--

[There's literally no way to argue against this, but still her mouth purses as she tries like hell to figure out a way. Finally:]

Shut up.

[roseblooms]

I won't, and you can't make me.

[he's literally baiting her to prove his point right this very minute]

[originallutece]

[It's like a red flag to a bull, really; she's smarter than to fall for the bait but nonetheless:]

I most certainly can, in a bloody instant.

[roseblooms]

You can't.

[... ... ...]

And it's been longer than an instant, now.

[originallutece]

[Well, she has one idea of how to do it. One utterly awful, absolutely terrible idea, and for a moment her eyes dart downwards, focusing on his mouth. That certainly would shut him up, wouldn't it? He'd be utterly stunned, all flushed cheeks and gaping expression; she'd most certainly win that way.

For one long, breathless moment, it seems as if she might indeed come closer. She's already leaning towards him; it would be the work of a moment to dart forward and over him. But time resumes, and she comes to her senses, meeting his gaze once more.

No. No, she won't. She presses her foot against his leg again, the movement just hard enough to jostle him.]

Prat. It's your go.

[roseblooms]

[She...backed down? Now that's strange. Why would she...hmm.

Hmmmm.]

I'm...thinking of getting a motorcycle.

[originallutece]

Really?

[Well. That's surprising.]

What color?

[Absently, she presses her wrist to her mouth.]

[roseblooms]

Red and — er.

[...]

Red and — ah, why are you, um. Why are you doing that?

[originallutece]

I'm not--

[Her hand darts down, her lips pressing tight together.]

It was just a, an old habit. I used to bite on my fingers as a child, it's just . . . an echo of that.

[roseblooms]

Oh. Like biting your nails? I see.

[That's not so very weird, really. And they're sharing things like that about themselves, anyway; it's nothing to dwell on, not really.]

Red and silver, I was saying. Or possibly red and black — colors we still have.

[originallutece]

[Now her hands have gone to grab her mug, both wrapped firmly around the ceramic, for the record.]

I should think a motorcycle not particularly expensive - especially not compared to a car. Do you know how to ride one?

[roseblooms]

I've never had one of my own, but I learned on someone else's. Sport bikes are fairly popular in Japan.

[She's right on track with his whims, though, and he nods a little eagerly.]

There would certainly be advantages over a car. I think the only major downside is I couldn't carry passengers and cargo very easily.

[originallutece]

One passenger, perhaps. But cargo . . . you'd have to plan around it. Or learn how to balance things very, very well. Still: how often do you purchase bulk items? I think a motorbike is quite a good choice.

Your go or mine?

[roseblooms]

Oh, um.

[He takes a minute, counting backward on his fingers.]

I think it's mine again, actually, on account of the bit about your fingers. So.

[He hesitates. This is...something, maybe. Asking for trouble. Or at least actively inviting it, which is almost as bad. But...]

If I do get one, I'd like to have you as a passenger on it sometime. Late, after midnight. When there's no one on the roads but the city is lit up, and the speed limit is more of a suggestion than a stipulation.

[originallutece]

[Her fingers tighten around her mug, but Rosalind smiles. If his invitation is asking for trouble, her smile is most certainly answering it; that's a smile that's just a touch too eager, as she leans towards him once more.]

You'll have to invite me again, when the time comes. But if you promise to, I promise I'll say yes.

[roseblooms]

[Oh. Well, then. That certainly is a way she's looking at him, all right, isn't it.]

Then if it comes to pass — I promise to ask you. You have my word...Rosalind.

[originallutece]

Good.

[She lingers like that for a few seconds, watching him openly, that same slight smile on her face. But soon she relaxes back, settling against her arm of the couch, and sips at her cocoa.]

Mm . . . I told you I can sing. I can dance, too, and play piano.

[roseblooms]

Refined skills. Will you show me sometime?

[He ventures, nodding slightly.]

these new icons tho

[originallutece]

Piano, certainly. Singing, perhaps, and more likely if you keep coming over so late. Dancing . . . that, I think, would take a very special alignment of circumstances, but nor is it impossible.

[A beat, and then:]

You'd have to show me your dancing skills too.

uses all of them just for you

[roseblooms]

Oh? You'll only consent to sing when it's late? Why is that?

[CASUALLY GONNA DODGE THE TOPIC OF DANCING HIMSELF FOR A MINUTE.]