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[originallutece]

Rosalind Lutece

Doctor of physics, professor at Recollé University.

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[originallutece]

Give yourself proper credit: you put far more into it than most people on here. Certainly more effort than I'm going to, if I end up writing an ode.

Perhaps you ought to write a few more, if you found them so fun. I certainly wouldn't mind hearing another.

[potentite]

Really? You'd hear me out if I wrote more? [That's so flattering he can hardly believe it.]

[originallutece]

Certainly.

[It's not as if it takes much effort, and frankly, it had been rather amusing to listen to. Not Shakespeare, but neither was it grating to the ears.]

Do you write at all, or was that truly a first attempt?

[potentite]

Um, well, I've tried a little bit? Just silly things through my teen years. I never really showed anyone and I'm certain they were atrocious. Uh, even if the prose might have been okay, the stories were... well, you know...

[He was a teenage boy at the time, so.]

[originallutece]

Were what? Go on. What genre did you write?

[She's smiling, but it isn't entirely mockingly.]

[potentite]

[Well, all right since she's not mocking.] Oh, just... stories were silly space adventures or jungle adventures, you know, cheesy things with a thinly veiled self-insert dashing hero with some cringeworthy ballyhoo romance subplot.

[originallutece]

[Oh, no, that's cute. Not that she's going to say so, of course, especially not to some relative stranger, but still: that's cute.]

There are worse sorts of stories to write, Mr. English. Though those pulp novels always seemed to shrug away the science of their wondrous adventures a bit too often for my liking.