[he's keeping track of his newfound acquaintances here--primarily because they're equal measures resourceful and pleasurable company. it's certainly been some time since harry's had anything close to friends outside of the job, but with kingsman removed from the equation....well.
rosalind lutece is one of particular interest, most especially since discovering the parallels between debts they owed to good men. she's clever and harry thinks he knows at least a part of her well enough from her mentioned work and interests to have some opinion on what's been happening around the city. most especially since he's just gotten an alarming call from eggsy, handling fucking patient zero and all.]
Good evening, Madam Lutece.
Have you been well, given all the commotion around here lately?
[Ah. Her tailor friend. She's still at the Institute, but she can take a few minutes to respond.]
More than, frankly. I've gone from no job to having a full caseload; it's quite enjoyable, though these aren't precisely the circumstances I'd have chosen to start my career here.
It is with your own best interest in mind, as well as the safety and well being of those who reside on both Thesa and El Nysa that I am requesting the you do not collude with one Handsome Jack. I realize making this plea anonymously may undermine my credibility to a degree, but ask that you heed my warning regardless.
Darling, I'm home! I know you were bored beyond belief without my company, but you can relax now.
[It wasn't out of the usual to announce himself like this. Dorian only went out to do a bit of shopping hours ago, and yet he still opens the door like his return is a gift from the Maker itself. Aren't you glad you have the best housemate in the world, he asks every week. It might be exhausting.
He isn't the worst, though. He's brought groceries home for dinner, which is a feat considering he used to just order things prior to having her over; he hated preparing meals. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, casting a cursory glance to wherever Rosalind might be.] And how are we this evening?
[What a good roommate. Honestly, though his constant theatrics can sometimes grate on the nerves, Rosalind has learned to simply accept them. He doesn't expect her to gasp and coo over every exclaimed statement; she's learned to simply respond as she might if he'd entered like a normal person, and it works out well.
In any case: how she is is, oddly enough, scrambling. Hoisting herself up off the couch, she wraps her fingers around her throat, her eyes trained on him as he closes the door behind him. She's not wearing one of her high-collared shirts today; instead, it's something looser, built for Wyver's heat.]
Ah-- perfectly fine, thank you.
[He's heading to the kitchen, thank god, though she doesn't pull her hand from her throat just yet.]
I didn't expect you back so soon . . .
[It's been hours, Ros, it's not his fault you lost track of time reading.]
Planning on cooking us dinner? Tonight is a treat.
[THEY'RE ON FIRST NAME BASIS NOW . . . truly a milestone of friendship . . . Ros smiles to find the gift, absurdly delighted by both the gift itself and the surprise.]
You should have given it to me at the start of the afternoon. You could have benefited from it.
[ In the days leading up to Christmas, Rosalind will receive a swanky bottle of red wine sticking out of classic, shimmering bag with golden tissue paper. Underneath the bottle is a pair of green gloves (definitely expensive as hell and bought with Eggsy’s employee discount at Golden Stitch's sister store). The tag reads, Merry Christmas, Madam — Eggsy ]
[ For her at her work table at the Institute, a set of personalised lab equipment (very durable, hard to break), notebooks, pens, and a sturdy little timer. The note attached: Merry Christmas, Dr. Lutece. Here's to a collaboration. - A. Foster. ]
[on the night of christmas eve, rosalind will find mint green package with a large gold bow sitting at her doorstep. inside is a bottle of whiskey and an antique haircomb with emerald stones in a butterfly design. she could wear it in her usual style, but it might be most effective in another way--a way harry has had the privilege of seeing. attached is a note in his cursive:]
Happy Christmas, Madam Lutece. For the days and evenings you'd like to let your hair down. x Henry
[After last call on Christmas Eve, technically Christmas morning, a simple package wrapped in brown paper and twine can be found on Ros' stoop, with To: Doc scribbled on the top. Inside, a long, sharp tooth rests in a bed of cotton balls. Upon further testing, she'll discover it's an authentic dragon fang.
A note tucked beneath it just has a small doodle of a plain smiley face with an eyepatch throwing up a peace sign.]
More than a little. I've seen two fights break out so far, though those are the exceptions, not the rule. Mostly it's idiotic chatter-- the sort where one person says something and the entire crowd responds 'oh, yes, me too' without thinking about it.
[ It's been enough days since Harry disappeared for Eggsy to feel guilty about not mentioning it to anyone.
So, he musters up enough courage to do the rounds of his known friends or associates or whatever Harry would consider them to be. Can't bring himself to visit or call, even though he knows that he ought to do as much — that Harry would do that for his mates. ]
henry's gone back into stasis. figured you should know.
[ It's been a whirlwind since his arrival. He hasn't gotten much of a chance to contact his "sister". Though he will admit that this reaching out is a big of a double edged sword. He's checking on her and he needs her. Or rather his hand does. Perhaps his mind as well. ]
It's her own fault, of course. She prompted that story, and he means nothing but fondness, she's sure, when he uses it. But that doesn't stop the pang of heartache that twists her heart. Her only consolation is the fact his accent so thickly colors his words; that, at least, she can't mistake.]
I think we can use names now, hm?
[It's an order couched in a suggestion. But then:]
But yes. You've rather good timing, actually, I just ended my shift at the Institute. I can meet you somewhere, if you'd like.
[ john had told him that she was missing before she ever missed the next of their standing appointments for tea, and while he doesn't know what has happened, he can imagine that it isn't good.
so there is a voice message waiting for her, his tone soft and even. ]
Rosalind. Please let me know how you are at your earliest convenience.
[She doesn't answer immediately when she's been rescued. It's nothing against him; it's just that she's exhausted and injured and honestly, she spends the first twelve hours doing nothing but sleeping.
But soon she wakes. She sees that message, and despite herself, despite her humiliation and grief, she savors the softness in his voice. It's nice to hear something so sweet.]
Hello, Thomas. I'm all right.
[She says it the moment he picks up. It's sort of a lie and sort of not.]
[ He should have checked in on her days ago, and he know it. He'll be kicking for that for awhile, has already been kicking himself for it, but gods, with the rescue effort in Wyver alone, Prompto had scarcely a moment to think. To breathe. It isn't until now, after everything has gone to shit, that he has the time.
Yeah, it's a poor excuse, he knows.
When he finally does message her, it's feverishly so. The wait for a response is going to be nearly unbearable. ]
Hey...Ros? Hey. Hey. Um...you up for a visit today?
[ She's free to interpret "up" in whatever manner she will. ]
[It takes her a little while to respond, because she's still on an IV, even though she's home. So it's a sluggish Rosalind who listens to that message, and a slightly sleepy Rosalind who calls him back.]
Prompto . . . mm, I wouldn't mind. I'm at home. I can't promise I'll be the most entertaining right now, but I'd like the company.
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