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Cookies.

[Friggin' cookies, Rosalind.]

You do know what those are, yes?

Edited 2017-10-04 20:28 (UTC)

I know what a biscuit is, yes. Is there a reason you called me up here to show me them, or are you simply intent on wasting my time?

Do I look like a man who'd be so cruel, wasting your precious time?

[The answer is probably yes. But that actually isn't the reason today.]

Let me ask you something. If you woke up one day, and found these in your home addressed to you -- with no explanation whatsoever -- would you trust them? Especially if they are described on the back of this box to possess some type of "mystery extract"?

[Like. Come on. Ardyn is not trusting this shit at all.]

Ah.

[The plot thickens. Rosalind glances around, then turns, heading for a nearby shelf. There's any number of tools there, and some of them she's really going to have to experiment with, because they look absolutely wild, but-- ah. A pair of tweezers, and she uses them to tug a cookie out of the box.]

I'd say it sounds like you were about to be drugged, frankly, in one way if not another. Mystery extract . . . given they're advertising it, I imagine it has some delightfully charming side-effect that's sure to cause joy and laughter in one and all.

[Jesus, but her voice sound dead. Honestly, the whole thing reminds her of Fink, it really does. Rosalind sets the cookie down on one of the stainless steel counters, cutting it open with the tweezer. Nothing happens. Hm.]

I suppose we could get a test subject, but I'd rather not be responsible for poisoning someone before I've been here a month. Still, if you'd like to try, you are impossible to kill, and I've a good deal of medical expertise.

[He watches as she begins her examinations of a cookie, a slightly humorous sight. But he'll not interrupt, even if he does note her dry commentary about "charming side-effects". Ardyn shifts his weight to the other foot, considering her suggestion.]

Hm.

[Yes, just "hm". It's true that he's impossible to kill, but one of Ardyn's personality faults (one of many) is that he does like to exude a sense of control when he can. Taking something into his body, foreign and unknowing of its consequences, is quite the opposite of that. This inclination fights against curiosity.]

It's tempting, but you can understand why I'm hesitant.

[There's also a strange vulnerability in being subjected to something while Rosalind watches. He's not sure that settles within him well either.]

I'm caught between wanting to unravel the mystery, and knowing that physical affects are not the only consequences that might be wrought from eating free baked goods.

If you do have accelerated healing, I doubt any affects, mental or physical, will last long. Half a minute of discomfort and we'll have solved this mystery.

[I guess she's really set on this course of action! Rosalind glances towards him, considering, and then offers a slight smile. It's not a nice smile.]

I can give you all the usual assurances about not hurting you while you're under the influence, if you'd like. No taking advantage, nothing like that.

[She says to the man a foot taller and a great deal stronger than her.]

[Okay, and Ardyn actually has to laugh at that.]

Oh, don't worry, Madam Lutece. I'm not concerned about that.

[Again, it's a control thing. And it's hard to trust mysterious cookies from out of the blue -- that is a common sense thing.]

You'll diligently watch over me, won't you? In my thirty seconds of potential discomfort? [And now he's just teasing.]

You do seem so very nervous. It's the least I can do to assure you: you'll be kept safe.

[She's teasing in return, clearly, but now this idea has gotten hold of her. There's Bigby, of course, but beyond him, how many people on this island could try this without fear of repercussion? Ardyn is immortal; what precisely is this going to do to him? There's no better candidate.

(Of course, she could try it. But that's an idea so ludicrous as to not even be mentioned).]

Or don't you want to know what they do?

I admit that I am curious. But as impulsive as I can be, I do like to practice at least a passing caution in general.

[Yes, she could do it. But he already knows that she'll reject the idea outright. But Rosalind is not wrong about one thing: whatever the effects are, it's doubtful that it'll last long in his system. The Starscourge would overtake it, drive it out, dissolve it into dark nothingness, just like it does with everything else.]

But sometimes one must simply be bold. I'm willing to give it a try as soon as you're ready.

[Giving her time to prepare and to record. He knows how you scientific types like to work.]

[Oh, fantastic. Rosalind brightens up considerably, pleased by this development, and gets to work. It's not so hard to find a camera, and the station even has a few devices to record things like ambient temperature and pressure-- not something she thinks they'll need, but they're interesting enough toys she brings them along anyway, because why not.

But the video camera is the most important bit. Armed with that and her own observations, she's ready.]

All right. Go on, and tell me what you feel as you consume it.

[oh my god Rosalind a camera

He eyes it, briefly, but thankfully 2000+ years of existence has made him mostly unaffected by just about everything. He's been in the spotlight before, though Rosalind's newfound enthusiasm makes him wonder, amusedly, if he's just an oversized lab rat in her eyes now. He doubts anything very humiliating will happen, to the point where he'll wish that the camera wasn't there to begin with.

Skewing back into unaffectedness, he's going to briefly reach over to grab the one she's already cut into (it's still clean, it's fine!!), and taking a bite. He's not sure what to expect, but-]

Well, it tastes as one would expect. [LIKE A COOKIE-] If something is supposed to happen immediately, I'm going to disappoint you by saying I don't feel a change.

Some things take time.

[Like, for example, sweets mixed with cannabis. I'm just saying, this whole thing is building up to be a pot cookie joke and the narrative has been remiss in not mentioning it before now.]

It's going to be really disappointing if this all ends in nothing more than the world's stupidest practical joke.

[Still: she comes forward, edging into his space, peering up at him to try and see if there's anything changed about his expression. Pupils dilated, face flushed, that kind of thing.]

[fuckin hell

She can edge into his space if he likes, Ardyn remains unmoving and barely affected. Not that either of them realize it, but standing around hoping for something to happen is the opposite of him experiencing "strong emotions", especially for a man who defaults to ambivalence half the time. So, he lets her examine his face. It's normal and as smarmy as usual.]

And you were so excited over a cookie.

Let's not get the story backwards, Mr. Izunia. You called me.

[But ugh, this is disappointing. Rosalind sighs as she takes a few steps back. She's not about to give up, no, but nor will she wait in silent expectation for something that might take hours.]

You're a thousand. You must have some interesting story or another to tell while we wait.

I'm more than a thousand. [A plain correction.] At least two.

[But anyway-] Yes, I called you, but not because I was excited. You should've seen how your eyes lit up at the notion of an experiment. Scientists never change.

[A scoff.] What sort of story would you like?

Edited 2017-10-06 20:52 (UTC)

[Good grief, is he really? That's a little worse than she'd thought, and for a moment she wonders at that. She still can't imagine living so long.]

Whatever you feel like telling. Your home, or something you were doing before you arrived here, or some person of interest you knew . . . what it's like to witness at least two thousand years of culture and society change . . .

[She shrugs.]

I'm hardly picky. But I am interested.

[All of these things she listed, they are not something he just talks about on a whim. And yet this is an experiment that they need to kill time on, and despite anything that he speaks about probably talking the route of bitterness sooner rather than later, he's inclined to humor her.]

Very well. Let's see... [Should he be sitting for this? Instead, Ardyn just places a hand on his hip as he speaks.] Shall I tell you about "home", then? Eos itself is rather large, and I will be here for years if I am to tell you about all of it.

Let me tell you about the Citadel instead. Home of the royal family of Lucis. Would that be preferable to you?

I notice you've shifted the subject from you to your world, Mr. Izunia. I'm decidedly more interested in the former than the latter.

[She won't refuse if he insists on the topic, but really, it's not as if she cares much about royalty. Still, that statement might almost be called playful; she's certainly not sulking as she says it. Ardyn is intriguing, and no matter how frustrating he might get, at least he keeps her attention.]

[Ah, but Rosalind, what makes you think that one is not related to the other? He has memories of the Citadel from thousands of years ago, and he has memories from a mere ten years ago. He is connected to that place, so very thoroughly. To the point where he's a part of its history, in his own way. A legacy of the Lucis Caelum line, for good or for ill. And he left it so crumbling, so desecrated, that he's sure that she would find at least some passing interest in it if he told the story.]

But I'm trying to share with you its tragic fate, connected with that of the royal family. You don't wish to hear it?

No, no: go on.

[She's never going to stop being nosy, after all. She'll get to ask more after his personal life later on. For now, Rosalind leans back, resting her hips lightly against the counter, watching him in interest (both for the story and to see if there's any affect from the cookie).]

[Then he begins his narrative.]

A long time ago, there was nation called Solheim. It was ruled by a god, one that was deposed of rather swiftly by mankind. He was, as to be expected, not very keen on this idea, and spread an illness throughout the land. A malady that would grow and consume the world over time, if not kept in check.

[He wonders what inferences she can draw from what he's saying now, and what he's already told her.]

The other gods, the ones that fought against the Infernian, delegated two family lines to protect Eos from such a terrible fate. The line of Oracles, and the line of Kings. The royal family was given a Crystal, a powerful artifact said to possess the soul of the world. They were granted its magic, and tasked to protect it.

This family was the Lucis Caelum line. Any questions so far?

[She wonders what family he belongs to. Belonged? Surely it must have been one or the other, if he had once been a healer who treated that illness. A king or an oracle? He'd been living in the same country as that girl, hadn't he? The oracle? Yes, she's almost sure he had. But then again, a man who has lived for two thousand years can hardly be expected to stay in one place . . .

But perhaps he'll tell her by the end of the tale.]

Yes. But finish the story first.

[fine geez no more pauses for questions for you then, Ros]

Well, the Lucis Caelum family lived in the Citadel, in the capital of new nation of Lucis. I’ve been there before; more than once. It is a grand place, making any who enter it feel small. The proverbial jewel of the country itself. And yet, when I left it, it was in tatters. Ruined.

[Abandoned and quite thoroughly desecrated.]

Destiny caught up with them; I don’t know if you prescribe to such a notion, but that is the only real explanation. There was one from their line who fell from grace, and instead sided with the darkness that would envelop Eos, adhering to an old Prophecy. And so my world is — was currently enveloped in an eternal night, and the Citadel remains abandoned and dark. What once glittered proudly now wanes in shadow.

[He almost laughs. It’s easy for him to recite this, and his emotions remain on an even keel. But he’s left a lot for Rosalind to prod at, and if he’s to dredge up any simmering feelings, they’ll have to be at the behest of her questioning.

And so, questions, Rosalind?]

Was that your family?

[She won't do him the insult of suggesting he was the one to fall from grace, but she wonders. It doesn't take much to ostracize a person, and a man who could heal and was affected in such a strange way by the disease . . .

Comstock would have called him unnatural. He would have coveted him his immortality and desperately turned Columbia against him. And it would have been so, so easy, because people don't like what isn't familiar. And when you've been spurned too many times, when you're insulted and cast out and ridiculed and despised because you're different, you start to despise people. God knows Rosalind knows that.

She inhales, ready to fire another question, but then bites her tongue. One at a time.]

[He looks at her, gesturing with one hand.]

You’re quick to make an assumption.

[A consideration. There’s little need to hide it here, though openness about this subject feels foreign, even leaving his own lips.]

But yes. It was. [Was. The tense is very important in this case.]

l o o k i felt it needed to be said

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