so if you see my sister rosalind tell that girl to hurry home again

[originallutece]

Who: Rosalind Lutece (originallutece) & YOU
What: Various open prompts! Most of them coming from the opening log.
When: First half of February
Where: Wyver and Olympia
Warning(s): Maybe some nsfw??

Wyver - Lagoon

[Perhaps not all that unusually for her, Rosalind is once again at the lagoons. What is unusual: she doesn't seem to be alone. She's most certainly chatting to someone, murmuring instructions and the occasional bit of praise, but to whom? There's no one around-- Or so it seems, anyway.

Come in close, and you'll spot a very small, very determined hippo kicking its way through the water. He keeps looking up at Rosalind, seeking approval and praise-- and oddly enough, she seems inclined to give it, in her own reserved fashion.]

I told you that you'd do well. You're built for this. No, don't come to shore, don't be lazy, you've got to build up your muscles and your stamina. I've a treat for you when you're done.

[But here's the truly oddest thing: the hippo seems keen on mirroring his master. He wiggles joyfully when she smiles; he grunts with effort when she prompts him into exercising more. But that's probably just a coincidence . . . right?]

Wyver - Victory Celebration - Festive Spirit - maybe nsfw

[There's some kind of celebration going on in Wyver, but honestly, when isn't there? She's only been in this universe six months and it seems as if they're having a celebration about the moon or the stars or some long-dead hero . . . it's headache inducing, but she supposes there's little harm in it, especially when she doesn't actually live here.

She doesn't mean to venture into the festivities, but it's hard to avoid them. Someone presses a cocktail into her hands and leers at her when they offer her paints, and she rolls her eyes at both, but it's easier to just pocket the latter instead of refusing them. She does not offer her body to be painted, but she might let those paints drop if she finds herself with someone she's already acquainted with.

But in the meantime, she sips her drink and stares with a neutral expression at someone wandering around with paint and little else. Whether they're a man or a woman is irrelevant; she stares, and though her expression is blank, her gaze lingers just a little too long. Is that a flush to her cheek? Perhaps.]

I suppose that's one thing about Wyver: they certainly are eager to offer entertainments.

Wyver - Victory Celebration - this time with Robert tho

[Of course, Rosalind isn't the only one enjoying herself. There's a man wandering around, tall and bright-eyed, smiling as he sips at a drink and socializes with others. He seems somewhat eager to talk to others, though his smile is a little odd . . . almost as if he's all but taking notes behind those blue eyes of his.

But hey, it's not a time for introspection. Right now, the man-- his name is Robert, has he told you?-- gestures for another drink, smiling as he turns to watch whatever entertainment is spilling out on the streets.]

What on earth are they trying to do? Good grief, they're bound to break a neck trying to jump around atop each other like that.

Olympia - Dark Turns

[But all good things have to come to an end, and soon Rosalind returns home. The far more somber festivities are still taking place, not that she much cares. She ignores the glares she gets for coming in from Wyver, rolling her eyes at the whispers . . . but it doesn't stop at that. People have warned her that she'd get in trouble for trying to play both sides, but she'd ignored them. Oh, she's noticed the whispers and rumors and whatnot, but so what? That hardly effects her.

But she's come back at night, and people are feeling particularly patriotic, and that . . . that means trouble.

There's three men following her down the street. She can hear them, because they're not bothering to be quiet, not at all. They're jeering at her, catcalling and calling out to her; she ignores them. There's no use in confronting them. But that isn't enough for them, it seems. One of them catches up to her, grabbing her elbow, and she jerks, yanking her arm away sharply.]

Get off.

Olympia - Flona Cove

[She's not foolish enough to swim in the cove again. She doesn't even stick her feet in, not when the last time she'd done that had resulted in her feeling up a boy a decade younger than her. But she does sit by it, her boots shed and resting at her side, watching the water with a surprisingly soft expression. Her little hippo is nearby, of course, huffing and puffing as he swims around in the water. His grunts of effort echo throughout the cove, and Rosalind smiles to see him work.

No one comes to bother her for a long while, though, and that's nice. It's nice to be alone, frankly, and she's lulled into a relaxed state because of it. The water is warm and she feels so very calm . . .  and so, her voice very soft, vocalized under her breath, she sings.

(Perhaps the cove is effecting her more than she realizes).

She's a sweet voice, steady and surprisingly high-pitched, and the tune she sings has the tune of a waltz, her voice rising and falling. Only about half the lyrics are articulated; for the rest she hums softly, continuing the tune, enjoying the way the cove echoes her voice back to her. And if she isn't interrupted, she'll turn to something a little more jaunty. Though this tune, oddly enough, doesn't sound as though it comes from her time period. And it isn't the right name she articulates-- rather, she puts her own in place of it, laughing softly as she does.]

Other; [Rosalind will also be wandering around as her counterpart, Robert Lutece. She'll be disguised completely, an illusion covering her. Her interactions will be far more energetic, and "he'll" be eager to socalize, so feel free to meet him in Wyver or Olympia, deep in the festivites.]

Comments

closed to dorian;

[originallutece]

[It's not the first time she's been here, hungry to translate texts, but that doesn't mean she's gotten much better at it. They've been here for half an hour already, books spread out before them, crumpled pieces of paper around them and ink spots on their fingers. They've gotten a little headway, but not nearly enough-- certainly not enough for their pride to be satisfied.]

I don't suppose stabbing the damn thing would stop this wretched magic?

[flashystyle]

Oh, don't say something so barbaric. You sound like half of Thedas.

[Dorian understands Rosalind's frustration, he does! He's on his second cup of coffee to try and rejuvenate his spirits since lyrium potions don't exist here, and he's pretty sure if he's not careful he might just lose control and set fire to the damn thing. But Maker, is it not helping that he can't just explain the mechanics of enchantments without getting an earful on how it's ridiculous.]

I don't think we're going to unlock it all at once. Perhaps we should try in sections.

[originallutece]

[She sighs softly, but nods.]

All right. Let's start from the top, then. Have the symbols changed at all?

[Since of course she'd copied them down. There's smudged erased bits beneath each symbol where she'd tried out different translations.]

dark turns

[bornofgods]

[ A somber festival dedicated to the loss of one martyred man — Ozymandias can’t think of a more bizarre, ill-suited tradition than this, especially since it carries such a bitter aftertaste. Scowling as he makes his way past the teeming crowds, the withering power of his glare appears to be enough to give these thugs second thoughts.

His pace involuntarily slows down, because he has been following Rosalind and her harassers in an attempt to escape to his hovel-like quarters. The red-headed woman protests, and he shortly chimes in. ]

By what tradition of Olympia does this fall under? [ Pretending as though he belongs here is Ozymandias’ best bet for now. He sneers, the cut of his undertone condescending. ] In all my blessed years here, I haven’t heard of this one.

[originallutece]

[She doesn't know this newcomer, which is odd. Why is he interfering? Does he hope she'll be starry-eyed over him afterwards? Or is he simply working on an inflated sense of heroics? Rosalind stares, trying to figure it out, even as their opponents sneer and scoff.

Then that means you don't have to stop and participate, the lead says. He's still got a grip on Rosalind's elbow, and with a scowl she--

Well. To the drunks, it looks as though she gives a particularly hard yank, stumbling away as she does. She's freed regardless, and that's the logical explanation, isn't it? She must have pulled away; their leader's hand must have slipped.

But to Ozymandias, it might seem a little different. It might seem as though she flickered, disappearing and reappearing an inch to the left all within the space of a second. It's done so quickly he could be forgiven for missing it, but there it is.

Walk away, kid, the man says, glancing after Rosalind. It looks to be a fight, but then again, Ozymandias does have the option of walking away. She doesn't look too afraid, after all.]

festive spirit

[shikomizue]

[Takasugi has managed to keep his yukata on, though only by broadest definition. It falls open to his waistband, revealing chest covered in the rich colors of Wyver, smeared senselessly, though there are trails of what was once a design.]

Hard to be bored here. [He notices her staring, but won't bother to address it beyond approaching.]

But you look like you're doing your best.

[originallutece]

[At least when it's him her staring only lasts a few seconds. Then she's glancing away, facing the street once more.

(Even if he does look rather appealing. But fuck that).]

Forgive me if my idea of entertainment isn't parading around half-naked and painted. Though it seems to be yours . . . enjoying yourself? It seems at least one person has gotten their hands on you.

flona cove (OBVIOUSLY).

[tailorable]

[ Of the gingers in all the coves in the world — of course it's Rosalind. He hadn't expected it to be her, when he heard the voice carrying through the area, though it doesn't seem altogether unlikely in retrospect. The way she substitutes her name is a nice touch. Very like her. ]

If it ain't the madam. [ a warning of his approach when he's still a few feet away, voice echoing across the cavern. if she turns to look, she'll find him smiling, far more dressed than the last time they were here. A touch less jovial, too, but it's hard to top how carefree he'd been when they first arrived. ] Would you believe I was only just whinging about how there aren't any songs with my name in them?

[ He'd told Jessica Jones every song he knew with each of her names in it, settling on Have You Met Miss Jones? as the best of them all. Perhaps he should be more... entrepreneurial like Rosalind and make a song suit him. ]

OBVIOUSLY

[originallutece]

[She stops singing the moment she realizes someone else is here with her, jerking only to relax as she sees just who it is. In the water, her little hippo grunts in surprise and wariness. It's very hard for a tiny hippo to look defensive, but by god, he's trying.]

To be perfectly fair, Eggsy is a bit of a difficult one. Unique, which has its own upsides and downsides.

[Her ears are red. She isn't precisely embarrassed of her voice, but she doesn't particularly enjoy singing in front of others.]

Come sit. [a beat, and then, wryly:] I'll leave you be this time, I promise.

flona cove

[webdesigned]

( peter has spent the last few weeks in wyver, and having returned to olympia there seems to be a bit of aggression toward his presence. despite the fact he holds a job at the institute and pays for rent at a local property, it doesn't do much to convince the locals to give him the benefit of the doubt. quite a few jeer that he should just head back to live with the animals in the jungle, and ultimately there's enough animosity that he wants to do something to try and blend in a little better.

visiting the cove to partake in the water isn't exactly up his alley, though, he thinks he might be able to collect some water to study it. what exactly was in it that made it considered so powerful? was it just a placebo? he had a dozen questions before he even arrived, enough that he'd half forgotten he was heading to the cove to blend in with other olympians. at least he thinks about the fact that it might be considered sacrilege, and goes to a fairly vacant area to try and procure his sample.

or, not as vacant as it could be. he hears the singing, though he's content to ignore and focus on what he's here for — she may not even have to notice his presence, he's pretty quiet when he wants to be for unnamed reasons. but, as he crouches to get his sample, a hippo splashes through the water in front of him. baby or not, he recoils, because hippos aren't exactly the most friendly creatures back on earth. ) What the...? ( he looks around, baffled, and spots...

......crap. crap. crap crap crap. maybe he can just leave before she spots him?????? no, she's staring right at him, that's a no go, but it still looks like he considers it before he tries to play it cool. spoiler alert: peter parker is horrific at playing it cool. ) Is. Um. This... yours? ( this meaning the hippo. is this a normal conversation topic? )

[originallutece]

[What is it about her and this cove and teenage boys? Or-- no, not teenage. He's a little older than that, but not by much. But it's a recurring theme, first Eggsy and now this young man, who looks vaguely familiar (has she seen him at the Institute?), interrupting her. Her ears are a little red, because she really doesn't like it when other people hear her sing, but she won't admit to that.

Darwin does, though. Darwin huffs and snorts, waddling closer to Peter to try and establish dominance, covering for his-- for her-- for their shared embarrassment.]

He is, yes. My pet. How long have you been here?

festive spirit.

[manolia]

[Chibi's practiced at this - 'this,' of course, being keeping his eyes above the brightly-painted woman's collarbone. He lost his own shirt somewhere around two hours ago, but his cloak is still wrapped around his upper half, keeping the wind at bay. He's accrued some paint of his own: on his face, lining his eyes, up his arms.]

[For now, he is sipping his own cocktail (certainly not one to turn down what's offered!), then looking to the no-fun-allowed stranger beside him with a raised eyebrow.]

Fight hard, play hard, I suppose. We would not truly live were it not for some sort of merriment. ['They,' though...] You do not come to Wyver often enough to be used to it, then?

[originallutece]

I come once a month.

[That could have been phrased better, but Rosalind forges on ahead.]

Certainly not enough to get used to it, no. Though I don't think any amount of time spent here would allow me to grow used to all this nonsense. It's ridiculous, they're eager to celebrate for any little thing. They have a festival dedicated to the full moon, for heaven's sake.

[TELL US HOW YOU REALLY FEEL ROS]

olympia; dark turns

[micromania]

[ Farah is coming from the opposite direction and can hear the men too; instinctively she picks up speed, makes it to the redheaded woman in a matter of seconds. The man who'd gripped Rosalind's elbow sneers a little. ]

Mary, we have to go. You'll have to excuse my cousin, but she's late for dinner.

"Entirely too late," [ the man jeers, reaching out towards Farah's hair, which means she immediately jerks away and grabs his arm, twisting it behind his back before shoving him into the other two men, reaching for Rosalind's hand and touching just her wrist. ]

Running is a good idea. [ C'mon. ]

[originallutece]

[She's really not built for running, but far better to run than stick around and get caught. Rosalind takes off after her rescuer, boots hitting the pavement hard, her gaze trained on the other woman. It's only when they're a few blocks away and the shouts of the men have faded does Rosalind skid to a halt.]

Who are you?

Dark Turns

[summertimeblues]

[There's a thickness to the air that, for once, has little to do with the monthly mists that send people into frisky tizzies. No, this one's been brewing long and it's been brewing furious. It always starts like this, doesn't it? The little push and shove, you ain't like me buddy and you've got to pay for it.

He'd known things were gonna get ugly for a long time. And not just between the two cities: outsiders, no matter their whos or whats or where froms, always took the fall for something. Case in point here: he's finishing up a shift at the bar of Shades Darker, wheeling out an empty keg as midnight present for the garbage man, and across the way he sees three pock-marked morons grabbing at the elbow of a snapping woman. He's certain he's seen her around, and not just in the city either. That one's been up to Thesa.

Not that it difference here. Either way Richie was going to find himself dropping the keg and, perhaps a little recklessly, reaching for the broken pipe leaning against the brick. The hairs on his neck all jump to attention. He prays he won't have to use it.

Richie starts over. His grin is bright and his gait is steady, but his heart pounds furiously against his ribs. As usual, his mouth is braver than the rest of him.]

Hey now, if you fellas are that hard up, why don't you head back to your mother's basement and go fuck each other? I bet she'd even have cucumber sandwiches waiting for when you're done.

[originallutece]

[There are far worse ways to start a rescue, though right now Rosalind can't think of any. Her eyes go wide, not in shock or fear, but anger, because that kind of response surely won't do anything but rile them up.

And to a certain extent, she's correct. The men are roused to anger-- but they also switch their focus from Rosalind to Richie, so perhaps his plan is working after all. The man still has an iron-tight grip on her arm, but all three of them are glaring at this interloper.

Fuck off, one replies wittily, too drunk to come up with a proper insult. This doesn't concern you, newcomer, unless you wanna join her on her knees--]

Oh, please.

[Rosalind scoffs loudly, though by all rights she really has no room to act so unperturbed. But though she's quite obviously furious, there's no real terror in her expression. This is more an inconvenience than a true danger, her countenance suggests.

She glances over at Richie.]

I'm perfectly fine. Don't concern yourself.

[That might sound self-sacrificial from others. It does not sound this way coming from Rosalind.]

SLIDES IN LATE....dark turns!

[daemonized]

[He is, technically, off-duty, and therefore under absolutely no obligation to play the part of knight-in-shining-armor. It is by circumstance and timing alone does he find Rosalind, being accosted by a few stubborn men — a raise of his brow is all he meets this with, wondering just how she might decide to handle the situation. He knows she has the ability to; he lent such a thing to her.

Still, it is when one man grabs her by the arm that he decides to saunter forward, arms gesturing in a grandiloquent way. He is all smiles, teeth flashing in the night, gold eyes doing the same.]

Rosalind! Having a bit of undue trouble with the refuse?

[The men get the same smile. Hello, boys.]

you're never late

[originallutece]

[Oh. It's her husband.

He's right, of course, in that she could get out of this on her own in one way if not another, which is why she's not really all that scared. But those ways involve revealing herself to be something not quite ordinary, and she'd like to avoid that when it comes to the natives. So no teleporting, no blasts of energy . . .

Not that she would have held to that principle should worst come to worst. But it'd be nice to keep the facade going. Fortunate, then, that there's someone here to intervene, isn't there?]

A fair bit.

[With a short exhale she jerks her arm again, rolling her eyes when the grip only tightens. All three men are staring warily at Ardyn, who is, to be fair, rather large. But there's only one of him and three of them (and you can practically see that thought running through their minds), so no fear, yeah?

Fuck off, the leader says, and pulls at her arm, tugging her towards him. She's not available to talk right now. Try again later.

That, apparently, was a joke, because there's a round of sniggers. She resists the urge to roll her eyes again; instead, she meets Ardyn's gaze expectantly. Is he going to intervene or not?]

Were you missing me?

wyver - lagoon

[punshots]

[ Coming in a week late with Starbucks...

Prompto is on one of his longer runs today with Peo trotting at his side, and his path takes him to the lagoons where he happens upon Rosalind. That would be enough to brighten his day and pull him to a stop under normal circumstances, but thene he notices that she's not just...chilling there for fun. She has an animal with her, and as Prompto skids to a stop, his eyes narrow in scrutiny.

Is that...a hippo? (Do they even have hippos on Eos? I'm gonna yolo and say yes.) As curious as his owner, Peo trots over the water's edge to sniff at the thing as best he can without getting wet, his tail wagging madly. ]

Uhhh - Ros? I can't believe it! You got a new pet and you didn't even tell me?

[ He should have been the first to know?! Obviously. How well does it get along with the snake... ]

[originallutece]

[Ros, and they're going to have to have a talk about that soon. She's relaxed some of her rigid standards in the half-year she's been here, but there's standards and then there's standards, and she's not one of his chocobros.

But. That's for later. That's for when she's not jerking in shock at the sound of his voice, startled beyond belief to hear it at all. In the water, Darwin snorts, wiggling madly to try and swim backwards, away from that dog. Can hippos swim backwards? We're sure gonna find out.]

. . . He was only born a few days ago, you know.

[And, she does not add, you were in stasis. That's a rather vital fact, though the look of surprise has long since disappeared.]

I'm barely used to the thought of him. Come sit, please, I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I have to keep peering up at you.

[The one time he can feel tall. Rosalind moves her boots (with her stockings stuffed inside) over, giving him plenty of room to sit.]

flona cove, sort of

[unprays]

[ it is the voice that lures her closer. she doesn't even connect the dots, not at first, or recognize the voice... the only thing Sansa notices is that it is pretty, soft and sweet. she means to walk past, but her steps lead her towards the cave, not away from it.

she stands outside for a moment, listening, before the song changes and she hears the name sung. ]

Lady Rosalind? [ Sansa calls out, stepping inside the cove. ]

[originallutece]

[There are far worse people who could have caught her singing, and so though her ears are a little red, Rosalind doesn't seem all that displeased when she catches sight of Sansa.]

Hello.

[Besides: she's been wanting to talk to her. It hasn't been so long since Ramsay went back into the pods, and Rosalind wonders how many people know the real reason why.]

It's been a fair bit of time since I've seen you. Come sit.

closed to john; the one with the blood

[originallutece]

[It's been a long time since Rosalind Lutece has been hurt.

Properly hurt, she means, not just a few bumps and scratches. You can't be hurt if you're dead, after all, and she's managed to keep out of the petty squabbles and idiotic brawls these past six months. But all good things must end, and though she won't say why or how, there's a hideous gash up the inside of her arm. It's too straight and careful to be anything but a deliberately inflicted wound, but that's neither here nor there. The wound isn't an issue; getting care is.

But that . . . proves to be a bit of a problem.

See, ordinarily she'd just teleport in, but she's far too exhausted for that right now. And though she's talented in many things, overpowering others isn't one of them. She's a scientist, for god's sake, not a warrior. Add to the fact there's a giant bloody bird lurking around (she's seen it snatch at least four others in the time she's been here, leaning heavily against an alley wall, watching with narrowed eyes) and Rosalind thinks her chances aren't very good at all.

Lucky, then, that she knows a doctor, isn't it?

She catches sight of her teacher as he blazes past her alley, moving far faster than she'd thought possible-- but then, this is his element, isn't it? And she'd appreciate how energetic he's being, ready to help otehrs in need, it's noble, it's chivilrous, it's a little stupid, she'd have a whole lot to say about it-- but right now she's far more focused on herself.]

Dr. Watson!

[She comes out of the alley. She's wrapped some cloth around her arm, but that's long since gone red with blood.]

John!

here we GO

[enarms]

[ John isn't expecting to hear his name amidst the messy noise of the streets. —tson! is all that reaches him of the first, just enough to catch him short, slow him down, turn him to check over his shoulder... which is when Rosalind appears, calls his name again, and the sound of it helps him lock in on her.

there's a brief moment where he thinks it's easy happenstance, that she's just shouting for him because they've run into each other in this mess and what are the chances.

then he sees the flash of deep red, and he's breaking into a run to cover the short distance back. ]

Rosalind.

[ no wasting time on titles here - "Madame" still confuses him, and this isn't the situation for pussyfooting. in any area. so when he gets to her it's with a quick glance to the sky before he's ushering her back into the alley, going for her arm as soon as he's there, unwrapping the makeshift bandage to get at the wound. ]

Jesus. Okay.

[ the fabric goes pressed back, ] Hold that. [ and John ducks down to swing a small pack off his back, starts digging around for supplies. ]

Sit down. I'll do what I can here.