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

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

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.]

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[ Tracing her steps, Ozymandias isn’t nearly as in much of a rush. First of all, there’s the muted, but still painful sensation between his legs, yet another reminder that if he sees a woman in ‘distress,’ he ought to outright ignore them. These situations haven’t provided much good since his weeks in this new universe, after all. In the back of his mind is the nagging reminder that this is what his wife would have wanted to do— but, there is a limit to playing the part of the fool.

Still, he manages to keep up with her as he enters a quick walking pace. Blinking rapidly, he realizes that she’s teleported herself upwards. He sighs, not nearly interested enough to put in the time or energy to scramble up there. As she catches her breath, Ozymandias speaks up, the projection of his voice rising to meet her ears. ]

I only have a question for you. [ If she peered over the edge of the rooftop in the alleyway in which he now stood, Rosalind could see him. ] I am not so desperate for affection that I need to run after the nearest available source.

[There's a pause, long enough that he might wonder if she'll answer at all. But eventually Rosalind glances over the edge of the roof, glaring down at him. Another moment passes, and she appears before him, only a foot away.]

You seemed keen enough to join their celebration. And I wasn't going to take any chances, especially on a man I don't know.

What's your question?

[ About to leave himself as silence transpires, he's about to begin walking again when her face appears from the edge of the rooftop. He meets her glare with a blase neutrality. ]

... I misjudged the situation.

[ Both her involvement, as well as the three goons. Ozymandias always thought that hunters were more possessive of their prey, like he personally was. He also hadn't expected to be kicked between the legs. That he has limited 'street smarts' would be a colossal understatement. ]

What is the source of your abilities? [ Naturally, if she was a skilled enough mage, she could hide what he additionally notes. ] I detect no magical signature.

[He misjudged the situation. Well, that's one way to put it, though she isn't particularly fond of the explanation. She doesn't seem all that impressed by it, really; she gives him a level glare, but doesn't flit away.]

No. You wouldn't.

[There's a pause, and then:]

Though if you're the sort to believe in magic, the proper explanation is likely beyond you. What do you know of atoms?

[ Ozymandias glares back at her. It's one thing to dislike magic and pagan religion, but to deny its very existence...

Reining in an offended rebuttal, he refrains from correcting what he deems to be a human’s inherent foolishness. The question she poses is more intriguing, though he's not quite certain what direction it's heading. Having been summoned in the 13th century and with many years of waiting on hand, he had sought to strengthen his education from time to time. ]

I am aware of the theory of Democritus. [ This is a very... passing familiarity. ] Why?

[That's more than she expected, anyway, and she nods, encouraged.]

Then you understand that atoms are what every bit of matter, including myself, is made of. It's what defines us all.

I can . . . hm. I can dispel my atoms, I suppose is one way to put it, and make them reform in a place of my choosing.

Meaning that your abilities are a product of human technology.

[ He tosses the musing out as an aside, more of a spoken thought aloud than something directly put forth to her. By the casual manner in which she performed them, Ozymandias ponders just how far humans came in her world, but that was either something to discover for himself, or another conversation for another day.

About to break away, another thought springs to mind. ]

I am curious about one additional matter. How does the power of your skills compare to what they were before? [ Ozymandias could provide a more personal example about what exactly he means, but for now, he holds back. However, the implication remains. ]

[Ooh, that's an interesting answer.]

How do yours?

[She ordinarily hates answering a question with a question, but she's given this man a lot so far. He could stand to offer a bit of information in return.]

[ Part of him hoped to ruthlessly wear her down question after question, but clearly, the woman was more intelligent than that. ]

Fine. Your request is reasonable, so I shall respond in earnest.

As an avatar of one of my gods, I am but a shadow of my complete glory. I cannot summon any of the beasts and structures that would normally be at my disposal. [ He narrows his eyes, frustration clear, though not squarely aimed at her. ] This isn't a surprise. After all, I am fueled by magic. I am an improbable existence that defies logic, a being that far surpasses the ordinary expectations of humans.

... That's the short of it. [ The shorter one, anyway. His hand reaches up to the skies and gestures up, before furling his fingers downward. ]

If you wish to know more, come down from that pedestal of yours.

[In the end, what gets her to come down aren't his claims of godhood, nor his boasting of magic. It's the lure of knowledge that tempts Rosalind; she hesitates only a moment before disappearing and reappearing next to him.]

I know a thing or two about living as a being that defies logic.

[Does she ever. She steps around him, circling him, her eyes darting up and down his frame with clear curiosity.]

Tell me how you were made.

We are called Heroic Spirits. After the death of those that achieved fame and performed great deeds, we enter the Throne of Heroes, a realm outside of space and time.

Mages summon us to fight in their wars for the Holy Grail, an artifact capable of granting any wish to whomever wins it at the end. I am a copy of my original form held within the throne— a ‘Servant’ that will ideally serve alongside my ‘Master’ to win the Grail.

[ Finishing his explanation, Ozymandias looks at her more intently than before. He could provide her with more information, but there’s a limit. His interest in these matters had always been limited to, well, himself and his loved ones. Not some quest for knowledge for knowledge’s sake. ] There are those that could explain this in more exacting detail than I. If I see them woken from their slumber, I could tell them to speak to you.

You could. But will you?

[Heaven only knows that explanation sounds both fantastical and fascinating. Rosalind tips her head, then asks the obvious question:]

And whose spirit are you?

I will.

[ He could pose his previous question to her again, but the pharaoh figures that breeding a form of good will based on their messy introduction would be a wiser choice. ]

Ozymandias. [ Or Ozy, or even Oz, though he won’t forwardly admit to having taken a liking to these nicknames. ] Another one of my names that you may also be familiar with is Ramesses II.

Oh.

[Oh, and she clearly recognizes both names, because for just a moment, she looks utterly taken by surprise.

It's just that she hadn't expected him to look like this. Heaven only knows what she had thought he looked like, but a boy like this . . . he isn't what she pictures when she thinks of Ramesses, the greatest pharaoh Egypt had ever known.

But that's clearly his name, so she'd best adapt to it, she scolds herself, and refocuses on him.]

So you fight for someone else. I'm surprised your pride allows for it.

[Ah. But he'd asked her a question before, hadn't he? And she hardly wants to alienate him. So, though she's still studying him closely:]

. . . but to answer your earlier inquiry, I find my powers greatly diminished here. This is a fraction of what I ought to be able to do.

[ Not subject to her internal monologue, or he would have justified his appearance, Ozymandias is simply relieved that she at least recognizes his name.

He scoffs at the part about fighting for someone else. She is correct, being a Servant has never quite suited him. It is a role he performed simply as a means to an end. ]

My pride is great, but I'm afraid that my desires are even stronger. I could not deny myself the temptation of the Grail.

[ Honesty aside, his attentions remain on her, curious. ]

Is it the laws of this world that differ from your own? Or, are forces unknown moving against you?

The latter.

[She frowns, but it isn't at him.]

By all rights, I ought to be able to do all I once could. Before, no world could contain me. I could move between universes as easily as I move through the streets here. But now . . . I'm bound to this world alone, and even my teleportation here is restricted to short bursts.

[So a severe power limitation.]

And yourself? What powers do you have that you lost?

I do not have my flying ship at my beck and call. Normally, the vessel would have the power to obliterate this city with a few shots of its cannons. With this paltry amount of mana that serves little more than to fuel my existence on El Nysa, I do not even have enough magic at my disposal to summon my divine beasts. The mightiest of which is the Sphinx Wehem-Mesut. Not to mention, my greatest work of all, Ramesseum Tentyris... Heh. I won't even dare describe it. One day, perhaps you will set sight on her magnificence. If you have ever seen or heard of my works, even if they were left in shambles, then simply imagine a great Egyptian pyramid that wields the power of the Sun.

[ It's not the best explanation ever, but his long-winded speech that boils down to 'you have to see it to believe it' is... at least somewhat spot on.

Setting aside the grandeur of his own power, Ozymandias is still impressed by hers. If she was just some court magician, that would be one thing. But, Rosalind appears to be different. ]

These are truly lamentable circumstances. For now, we appear to be subject to the whims of this world, and those that govern it. As a sage that achieved the results of the Gods with just the knowledge of Men, you must be frustrated.

That's a word for it.

[That's a flattering description from a man she'd kicked between the legs not an hour ago. Rosalind is quite pleased beneath her neutral, curious veneer, and perhaps he'll be able to sense it.]

Perhaps you can show me those powers in one of the simulators up in the station.

[If that's even possible. She isn't certain, frankly; she doesn't spend much time there, preferring to poke around the scientific stations instead.]

What can you do in this world?

[ Kick him in the balls harder next time, Rosalind. ]

We possess the capability to manipulate that simulation? Hm. I shall have to dedicate myself further to the acquisition of modern knowledge. Maybe then I can show you the marvels of my splendorous kingdom.

[ Ozymandias regards her with a sideways tilt of his head, running his finger from the end of his jaw to the tip of his chin. Then, he reaches out, palm laid out flat. An orb of swirling light hovers above his hand. ]

My ability to evoke light is still at my behest. They couldn’t rob me of the fact that I am the avatar of the sun, after all. [ That’s his ego speculating. They probably could. ]

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

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