Rosalind Lutece (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
originallutece) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2018-02-10 01:16 am
originallutece) wrote in nysalogs2018-02-10 01:16 am
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.]
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.]
no subject
But then he says that, and her smile fades.]
I'm well aware of what men like him will do.
[She shifts her weight. She isn't exactly ready to throw herself in his arms, but on the other hand, he's warm, so. She'll allow this, she supposes, and even edge a little closer towards him.
Anyway, she's already been pressed up against him. That boundary is long since shattered.]
But I can't precisely disappear on a whim, not in front of these idiots. So I was waiting for the right moment to, ah, perform the action you just suggested.
no subject
She goes solemn a moment later, and the winter chill bites that much harder for it.]
Didn't mean you weren't. [He pats his pockets, lungs suddenly in need of assuaging. The smoke pack has been whittled down to four sticks total, but he's willing to make it two if it keeps them from freezing in misery. He shakes a spare from the carton, offering it the lady's way first. Manners and all.]
I just meant they already had the grab on you, and how were you going to give them the slip like that?
no subject
If worst truly came to worst, I would have let them see my teleportation. But if not . . . they were drunk and careless, and it isn't as if they were very bright to begin with. It wouldn't have been long before he loosened his grip on me.
[She waits until she's lit up, then inhales sharply. Only once the nicotine has settled in her lungs does she add:]
And where is it you work, that they'll be missing you so sorely?
[She asks not because she's interested, really, but because she doesn't want to talk about this.]
no subject
I suppose it doesn't matter much either way, now. They're off chasing dust motes on the wind and no one's the wiser to your tricksy ways.
[He takes a heady drag himself and feels instantly improved. It's all placebo, he's not an idiot. The flesh is still prickling red, starting with his ears and his fingers and splashing over his cheeks, and any time the wind shifts he gets a harried shiver shaking his spine, but that's all dandy. Just as long as her recharge doesn't take much more than another five, say ten minutes.]
You didn't see where you were going? Shades Darker. I bartend over there. Yourself?
no subject
I swear, between you and John Watson, I'm getting to know everyone there save the most important workers. And no, Mr. Tozier, I wasn't watching where I was going, not after a few blocks. Though even if I was . . . I don't precisely make a note of the locations of particular brothels.
[Christ, but it's cold. Rosalind inhales sharply on her cigarette and turns, facing him properly. It is, ostensibly, to talk to him better, but there's also the side-benefit of getting a bit of extra warmth.]
. . . but as for myself.
[She sounds smug. Or if not that, at least unbearably proud.]
I work at the Institute.
[Hold your applause.]