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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Tormented you, but on a subtler level. Refused you in our bed, of course. And, depending on how you acted, destroy your reputation.

Well, maybe that's why you're not a married woman, Rosalind. If that's how you intend to treat those who might be bound to you legally, and by way of romance.

[But Ardyn laughs, because of course he does.]

And exactly how would you destroy my reputation? Start all manner of gossip about my work?

Not everyone. But we're imagining you and I making a home together, aren't we?

[But this is nothing more or less than a hypothetical, so why bother clarifying? She wouldn't act like this to any man who bound himself to her, but . . . mm, she isn't just thinking of any man. She's thinking of home, and all the expectations that came with matrimony at home.]

But mm, no . . . I'd make you look incompetent. Manipulate factors and circumstance so as to make you look a dullard, and then express my pity towards your employer. Perhaps I'd even beg him to let you keep your job, poor at it though you are, because I loved you so very much.

[And he looks even more amused at that.]

That would be a mistake. He'd grow suspicious immediately, being told such an obviously blatant lie.

Oh? Even with evidence mounting up? If I managed to make you look incompetent, you don't think he'd believe it? I'd hardly do all this over one week, you realize, this is a long-term effort.

Would you truly be so vicious, so vindictive, just because I treated you like some domestic, mindless thing?

[Though to be fair, it sounds like something that Ardyn would attempt to do. The long con, the slow but steady build-up towards a greater goal. Scheming, to put it simply.]

How easily your pride is bruised, my dear. You should be more careful to not let that be known to others, lest someone take advantage of this glaring weakness.

Yes. I would.

[That's a simple, easy answer to his first question. It's absolutely honest and said with no hesitation whatsoever, because it's not a question that requires thought.]

Why is it, Ardyn, that even when you give advice, you sound as though you're threatening someone?

[Somehow that is not at all surprising. Given what he just said about her pride, she would not at all consider that an overreaction, he thinks.]

Does it? Maybe you're just biased, knowing what you do about my personality.

[Or maybe it's purposeful, the way he makes his words just enough disconcerting out of habit alone.]

I don't know if I'd call it biased. That would suggest I'm making a claim without basis, and that I'm not doing.

Is that a threat, Ardyn?

[She doubts it's a threat to her safety. But she's equally certain that Ardyn would happily break her down, if for no other reason than she isn't normal and she's in his radar. There are people who aren't easily controlled, and sometimes it's better to be rid of them before they can cause a problem.]

[He turns his head to give her a look -- one that is difficult to read, but the way amber eyes shine with something considering might not exactly be the most comforting thing to see.

If he has to think about it, generally, it's not promising. But at least his answer is honest enough.]

Threats always hinge upon prerequisites, don't they? If you burrow too far under my skin, if you become more trouble than you're worth, then yes. It's a threat.

But as it stands now? I hardly have to apply such a thing to you, Rosalind. Even out of mere amusement, there are others I can direct my [sadistic] impulsive nature towards. So I would not label it a threat so much as -- well. A further understanding of my character. That's what you want, isn't it?

Among other things.

[Oddly enough, she appreciates the honesty. It seems a rare enough thing to get from him, especially without a lot of grandiose posturing to wade through. Never mind that he's confirming that she ought to tread lightly; at least he's not trying to keep her in a false sense of security.]

And what does it take to burrow underneath Ardyn Izunia's skin, hm? I think I've nearly managed it a few times.

[She smiles faintly as she stares ahead.]

Perhaps I ought to be more direct. You're touchy about your past.

When it happens, you'll know.

[A deflection and a truth all at once. Very few people are so oblivious to not realize when they've gotten under Ardyn Izunia's skin.]

Am I? [Here we go again. Questions to dance around it; but Rosalind should know that might as well be an affirmative response.]

Well, let's find out, shall we?

[Of course he is. But he's let a few things slip, here and there, and that only makes her hungry to know more.

There's any number of questions she could have asked, but her mind is centered on his family now. The lost prince, exiled and cast out, shamed for what he was . . . anyone would be bitter, anyone would be reluctant to talk about it, but Ardyn takes those qualities and amplifies them up to eleven.]

Tell me of your parents. Your-- well. Did you have any siblings?

[There is probably... no subject that will set Ardyn on edge faster, more affectingly, than talk of family. Than talk of siblings.

And that Rosalind is so quick to jump into it, like a cat sticking its claws into his skin for no reason other than it can, doesn't give him enough time to tamp it down completely.]

I had a mother and a father, as most living things do. [Is that helpful, Ros? Probably not. Purposefully not.] And a brother.

[Never let it be said she isn't petty at times, because there's just a flicker of a reaction in Ardyn's expression, and that's enough for her. Good. He spent a day tormenting her; she can revel in setting him on edge for a little while.]

A brother? I'd like to hear more of him.

[Ardyn won't yield so easily, though, especially where this is concerned. ~~Not unless he's about to, like, kill Ignis or something.~~]

Oh? Then the next time you win a bet that procures my honesty, then I shall tell you more about him.

[Well someone needs to app Ignis then]

Is that a promise? Because I've every intention of winning the next bet I make with you, Ardyn.

[~~why would you do that to an ignis~~]

Yes. I offer you the same as the last time, if you're so keen on winning it -- an hour of honesty. Though, really, I have trouble comprehending why you're so determined to unravel the mystery.

[She glances over at him, a little frown on her face. There's something there that needs to be addressed, but first:]

An hour of honesty, then. And do you want the same prize in return?

[He makes an effort to shrug.]

Why not? If I think of something else before then, I shall let you know.

Suit yourself.

[There's a bit of a silence. Rosalind is listening, in no small part because she wonders if those men from before are following them. But after a bit, she adds:]

You really don't understand why I want to know, do you? Two thousand years old, and you can't guess?

[He lets the silence linger, allowing to exist for as long as Rosalind wants it to. And her question, he supposes, is not all that surprising -- he can hazard a guess. At the generality of it. But the details, those very specific, cutting things that she wants... those are not so easily garnered from him.]

Immortal to immortal, is that it? To know what makes me tick, so that you might compare it to your own experiences. A curiosity born from a scientific mind, no doubt.

[That in itself is fine. But when she treads upon sore subjects, that is personal comparison. One that Ardyn has torn himself away from for a very long time.]

In part, yes.

[Of course that's some of her motivation. She's so much younger than the other immortals she knows; she'd be a fool not to learn as much as she can from them. Scientific curiosity, too, plays a part, but those aren't the only reasons.]

Your experiences, your immortality, your way of looking at things . . . in some ways, you are my future. Learning about your past and comparing it to my own helps me understand what my own future may be like.

[But. But that isn't the only reason, and she glances over at him.]

You're insufferable, you know. Insufferable and arrogant and sadistic. You've so many flaws I can't possibly count them right now, and I'll admit I'm a fair bit annoyed with you right now for what you did to me the last time we met. You take any inch someone gives you and turn it into a mile of agony, all because you suffered in your past, and now want nothing more than to pay it forward.

. . . but despite all that, or perhaps because of it, I'm . . .

[What's the right word? She hardly wants to choose something inappropriate, or that might make her look weak.]

It's rare enough I can find anyone who manages to do anything but bore me. You fall into that exception. And I'm fond enough of you because of it.

[Not just because of that. Because he's sharp and clever and impossible to understand, and it's so rare Rosalind meets someone like that. Because he is her future, and that thrills her as much as it terrifies her (will she end up like him, bitter and cynical? Will Robert?). And because, like it or not, he is one of the few people who can understand the things she's seen and done.

She might not be nearly as old as him, but there are some things even she has gone through. Death and rebirth, seeing all the worlds stretched out before her . . . what human could understand that?]

[He'll not interrupt as she speaks, and it's a lot to parse, even if half of it was basically what he had guessed at.

Still, that she is fond of him is... well. He's not sure what to label it as. Surprising is not quite right, for why would she bother remaining in his presence if she did not at least like the conversation? But 'fondness' implies something else. Something skewing close to friendship, into that comfort zone of born of familiarity.]

And what is it about me that fails to bore you?

[He digs for more specifics, wondering at just where he ranks in her mind. An interesting, enlightening little thing to know, if she was so inclined to share.]

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