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.]
mmm yes 10/10 good shit
A heavy breath ripe with sweet liquor sways in some of the hair that's fallen, messy and heavy, over his face. Takasugi tilts his head as bidden, the jut of sharp fingers in the soft flesh under his jaw forcing obedience, and curiosity for what comes next staving off his impulse to move contrary to her demand.]
What sort of fables do you enjoy? [He keeps the conversation on track, no need to divulge anything with words when he can reply with his body in kind. One hand arm remains on the bar, holding his weight, and the other snakes around her waist.
A steadying hold, for now - not bringing them flush together. It's a loose embrace that keeps her in the proximity she'd put herself into.]
i thought you'd like that
[Ah, and just as he's fighting his impulses, so is she. Half of her is inclined to pull away and force his hand off, just because he wants to reach for her, but she's so pleasantly warm right now, and his hand feels nice. So she arches her back, feeling his fingers press against her skin.
Her hand drops, but slowly: her fingers dragging down his throat, tracing over his Adam's apple, before dropping toward the hollow of his clavicle. Then they fall entirely, and she tips her head.]
I said that if you wanted to hear a salacious story of me, you'd have to tell me one of you first.
no subject
It still annoys him.
His fingers have found warmth, and they splay wide over the small of her back to take all of it they can. Idly, his thumb drags up and down, slowly circling the skin underneath.
He's paying more attention to the descent of her fingers, sharp like a dagger dragging down his neck to brush over every hollow. Head tilted back, he waits for the digits to fall away entirely before replying.]
Alright.
[Except he has nothing truthful to offer. During the war, he'd been active whenever the chance arose, but that was always at a price and hardly ever more than either a quick fuck to relieve tension, or company he didn't even really want - and left ignored.
His more recent, fleeting encounters are nothing more than hazy memories, dulled by a veil of smoke and the numbness of blood soaked with alcohol.]
Where I'm from, traditional restaurants all have private rooms and a sliding door that opens outside. Most people eat, drink, and act like fools until the sunrise.
I'd taken my leave to the patio, a glass of sake and my instrument to keep me company. As I strummed an errant melody, not so much a song but notes that suited the still sky, a woman slid next to me.
Dressed in fine silk, hair adorned with jewels and baubles worth a great deal, she looked to be from the party a room over. Whether she was bored, lonely, or simply acting out to be contrary... [He shrugs.]
She listened for a while, before leaning on me. She reached over, plucked the strings herself - she wasn't very good at it. At least that was her excuse for her hands to wander, up the neck of the shamisen and to my chest.
I took her with me to an empty room a few spots down.
We didn't talk - once the door was closed, I pressed her to the wall and tore her kimono off. We let our clothes fall to the floor, scuffing our feet on them as our hands wandered and pulled at one another.
I fucked her up against that wall, and left to watch the sunrise while she slept naked on her finery.
[Great story except the part where he still cared more about the #aesthetic sunrise than the sex.]
no subject
His hand isn't straying lower. He isn't touching anything inappropriate, not yet. Oh, perhaps it's a touch indecent that it's beneath her shirt, but given they're surrounded by a crowd eager to fuck and fight all at once, she thinks they're the least interesting thing here.
She thinks idly about how it might be, to be taken by him. He'd hardly be the first dangerous man she'd taken to her bed. Point in fact, she thinks he might be a touch less dangerous than some of her other partners. At least Tani lacks Bigby's indomitable strength; with him, there's absolutely no chance of arguing.
Hmm. Would he fuck her against the wall? That's a pleasant thought, and she shifts her weight, ignoring the ache between her legs, because she won't give in tonight regardless. This is far too much fun to cut it off so early. But it's nice to think about, isn't it . . . fighting with him, pinning him to a wall or being pinned there, fighting with this insufferable boy, neither of them knowing how it would turn out . . . ]
And you didn't even know her name. How shocking.
[Sarcasm, though there's a faint smile on her face that suggests she approves of his tale regardless. Rosalind hums, then turns, facing the bar. She won't shake off his hand just yet, but her attention is clearly off him for a moment.]
I'd be interested to hear you play sometime.
[Wait, Ros, don't you have a . . . story . . . to . . . tell . . .]
no subject
Glisten of skin, dark eyes, and how the dim lighting would fall in heavy shadows over their bodies - that's what Takasugi remembers.
For a moment, his mind wanders; what would this woman look like draped in darkness and spread beneath him. She wouldn't stay there for long, not a creature of demure submission. If he wanted her somewhere, he'd have to put her there himself.
Not an unappealing thought.
He takes the opportunity of a shifted body to let his hand travel just a bit farther, fingers wrapping around hip to rest there as casually as they had on waist.] Mmn.
[He'd like to play again sometime - he hasn't gotten his hands on a shamisen, all of the local approximations still different enough in style to lack the sound he's looking for.]
And I'm interested - tell me how such a rigid woman becomes lascivious enough to have a story worth telling.
no subject
[She puts the slightest emphasis on that verb, aware of how it sounds in her polished accent. Rosalind Lutece, poised and perfect and prim, wrapping her lips with clear delight around something so filthy as the word fuck.
Mm. Clever fingers, dragging over her hip and settling there, a shock of warmth that she has a hard time not pressing eagerly against. She'll smack his hand away if he tries to slip those fingers beneath the waistband of her skirt, but she doubts he will. That would be far too obvious.
God, but that does feel good. She doesn't reach for him; she doesn't even turn to face him. Just says that as she stares at the array of bottles set behind the bar, blues and greens and reds, seductive in the richness of their coloring.
She tips her head back.]
I never said I'd tell you a story now, Tani.
[Oh, words, words, she does so love them. Not being specific is the right way to losing when it had come to she and Robert and their silly little games; she'd learned very quickly how to use someone's lack of specificity to her advantage.]
what else she boutta wrap her lips around ay
His finger tighten on her waist, not venturing lower but deeper into soft flesh.
He hadn't thought about wandering until now, and it's only with the distraction of following her gaze to the shimmering chaos of glass that he staves off the impulse.]
When do I get to hear it, hm? [Other hand idly running fingers along the side of his glass, Takasugi's attraction isn't replaced but joined by frustration.
It's the first time he's lost control of the conversation to her - a loss that digs under his skin. But he's patient enough to recover without indicating his frustration.]
ayyyyyyyy
[And she will tell him. She has no intention of shirking her promise entirely. But why give it to him now, when saving it means she's got a clear point in her favor. She'll save it until it's a weapon unto itself, another way to put her ahead of him . . .
Then again. His fingers tighten their grip on her hip, and her smile grows. She reaches for her glass, setting it to her lips, blaming the shiver on the sting of alcohol. Then again, wouldn't it be amusing it tell it to him when he can't do anything but fantasize? She won't let him fuck her today, and wouldn't it be lovely to let him fantasize about her for weeks and weeks . . .?
Yes, she really does like the thought of that.
Well. Perhaps she'll tell him tonight and perhaps she won't. For now, she arches her back and finishes off her glass, amber liquid sliding down her throat and leaving her pleasantly heated.]
You're a smart lad. I'm sure you can content yourself with imagining what I might mean until then.
no subject
But the only way to do that would be to supplant it with a story that's theirs, a tale that fills his appetite in ways words can't.
He's caught, for now, feeling the arc to her spine and thinking of bending it more and more until something snaps.]
If I'm going to use my imagination- [He lifts his glass, but doesn't drink.] then I'm not going to envision a stranger.
[He'll see himself, though for the moment he's content to watch the rippling in his liquor after he takes a sip from the sweet liquid.]
no subject
[He'll see himself, and she wonders what he'll imagine. Is it of her fighting, or losing? Rosalind craves the fight itself, struggling and not knowing if she'll end up on top or going pliant. She's more willing for the latter the more she trusts someone; for him, she'll struggle until she's soundly beaten, because she doesn't trust him an inch.
But she wonders. Does he crave only to see her broken, or to break her himself?]
You'd hardly be the first.
[She glances over at him.]
Just don't imagine something dull, please. Taking me against the wall is the least of it.
no subject
Like the way her eyes look when they're wide and forced to surrender.]
You're obnoxious even in a fantasy, aa. [Reassurance warped with a coy smirk, he sets his drink down. Takasugi's fingers press circles into Rosalind's waist, a massage that dares to wander upwards, along spine, by inches.]
Should I leave you naked on the floor when I'm done with you, too? [Just like the woman in his story, fiction made reality.]
no subject
[That's not the point of his statement, but she likes twisting words. Rosalind's lips press tightly together as his fingers drag upwards, lifting her shirt. She can't as she minds that impertinent touch, though her back arches as his fingers inch upwards.]
Perhaps. Stranger things have happened.
[Her hand darts back, gripping his wrist tightly, stopping him before he can go any further. That would be indecent.]
But I think you ought to worry more about the during than the after.
no subject
Subtle touches, like the one ascending her back with coiling fingers, have no warmth to gain from a woman left ruined as debris.] Why would I worry?
[About the during or after.
A sharp grip on his wrist stays his hand, but not before Takasugi tenses into the restraint, moving her just far enough further to prove that he can and could keep going.] I doubt I'll think of it much at all.
[He withdraws his hand and wraps his grip around his glass.]
no subject
And yet she internally bristles, hating that she lost that.
At least his sentence is easy to scoff at. Rosalind shivers as she finally finishes off her glass. The world spins unpleasantly, and her fingers curl against the bar. She'll ask the bartender for a glass of water in a moment, but Tani gets addressed first.]
You'll think of it enough.
[She says it confidently.]
You already are. And you will until you sate yourself, because I think it's been a long time since you haven't been able to simply take what you want.
So think on it, Tani. Imagine just how you'll work to please me. And when I inevitably let you in my bed, you'd best hope you were worth the wait, or I'll simply take my pleasure from you.
no subject
No matter how much he thinks of her body, the curve of her back under his hand, still warm. Despite how he knows he'd never let her simply take, not when the physical is all that would be left between them and he could twist her to his will.
No matter the simple fact that there's nothing he wants enough to reach for it to begin with.
She's struck a chord; nothing vital, but his jaw had tensed. Enough to show her words had meaning, and to make the burn in his chest feel less like the bite of liquor and more like anger.]
Worry about taking yourself home, before you talk about trying to pry anything from me. [He casts a glance back to her, eyeing her hands, the smell of her breath as acrid as his own.]
no subject
You're not going to walk me home? What kind of gentlemen are you?
no subject
And in the sour bite that her comment has left to fester.
Laugh again, and he just may prove how much of a scoundrel he can be. With buzzing lips, or an upturned glass.]
no subject
[But he might just try to prove it if she stays close for too long. Finishing off her last glass, Rosalind offers him one last smirk before pushing off from the bar. The edible paints are left with him, and she's surprisingly swift as she makes her way out the door.]
//end!
Takasugi doesn't notice the paint - he's left to watch his drink ripple with the rowdiness of the gathered crowd. He doesn't watch her leave, hadn't cared to see any hint of gloating on her features.
Instead he leans forward, and settles in for hours of drinking.]