A, Lutece Labs, warning for potential descriptions of gore
[The street (cobblestones beneath your feet, and suddenly your ears pop as the air pressure abruptly thins) is suddenly crowded. Men mutter to one another, shaking their heads and crossing their arms, as women clutch their children and stop them from racing forward to get a better look. Sirens wail, and the sickening scent of burnt wood and flesh fills the air.
Lutece Labs is on fire.
Well. It was on fire. Various men in official uniforms and fire hoses have taken care of most of the flames. But the building has just been through the wringer, that's for certain. Burnt books and broken bits of lab equipment are scattered amidst the shattered glass on the sidewalk.
It's a horrid sight, but what makes it worse is the figure that comes forward. Tall and dressed in black, he whistles softly as he views the damage.
It would be fitting if he snuck or crept, but no, he walks into the laboratory as bold as brass, hesitating only when it seems as if he might be in danger of falling debris. You follow him in, though he doesn't seem to notice he isn't alone.]
B, alleys [Suddenly, you're in an alley. It's filthy and dark, the bricks shining from the downpour of rain that occured earlier this evening. At first glance, there's nothing particularly unusual about the alley-- and then you see it. An odd glow eminating from one of the walls, too bright to be a lightbulb, dimming and brightening rhythmically.
There's three figures standing in front of it. The first: a young man in his early twenties, his hair bright red, his clothing immaculate and well-tailored. He holds himself anxiously, his arms crossed over himself, as he peers at the wall. This is Robert Lutece, and perhaps it's hard to see in this dim light, but he's Rosalind's double, alike in almost every way.
The second: an older man, bearded, who cradles a small bundle of cloth. A fat arm wiggles out, and of course it's an infant, not even a year old. She seems to be in good spirits, despite the frantic atmosphere around her.
And finally, you see a woman, with short black hair and a blue dress. No one seems to be paying her any mind, but to be fair, she isn't looking at them either. No, she's staring at you, so directly you know she can see you. Her expression is difficult to read. Angry? Full of grief? Weary? Who can say.
You race forward, and suddenly it's not you racing ahead, but a man, gruff and dishevled, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He throws himself at the trio, and you follow along.
You can see that glow more clearly now. It comes from a circle in the wall, pulsating in and out. It's no man-made creation, and it seems to lead to another room: a laboratory, and in that laboratory . . .
Is a woman.
Rosalind is younger here-- twenty-three at the oldest despite the fact her character model didn't change at all, thanks obama. Her voice has an echoing quality, and she looks frantic as she offers out a hand.
It's fine, hurry! she shouts. It's Robert she has her eyes on, despite the fact the dishevled man is shouting loudly (give her back! The deal is off, give her back, and oh, but he sounds so very afraid beneath that fury).
Fine? Are you mad! Robert replies, dancing anxiously from foot to foot.
No! You will not get caught between, come! There's terror in her voice, and she keeps reaching out a hand, alternating between beckoning him and offering to take his hand. Behind the Luteces, a fight seems to be breaking out; a struggle over the infant, as the alcoholic tries his best to grab her back. The bearded man holding her is stumbling backwards, towards the portal, and Rosalind spares them half a glance before looking at Robert. Unlike her typical expressions of distant amusement or unimpressed skepticism, she looks utterly frantic right now, as desperate as the man trying to get his baby back.]
C, Girton;
[You're on the lawn of a beautiful college (Girton College, actually, if you're the sort to know your universities). Acres of green grass stretch out as far as the eye can see. You take a few steps forward, and suddenly you notice any number of students around you. They stroll in pairs, chatting happily as they go on to their next class. That's nice, but it's not what you're interested in.
Taking a few steps forward, you suddenly find yourself in one of the buildings. More specifically, the science wing. It's a rather dusty laboratory you eventually wander into. There's only a few people there, but they're notable for two reasons. One, every single person, without fail, is a woman. And two, they're dressed in oddly archaic outfits, long skirts and sensible blouses.
And on the very end, there's a girl, younger than the rest by at least five years. Her red hair is piled up haphazardly, tied back into a bun, and she frowns as she prods at her work. One of the other girls laughs, and though it likely wasn't at her expense, still Rosalind's head whips up, a wary sort of frown on her face.
Rosalind Lutece | Bioshock: Infinite
A, Lutece Labs, warning for potential descriptions of gore
[The street (cobblestones beneath your feet, and suddenly your ears pop as the air pressure abruptly thins) is suddenly crowded. Men mutter to one another, shaking their heads and crossing their arms, as women clutch their children and stop them from racing forward to get a better look. Sirens wail, and the sickening scent of burnt wood and flesh fills the air.
Lutece Labs is on fire.
Well. It was on fire. Various men in official uniforms and fire hoses have taken care of most of the flames. But the building has just been through the wringer, that's for certain. Burnt books and broken bits of lab equipment are scattered amidst the shattered glass on the sidewalk.
It's a horrid sight, but what makes it worse is the figure that comes forward. Tall and dressed in black, he whistles softly as he views the damage.
It would be fitting if he snuck or crept, but no, he walks into the laboratory as bold as brass, hesitating only when it seems as if he might be in danger of falling debris. You follow him in, though he doesn't seem to notice he isn't alone.]
B, alleys
[Suddenly, you're in an alley. It's filthy and dark, the bricks shining from the downpour of rain that occured earlier this evening. At first glance, there's nothing particularly unusual about the alley-- and then you see it. An odd glow eminating from one of the walls, too bright to be a lightbulb, dimming and brightening rhythmically.
There's three figures standing in front of it. The first: a young man in his early twenties, his hair bright red, his clothing immaculate and well-tailored. He holds himself anxiously, his arms crossed over himself, as he peers at the wall. This is Robert Lutece, and perhaps it's hard to see in this dim light, but he's Rosalind's double, alike in almost every way.
The second: an older man, bearded, who cradles a small bundle of cloth. A fat arm wiggles out, and of course it's an infant, not even a year old. She seems to be in good spirits, despite the frantic atmosphere around her.
And finally, you see a woman, with short black hair and a blue dress. No one seems to be paying her any mind, but to be fair, she isn't looking at them either. No, she's staring at you, so directly you know she can see you. Her expression is difficult to read. Angry? Full of grief? Weary? Who can say.
You race forward, and suddenly it's not you racing ahead, but a man, gruff and dishevled, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He throws himself at the trio, and you follow along.
You can see that glow more clearly now. It comes from a circle in the wall, pulsating in and out. It's no man-made creation, and it seems to lead to another room: a laboratory, and in that laboratory . . .
Is a woman.
Rosalind is younger here-- twenty-three at the oldest
despite the fact her character model didn't change at all, thanks obama. Her voice has an echoing quality, and she looks frantic as she offers out a hand.It's fine, hurry! she shouts. It's Robert she has her eyes on, despite the fact the dishevled man is shouting loudly (give her back! The deal is off, give her back, and oh, but he sounds so very afraid beneath that fury).
Fine? Are you mad! Robert replies, dancing anxiously from foot to foot.
No! You will not get caught between, come! There's terror in her voice, and she keeps reaching out a hand, alternating between beckoning him and offering to take his hand. Behind the Luteces, a fight seems to be breaking out; a struggle over the infant, as the alcoholic tries his best to grab her back. The bearded man holding her is stumbling backwards, towards the portal, and Rosalind spares them half a glance before looking at Robert. Unlike her typical expressions of distant amusement or unimpressed skepticism, she looks utterly frantic right now, as desperate as the man trying to get his baby back.]
C, Girton;
[You're on the lawn of a beautiful college (Girton College, actually, if you're the sort to know your universities). Acres of green grass stretch out as far as the eye can see. You take a few steps forward, and suddenly you notice any number of students around you. They stroll in pairs, chatting happily as they go on to their next class. That's nice, but it's not what you're interested in.
Taking a few steps forward, you suddenly find yourself in one of the buildings. More specifically, the science wing. It's a rather dusty laboratory you eventually wander into. There's only a few people there, but they're notable for two reasons. One, every single person, without fail, is a woman. And two, they're dressed in oddly archaic outfits, long skirts and sensible blouses.
And on the very end, there's a girl, younger than the rest by at least five years. Her red hair is piled up haphazardly, tied back into a bun, and she frowns as she prods at her work. One of the other girls laughs, and though it likely wasn't at her expense, still Rosalind's head whips up, a wary sort of frown on her face.
Come bother her?]