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)
nysalogs2017-10-22 08:41 pm
originallutece) wrote in nysalogs2017-10-22 08:41 pm
there's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet;
Who: Rosalind Lutece (originallutece) & OPEN
What: Wyver shenanigans!
When: Later half of October
I. The Old City;
[From an Institute to this . . . Rosalind really hates Wyver so far, not least of which because she doesn't have her precious lab. No, it's all shamans and magic now, prayers and belief systems and no hard science to speak of, never mind things like inventories or stocks of supplies. But working with nonsense is better than not working at all, and so she dives in, her demeanor prickly but hard-working. But the stocks of supplies aren't to her satisfaction, not at all, and so soon she's taking a trip to the market.
Here she is, stepping carefully through the crowds, a bag on her shoulder and her gaze sharp as she wanders through the stalls. You might catch her in a more amiable state of mind, but you might just witness her bickering with someone behind a stall:]
I'm not going to pay you with a story. Surely you must accept currency; that's far more useful than some tale about my past.
[Of course, she's not simply looking for ingredients. Rosalind can also be found peering at food, trying to decide what might be easiest to cook, and staring rather longingly at a row of books.]
II. closed to Harry;
[Majima is her bodyguard, but she can't pay him for every trip. Fortunately for her, she's got a fair few gentleman friends nowadays. Mr. DeVere is a tailor, but the point isn't whether or not he'll truly be able to defend her; the point is that people who might rob a woman alone likely won't if they see she has a man with her.
And given she quite enjoys his company, everyone wins.
So here they are, walking along in the Old City, chatting amiably about this or that while she peers at cut up animal bits and dried leaves, trying to remember the properties of each.]
Honestly, the nonsense some of the others spout . . . magic this and magic that, as if wishing and hoping will get anything done. All I ask is that they give me a list of some known properties of plants and animals, since apparently I'm a pharmacist, not a physicist anymore, but even that is beyond my grasp at the moment.
[She doesn't realize it just yet, but they're being followed: three men have been trailing them for at least a block now, their demeanors just a touch too causal.]
III. DRAGONS;
[Well, obviously she's goign to check those fuckers out.
The East End normally wouldn't hold much interest for her, but the promise of seeing mythological creatures draws her like nothing else would. If anyone asks, her interest is purely scientific: she'd like to observe them and resolve any number of theoretical impossibilities about them, including how they stay upright and what they do in order to spit fire. And that's not untrue! She really does want to find out about all that!
. . . but she's also eager to see them because, well. Dragons!
She's settled a healthy distance away from an open field, a notebook open in her lap and her eyes trained on the dragon swooping around above her. She's not precisely hidden under this tree, but nor is she simply out in the open like a sitting duck, so it'll probably be fine. Her pencil is moving freely over the page, and if anyone gets close enough to look, they'll see she's not just taking notes, but drawing: little illustrations of the wings or jawline or talons.]
I wonder if their bones are hollow . . . but they're far bulkier than birds, that wouldn't really work, would it . . .
IV. October 31st; in which I play a dangerous game by forward-dating, also closed to existing CR;
[On Halloween proper, Rosalind isn't to be found out and about. Oh, you might catch a glimpse of her, but even that, that will be when she's making her way towards the station. There's something urgent about the clip of her pace, something that suggests this isn't an errand she runs idly, but nor does she look upset. Just . . . melancholic, perhaps.
Anyone who happens to be on the station as well (or, perhaps, who follows her), will find her settled in front of one pod in particular. She sits in silence for the most part, working in a notebook she brought along, but at some point, she murmurs:]
Happy anniversary, I suppose. It's a bit lacking with you still lazing about asleep.
V. Wildcard;
[Feel free to make up your own starter! Rosalind will be eager to explore and test the parameters of her new environment, and that means exploring, even in places like the jungle or out towards the farthest reaches of the city. Catch her teleporting, there and then gone and then back again; approach her for some of that stop spreading the illness potion she's got going on. Or whatever! I'm game for anything, so throw something at me or hit me up on![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
kitnkat
originallutece) & OPEN What: Wyver shenanigans!
When: Later half of October
I. The Old City;
[From an Institute to this . . . Rosalind really hates Wyver so far, not least of which because she doesn't have her precious lab. No, it's all shamans and magic now, prayers and belief systems and no hard science to speak of, never mind things like inventories or stocks of supplies. But working with nonsense is better than not working at all, and so she dives in, her demeanor prickly but hard-working. But the stocks of supplies aren't to her satisfaction, not at all, and so soon she's taking a trip to the market.
Here she is, stepping carefully through the crowds, a bag on her shoulder and her gaze sharp as she wanders through the stalls. You might catch her in a more amiable state of mind, but you might just witness her bickering with someone behind a stall:]
I'm not going to pay you with a story. Surely you must accept currency; that's far more useful than some tale about my past.
[Of course, she's not simply looking for ingredients. Rosalind can also be found peering at food, trying to decide what might be easiest to cook, and staring rather longingly at a row of books.]
II. closed to Harry;
[Majima is her bodyguard, but she can't pay him for every trip. Fortunately for her, she's got a fair few gentleman friends nowadays. Mr. DeVere is a tailor, but the point isn't whether or not he'll truly be able to defend her; the point is that people who might rob a woman alone likely won't if they see she has a man with her.
And given she quite enjoys his company, everyone wins.
So here they are, walking along in the Old City, chatting amiably about this or that while she peers at cut up animal bits and dried leaves, trying to remember the properties of each.]
Honestly, the nonsense some of the others spout . . . magic this and magic that, as if wishing and hoping will get anything done. All I ask is that they give me a list of some known properties of plants and animals, since apparently I'm a pharmacist, not a physicist anymore, but even that is beyond my grasp at the moment.
[She doesn't realize it just yet, but they're being followed: three men have been trailing them for at least a block now, their demeanors just a touch too causal.]
III. DRAGONS;
[Well, obviously she's goign to check those fuckers out.
The East End normally wouldn't hold much interest for her, but the promise of seeing mythological creatures draws her like nothing else would. If anyone asks, her interest is purely scientific: she'd like to observe them and resolve any number of theoretical impossibilities about them, including how they stay upright and what they do in order to spit fire. And that's not untrue! She really does want to find out about all that!
. . . but she's also eager to see them because, well. Dragons!
She's settled a healthy distance away from an open field, a notebook open in her lap and her eyes trained on the dragon swooping around above her. She's not precisely hidden under this tree, but nor is she simply out in the open like a sitting duck, so it'll probably be fine. Her pencil is moving freely over the page, and if anyone gets close enough to look, they'll see she's not just taking notes, but drawing: little illustrations of the wings or jawline or talons.]
I wonder if their bones are hollow . . . but they're far bulkier than birds, that wouldn't really work, would it . . .
IV. October 31st; in which I play a dangerous game by forward-dating, also closed to existing CR;
[On Halloween proper, Rosalind isn't to be found out and about. Oh, you might catch a glimpse of her, but even that, that will be when she's making her way towards the station. There's something urgent about the clip of her pace, something that suggests this isn't an errand she runs idly, but nor does she look upset. Just . . . melancholic, perhaps.
Anyone who happens to be on the station as well (or, perhaps, who follows her), will find her settled in front of one pod in particular. She sits in silence for the most part, working in a notebook she brought along, but at some point, she murmurs:]
Happy anniversary, I suppose. It's a bit lacking with you still lazing about asleep.
V. Wildcard;
[Feel free to make up your own starter! Rosalind will be eager to explore and test the parameters of her new environment, and that means exploring, even in places like the jungle or out towards the farthest reaches of the city. Catch her teleporting, there and then gone and then back again; approach her for some of that stop spreading the illness potion she's got going on. Or whatever! I'm game for anything, so throw something at me or hit me up on