[november catchall - closed-ish]

[etiquette]

Who: harry hart etiquette & various
What: november catch-all for event stuff!
When: early november
Where: wyver mostly, little bit of olympia probs
Warning(s): def some nsfw jungle heat threads in here, beware!


[this is a catch-all for late october/early november threads! if anyone else would like to plot something or needs a starter feel free to hit me up by pm or on plurk over at obscurial. i'm def up for more during the new plot! c:]

Comments

[originallutece]

[It's no coincidence Mr. DeVere asks her to join him tonight of all nights, Rosalind is certain, but she's eternally grateful he doesn't mention the reason. She hasn't precisely been a wreck, no, but it's been . . .

Difficult. She always misses Robert, but never more than today. Today, her thoughts obsess over him, chasing after one another in a dizzying circle that leaves her breathless. Their death, their rebirth, the last words they exchanged, the way he looks in his pod up on the station, the way he still hasn't returned to her, on and on and on.

So it's good to go out. Rosalind crosses one leg over the other, settling in next to him.]

Scotch, I think.

[Why start light? She hardly intends to get drunk, but nor does she want something that won't hit her. Rosalind takes a deep breath, trying to ignore . . . a great deal, frankly. The fact that it's so bloody hot; the way her shirt is sticking to her skin here and there. The way people are obsessively pawing at each other more than one would expect in a bar; the way he's sitting, just near enough that they might touch, should they want to.

Which, of course, they don't, because that would be inappropriate, even if this is a social outing. But they could.]

On the rocks, naturally. Good god, but I miss England's climate.

[etiquette]

[he'd remembered, of course, because his mind is an awful lot like a catalogue of facts and nuances that are to be archived and used at the proper time, should they be needed. it's hard for harry to look at anyone he's ever met outside of work as a true friend--not when they only know half his life and he has his rules not to do anything that would actually allow for a genuine connection to pave the way for something more. it's a lonely life, certainly, but he's made his bed for queen and country and he's spent the last thirty years lying in it just fine. the untold story between wyver and olympia and the recent attacks have given him a stern reminder that even if london has fallen and kingsman itself is no more--harry still has certain morals to live by. he's still going to do what's right.

even if it means allowing himself to adapt a little differently. madam lutece has been easy to get along with thus far--a true lady with surprises up her sleeve, a reminder of home, intelligent and absolutely worth making an alliance with. but he'd be a shit observer not to notice that she does seem different today, even if the limited knowledge he has only supplies that today is technically an anniversary of her murder.

two scotches--doubles, for her and himself. he's noticed the way the crowd seems to be a lot more open about their advances, but harry has been everywhere from nude beaches to deranged sex parties and really--a man who's lived through the '70s and '80s in their youth wouldn't really bat an eye at it. at least he's not sweating like the rest of them thanks to his temperature regulated suit, even if the smallest sliver of a curl is starting to fall dangerously close to his forehead from where he's carefully combed it together.

they have no choice but to sit close thanks to the proximity of others at the table cramming in, and harry bumps her elbows both in good nature and lack of space when he slides the glass her way.]

A very good choice, Madam.

[he takes a sip of it, long and languid, letting his head fall back with a refreshed ah before leaning in. it's not strictly necessary to keep his voice smooth and low, to lean in and look up at her with a pleasant smile--they're not sharing secrets yet, but everyone else seems to be and it feels better that way.]

That makes two of us. I don't think I'm quite cut out for the jungles of Wyver. Have you decided if you'll be returning to Olympia when this is all through?

[originallutece]

Oh, yes. The scientific equipment is superior, the climate is more to my taste, and my housemate is already eager to set off. It was barely a choice at all.

[She takes her drink, though her eyes are locked on him. The way he leans in leaves her smiling faintly, and she wonders at that. She isn't inclined to smiling as a rule, and certainly not at this time of year. And yet here she is, amused and a little charmed that he's acting like this. She shifts as he does, facing him properly, her fingers sliding against the condensation on her glass.

Perhaps it's because he always reminds her a little of Robert. That quietly impudent gentility, the clever mind . . . and of course, the attraction doesn't hurt things. Her eyes flit over him again, and her slight smile grows. He's got to be at least ten years older than her, but age has never much bothered her.

Rather the opposite, really.]

But I've time for a few more indulgences before I leave.

[etiquette]

Housemate? I hadn't realized you were living with anyone--not that it's exactly my business.

[he does sound genuinely curious--rosalind has always given him the impression of being rather controlled in what she allows to be given of herself. not that it's an unfamiliar notion to harry, who still hasn't even given his real name to anyone besides eggsy.

it's not hard to discern somewhat of a bold claim, particularly for the time period he knows her to be from. maybe it's the drinks or the atmosphere, but he's happy to see her mood at least somewhat lifted from where it started. he's even gotten a smile out of her, something he'll tuck away as a win.]

Another drink? Or were you thinking perhaps...when in Rome...?

[his gaze drifts to the men and women around them, laughing, dancing--pressed close for more than conversation. but harry can't find himself bothered or envious of them, not when everyone is in such good spirits and it's infectious somehow.]

[originallutece]

[She glances out as well, lifting her glass to her lips as she does. There's all kinds of couples out tonight, some attempting to be more subtle than others. One eyebrow ticks up as she looks at two women, one of whom seems intent on slipping her hands beneath her companion's skirt. She's protesting, but laughingly, and it seems a losing battle.

She would have looked away some other night, but now Rosalind's gaze lingers for a few seconds, her cheeks flushed warm. Only once she's knocked back her drink does she glance back towards him.]

When in Rome, as they say.