You might want to know? Be firm in your convictions.
It's more easily explained in person. But it's testing out the parameters of a hallucinatory drug a person I know received. He's already tried it; it's harmless, and won't last in your system for more than an hour, if that.
[Here's something a little noticable: Rosalind is dressed a bit more casually than she was the last time they saw each other.
Nothing absurd, of course. Still office-professional. But it's a bit different than the 1909 getup she'd had on in the cove, and boy, those sure are her hips, really nicely emphasized by that skirt, huh? That . . . sure is a thing that's happening, there she is, Rosalind Lutece, bare throat and hair down and--
Well, clearly she'd just gotten home from the Institute, that's why she looks like this. Clearly.
Anyway! Appearance aside, Rosalind seems as distantly friendly as ever. Her home isn't much to speak of; there's a few books, but she hasn't much settled in just yet.]
Are you going to be annoyed if I skip the niceties and we get started right away?
[There's a cookie on a plate in the living room. That's for him.]
[ He notes the changes in her attire but doesn't comment on it, resisting the urge to say her hair looks nice down. Her clothing remains unusual, even for Olympia, after all.
Clad in his usual fare (navy trackies and a white snapback), he follows her in, scoping out the rooms and exits all the while, a combination of old and new habits. ]
Well, I still have questions. [ He sits on the arm of a chair near the cookies. Casually — ] Like, what's the point?
[Damn it, Eggsy, just let her experiment?? But ugh, fine, and she sits on the couch, her back arched and hands folded in her lap. A LadyTM.]
The person I mentioned, the one who received these, was given them randomly in the mail. They contained no instruction or explanation; they merely said they had some kind of mystery extract. You can well guess what that was.
He hallucinated. And he hallucinated something very specific, something that was, I suspect, born from our conversation.
I want to see if what you hallucinate will be created via the same parameters.
[ He leans forward, listening intently and watching for suspect shifts in Rosalind's features. ]
Okay. [ He can get behind that — intrigue. Suspicious dealing and mysterious hallucinations. Sounds like something worth investigation, really. ] And you're sure it only lasts an hour? That ain't usually how edibles work.
[ Once, he and Ryan were off their faces for a whole fucking day. ]
[She raises an eyebrow at his sudden intensity. Frankly, she'd rather thought he'd be ready to eat it once he verified it was safe, but she supposes she can't fault him for asking questions. God knows she would.]
It lasted all of ten minutes on the gentleman in question, and a rather vigorous slap brought him around. Now, granted, his physiology is different from yours, but not so much so that I think it will affect you in any major way.
You're free to inform Mr. DeVere that you might be here longer if you'd like, but regardless: I can't imagine it'll linger for longer than an hour in you.
Wouldn't recommend informing Mr. DeVere that I'm helping you. [ said firmly, implicitly asking her not to tell Henry, without expressly saying as much. ] His heart won't handle the worry well.
[ See, he's not terribly keen on his protégé taking risks, given that he has no knowledge of the boy's accomplishments in the field. Eggsy has left his final hours on Earth vague in order to keep Harry's death from him. Naturally, however, Eggsy has informed someone of his intent to take part in a test (far less alarming a word than experiment). Does he trust Ros? Yes, but not enough to follow her blindly.
With that settled, he reaches for a cookie and takes a generous bite. ]
[Hm. Well, isn't that interesting? Still, she won't go behind his back. He'd kept her secrets at her request; she won't sell him out when he asks her to do the same.
It's a fairly ordinary tasting cookie, frankly. Sweet, sugary, maybe a little bit of chocolate nestled in there. But the twist is yet to come, and he's just provided her the perfect opening to make her beginning moves.]
Come here, please. I'd like to observe you up close.
[A beat, and then:]
I wanted to thank you, by the way, for keeping what we did in the cove a secret.
[ After a moment's hesitation, he sits beside her on the sofa, a few inches away (not unlike when he found her in the cove). There's a tension to his posture, more upright than his typical slouch. A fair reaction to waiting for mysterious hallucinations, in his opinion.
At the mention of the cove, he softens. ]
Yeah, 'course. [ He shifts to face her, so she can "observe." ] I've never snitched on anybody.
I don't know if I'd call it snitching, but I do appreciate it.
[Not unlike when they were in the cove indeed. She's more than modest by modern standards, but she's certainly a lot more relaxed in dress compared to then, isn't she?]
Though I suppose that means if I ask how many other girls you cornered in there, I shan't get an answer?
[ More relaxed and quite close, yes, not that he knows what to do with either piece of information. The whole drugs and experimenting business keeps him focused on where tracking his own thoughts. He wonders if it will feel like the Rohypnol in any way, which happens to be his most recent (and most terrible) trip.
Still, her phrasing makes him bark a laugh. ]
Cornered sounds horrible. [ His tone turns teasing. ] Especially when I ain't the one with wandering hands.
[ He does, briefly, think of Dutch, appearing on his doorstep without warning to kiss him breathless. He's not shagging about on anyone when Ros and Dutch have both shut down his quips about dating, but he doesn't normally have casual engagements so quickly or, uh, concurrently? Well, not regularly anyway. Who hasn't had a cheeky go in the Fabric loos? (Probably a lot of people classier than he'll ever be, huh.)
I beg your pardon. When you wander around in shorts and little else, I don't know what you expect.
Besides. As I recall, you touched a bit yourself, once you were eased into it.
[Good grief, but her voice has dipped a little lower. They're not touching, though. Point in fact, Rosalind leans back, one arm bracing on the arm of the couch, her posture open and relaxed.
(Hypothesis: the hallucinations are triggered by a surge of chemicals in the brain; any kind of strong emotion will do. Anger and bitterness had been Ardyn's trigger; lust will be Eggsy's.
After all, what instinct is stronger than reproduction?)]
[ Ah, a hypothesis that would be correct for most young men, to be sure, but lust is something Eggsy has under control, unlike his temper and desire for sincere affection. He's never been without sexual relations, but he remains careful with them. He overthinks and over-cares about people. And Kingsman has taught him that intimacy, like anything else, can be used. He tracks her movements before shifting his gaze to his hands to adjust his sleeves. Rosalind really is pretty. ]
[ then, arching his brows. ] Mixing business and pleasure, huh?
[ because she's flirting again (and so is he), but it isn't the same, when he's here to test something, as he was throughout his time at Kingsman. This is serious. It requires his focus as much as marksmanship and skydiving. ]
[There's a flicker of . . . not annoyance, really, but uncertainty. It's a rare day when things don't go precisely as Madam Lutece had predicted they would, and while she might have expected this if she'd known about his real profession, surely a mere tailor isn't going to have that kind of mental fortitude?
Perhaps it's her. She thinks that without self-doubt or blame; perhaps it's simply that he doesn't have enough of an attraction to her. But he'd been fairly game before, and it wouldn't make sense that suddenly he'd lose that attraction.
Hm. She doesn't shift, not yet, but there's something a little more brisk in her expression.]
A rare occurrence nowadays, I assure you. Though it's been known to happen.
[ He settles his hands on his knees, carefully placed but not visibly taut. ]
Don't often get to do that at the shop.
[ which provides calming and boner-killing thoughts in spades. Folding trousers for hours, pricking his thumb with needles, standing at the till and talking to posh gits all too like Chester King and Charlie Hesketh. It doesn't suit him in the least, but he needs to learn. ]
[ neutrally — ] Figures your life would be more thrilling, Madam Lutece.
[This clearly isn't working, and now she sits up properly, her posture settling into her usual rigid stiffness. Gathering her hair up, she reaches to the side, groping for the comb there. No sense in keeping it down if there's no purpose.]
It has its high points. Though after all I've seen and done, I'm ready for a bit of stability.
[A beat, and then, bluntly:]
I won't, not while you're potentially under the influence. But do you want to kiss me? Or rather, I ought to say: do you have the desire to?
[What's the best way to solve a mystery? Just attacking it head on.]
[ the question makes him pause, brows arching instinctively in surprise. he admires the directness — finds it attractive, even, which isn't helpful given their present situation or the precise line of thought that he's trying to avoid. his eyes flicker from her hands, tracking the way her fingers twist her hair, to her face. ]
Uh, yeah. [ desire sounds either too clinical or too flowery, but the answer remains a yes. all the control in the world can't keep the stripe of pink from his cheeks. to compensate, his tone lilts back into teasing territory. ] Sorry, I meant to pass you a note saying so.
[ a variation on an old classic. do you want to kiss me? check yes or no. ]
[Well, that's at least nice to hear. Rosalind finishes putting her hair up, then tips her head at him.]
And yet somehow you're not hallucinating. But it's not a lack of lust halting you . . . and you've taken hallucinogens before, you said, so clearly they work on your physiology.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
you know i will
It's more easily explained in person. But it's testing out the parameters of a hallucinatory drug a person I know received. He's already tried it; it's harmless, and won't last in your system for more than an hour, if that.
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yes ma'am
[ so demanding, Madam Lutece ;) ]
you asking me because you think i've done hallucinatory drugs before??
[ He obviously has but not as much as people think, probably. ]
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i'll come by the institute
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alright then
should i bring flowers? chocolate?
tho i don't normally consent to experiments on the second date, for the record
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We've never even had a first date, Eggsy, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Bring yourself, and promptly, please.
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i don't kiss on the first date so
[ GET IT BECAUSE THEY SMOOCHED HAHA ]
on my way
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Nothing absurd, of course. Still office-professional. But it's a bit different than the 1909 getup she'd had on in the cove, and boy, those sure are her hips, really nicely emphasized by that skirt, huh? That . . . sure is a thing that's happening, there she is, Rosalind Lutece, bare throat and hair down and--
Well, clearly she'd just gotten home from the Institute, that's why she looks like this. Clearly.
Anyway! Appearance aside, Rosalind seems as distantly friendly as ever. Her home isn't much to speak of; there's a few books, but she hasn't much settled in just yet.]
Are you going to be annoyed if I skip the niceties and we get started right away?
[There's a cookie on a plate in the living room. That's for him.]
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Clad in his usual fare (navy trackies and a white snapback), he follows her in, scoping out the rooms and exits all the while, a combination of old and new habits. ]
Well, I still have questions. [ He sits on the arm of a chair near the cookies. Casually — ] Like, what's the point?
[ Why even bother testing a random drug? ]
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The person I mentioned, the one who received these, was given them randomly in the mail. They contained no instruction or explanation; they merely said they had some kind of mystery extract. You can well guess what that was.
He hallucinated. And he hallucinated something very specific, something that was, I suspect, born from our conversation.
I want to see if what you hallucinate will be created via the same parameters.
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Okay. [ He can get behind that — intrigue. Suspicious dealing and mysterious hallucinations. Sounds like something worth investigation, really. ] And you're sure it only lasts an hour? That ain't usually how edibles work.
[ Once, he and Ryan were off their faces for a whole fucking day. ]
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It lasted all of ten minutes on the gentleman in question, and a rather vigorous slap brought him around. Now, granted, his physiology is different from yours, but not so much so that I think it will affect you in any major way.
You're free to inform Mr. DeVere that you might be here longer if you'd like, but regardless: I can't imagine it'll linger for longer than an hour in you.
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Wouldn't recommend informing Mr. DeVere that I'm helping you. [ said firmly, implicitly asking her not to tell Henry, without expressly saying as much. ] His heart won't handle the worry well.
[ See, he's not terribly keen on his protégé taking risks, given that he has no knowledge of the boy's accomplishments in the field. Eggsy has left his final hours on Earth vague in order to keep Harry's death from him. Naturally, however, Eggsy has informed someone of his intent to take part in a test (far less alarming a word than experiment). Does he trust Ros? Yes, but not enough to follow her blindly.
With that settled, he reaches for a cookie and takes a generous bite. ]
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It's a fairly ordinary tasting cookie, frankly. Sweet, sugary, maybe a little bit of chocolate nestled in there. But the twist is yet to come, and he's just provided her the perfect opening to make her beginning moves.]
Come here, please. I'd like to observe you up close.
[A beat, and then:]
I wanted to thank you, by the way, for keeping what we did in the cove a secret.
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At the mention of the cove, he softens. ]
Yeah, 'course. [ He shifts to face her, so she can "observe." ] I've never snitched on anybody.
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[Not unlike when they were in the cove indeed. She's more than modest by modern standards, but she's certainly a lot more relaxed in dress compared to then, isn't she?]
Though I suppose that means if I ask how many other girls you cornered in there, I shan't get an answer?
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Still, her phrasing makes him bark a laugh. ]
Cornered sounds horrible. [ His tone turns teasing. ] Especially when I ain't the one with wandering hands.
[ He does, briefly, think of Dutch, appearing on his doorstep without warning to kiss him breathless. He's not shagging about on anyone when Ros and Dutch have both shut down his quips about dating, but he doesn't normally have casual engagements so quickly or, uh, concurrently? Well, not regularly anyway. Who hasn't had a cheeky go in the Fabric loos? (Probably a lot of people classier than he'll ever be, huh.)
In the end, she doesn't get a proper answer. ]
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Besides. As I recall, you touched a bit yourself, once you were eased into it.
[Good grief, but her voice has dipped a little lower. They're not touching, though. Point in fact, Rosalind leans back, one arm bracing on the arm of the couch, her posture open and relaxed.
(Hypothesis: the hallucinations are triggered by a surge of chemicals in the brain; any kind of strong emotion will do. Anger and bitterness had been Ardyn's trigger; lust will be Eggsy's.
After all, what instinct is stronger than reproduction?)]
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[ then, arching his brows. ] Mixing business and pleasure, huh?
[ because she's flirting again (and so is he), but it isn't the same, when he's here to test something, as he was throughout his time at Kingsman. This is serious. It requires his focus as much as marksmanship and skydiving. ]
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Perhaps it's her. She thinks that without self-doubt or blame; perhaps it's simply that he doesn't have enough of an attraction to her. But he'd been fairly game before, and it wouldn't make sense that suddenly he'd lose that attraction.
Hm. She doesn't shift, not yet, but there's something a little more brisk in her expression.]
A rare occurrence nowadays, I assure you. Though it's been known to happen.
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Don't often get to do that at the shop.
[ which provides calming and boner-killing thoughts in spades. Folding trousers for hours, pricking his thumb with needles, standing at the till and talking to posh gits all too like Chester King and Charlie Hesketh. It doesn't suit him in the least, but he needs to learn. ]
[ neutrally — ] Figures your life would be more thrilling, Madam Lutece.
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It has its high points. Though after all I've seen and done, I'm ready for a bit of stability.
[A beat, and then, bluntly:]
I won't, not while you're potentially under the influence. But do you want to kiss me? Or rather, I ought to say: do you have the desire to?
[What's the best way to solve a mystery? Just attacking it head on.]
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Uh, yeah. [ desire sounds either too clinical or too flowery, but the answer remains a yes. all the control in the world can't keep the stripe of pink from his cheeks. to compensate, his tone lilts back into teasing territory. ] Sorry, I meant to pass you a note saying so.
[ a variation on an old classic. do you want to kiss me? check yes or no. ]
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And yet somehow you're not hallucinating. But it's not a lack of lust halting you . . . and you've taken hallucinogens before, you said, so clearly they work on your physiology.
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