is currently employed and on the verge of starting classes at a community college. not only are they quite busy with these things, but they are also a freelance artist seeking commissions. please be patient and understand that roleplaying is merely a hobby.
A veil of death failed to leave her inanimate nor forgotten, the only altercations in their fall being their lack of tangibility and the rather prodigious disclosure of the cosmos and all secrets they’d bared. Answers to wonders that could never have been solved while alive had been at the ginger’s very fingertips, as had been phenomenons that she had never once conceived. SPACE AND TIME were no longer obstacles but instead, a tangle of stratum after stratum, the most insignificant of organisms and components alike going on to trigger and produce events that humankind had barely any grasp upon! Theories which were once mere notions of thought had been unfolding at the very seams and Rosalind, a woman marked by the utmost dedication toward the nature of solar system(s) and world(s).
She had been thankful, not simply for the rarity which kept her contemporary and her heightened perception but because she hadn’t been a l o n e . As he had with everything else, her counter part joined the Madam in death, though there had been minor disapproval of their current state of being. The only thing which held him in restraint being the surety of The Lamb’s prosperity and relocation from the universe they had once subdued her in. Lutece had grown sentimental, far more than she’d ever sought out to be, as a result a reluctant agreement had been made. It had involved but more universe hopping and obligations which Rosalind would meet, as promised… But this had been near fruitless, an experiment that would likely never flourish or result in any sort of positive outcome.
Yet, she advanced, devotion driving her toward his goal.
While it had been that the physicists were the cause of a great deal of commotion concerning the FALSE SHEPARD, there had been other happenings that included murder and unanticipated visitors in the floating utopia. One of the few being a familiar face and name, one which had been especially significant in Rosalind’s lives– both past and present. Alexia Ashford had been her name, a woman that had likely been strained with some form of grief after the redhead’s passing.
It would be after her death, that Lutece would welcome her back into the city made feasible by her creations.
In their own right, both women were hailed as mother within Columbia. Rosalind Lutece had given the city her wings; without the fair Lady of Science, there would be New Eden upon which the faithful and pure might step upon. She was a mother to the country, and in part, the people. Madam President certainly acted as mother to all; and the arrival of the heir apparent had only amplified the maternal way the city viewed her. Indeed; the pair were oft’ seen with the rosy-cheeked infant; dressed in pristine Sunday best with heads cocked towards the other in case she might have an opinion to release. However, public perception was blissfully off. While the womenfolk could run a country rather seamlessly, neither could raise a child and ne’er took delight in the task that had been set out for them. Indeed, the Widow Comstock muchly preferred hiding behind mountains of paperwork.
Gloved hand dragged down worn face; utterly ecstatic to be relieved of the thing that would come to call her mother. Would such hellish noise never cease? Did the child not see the amount of woe she was causing? Did she simply relish it?! Neither had the patience to deal with her for long, and the servants could not be expected to put up with the miserable little girl. Yet mercifully - and only for a brief moment that felt like heaven - did the infant cease incessant blubbering; rosebud lips puckering and tiny hands grasping fistfuls of air with ragged breath.
“A miracle, perhaps?!” Came the murmur from settee; prompting the rather exhausted widow to straighten.
Glee was short lived, however; the Miracle Child began to sniffle and howl with renewed fervour, having rested her tiny lungs. Hands were jammed over ears, and with a glower that rivalled Medusa’s did hiss escape the Blessed Mother.
“It appears I spoke too soon. Might she be hungry?”
In spite of the benevolent glow that these pair of women radiated against the clouds that submerged this utopia, profound enigmas fluttered across their stiff composure. Though adept in the process of administering that these brick built structures would cease to fall on account of either revolution or fluctuation itself, the divine conductors hadn’t been the sort of folk that they were believed to have been. When with the infant, Elizabeth, the pair of mothers appeared absurdly close to being vanquished at the mere constraint that the whines and shrieks had upon them. Unlike Rosalind’s child friendly counterpart, her composure remained solid and agitated at the very sight of her confidant’s offspring, the very image doing enough to drive her far away from any sort of persuasion that would result in a blanketed, fussy whelp. How it had been that any sort of woman found conciliation in these creatures, Rosalind might never come to know.
While her complexion involuntarily soured with the accompanied howls and whimpers that drummed through the woman’s ears, Rosalind persists with indulging the thing with tender brushes of digits against a pliable spine and pacifying consolation in the form of whispers which urged peace. Raising adolescents had been far too tedious and complex; cries meaning not one thing or the other but a great number of different dilemmas that one might not even be able to comprehend.
In a moment’s notice, fixation falls toward reddened cheeks and the sizzling tears which pooled in the chasms of her vast, cobalt eyes. Pleasant prospects had been taken into account, the hope which needn’t be made known through vocals imploring the babe for tranquility… The sirens had been put to rest for the martyrs– briefly.
“Surely. I would only presume that warm milk would do better than worse.”
It was here that the pair had pressed toward the kitchen, squabbling here and there concerning just how hot the milk ought to have been and whether there was a sure way that it would bring about beneficial results.
Though her words rang true, his patience would hold a different match in this game they played, each move seemingly taking ages just to make meaningfully and wisely. He didn’t regret any of his actions thus far, a rarity indeed even for the likes of him, however he’d not be without questions on any of this, let alone going about without warning of more possible blood and chaos.
The twins themselves were a mystery shrouded in riddle most times though they certainly proved which side of the board they played on, each move and counter-move made via their aid, so perhaps not all was lost. Not yet.
“Sure, but it’d be a real generous idea if you gave proper tellin’ on where I should head to now. The Vox are on the move with all those guns they were after, but where’s my deal? Now I got no airship an’ no clue as to what I should be doin’.”
The fellow had been persistent, always going on to inquire as to which procedures he’s wonted to establish in a particular order… As though the very concept of his success had been determined on account of very distinct actions and the such. While it is true that the Lutece’s had come to witness a diverse set of solutions toward each and every sort of momentary crisis that’s presented itself… But it hadn’t been their responsibility to assist the False Shepard with every aspect of his very purpose in this world and the next.
Heavily relying upon them doesn’t benefit him as justly as he’d come to imagine. Always the fellow is to be on edge, dubious of whether he’d ever receive support, and thus, causing his prosperity to practically increase more so than he could ever begin to fathom.
“Mr. Dewitt,” having begun as though the very address was a signification of her relinquishment, “Our occasional service should seldom be recognized as an obligation on our part… This is quite the predicament on your hands, but we are quite sure that there are various manners which you could go about solving it.” Emphasis had been put on his person, before a hand raises to make all seemingly brusque.
“–Without our aid, in this instance. Fret not, if it is direly needed, we will not do as much as abandon.”
As much as she wished to be angered, to spit fire from her lungs and make Rosalind regret that she ever had left Alexia in the first place - she did not, only returning the touch of fingers with a smile, pressing Judas’ kiss to the hands of her companion. “I would come with you, you know, if you would have me.”
Delicate words. A reminder that Alexia wanted to be the thing at the very thought of her mind.
“There is nothing to be forgiven.” Gods, how she wanted to crawl inside of Rosalind. To drag her teeth along her neck, her chest, her beating heart and carve her name somewhere it would never be forgotten, deep enough that even dear Robert’s blood could never wash it off.
Another time, perhaps.
The fact that such a thought had even crossed her mind had been vile– psychotic rather, when putting it into more appropriate terms. “Isolated voids and repetitious duties will be something I will not plague you with, Alexia. My brother and I are under obligation to right our wrongs in this world and all others we had impacted with our prior faults.” As often as it had been made known that their current experimentation had been close to fruitless in her eyes, she would progress further onward despite her thoughts for the sake of her sibling.
Freckles emphasized by by the sallowness in her face, the corners of her lips subtly upturning in response to such a gesture. Things of such a nature were unanticipated and induced internal turbulence but this had all been on account of the madam’s lack of physical affection toward others.
As disheartening as it may be, Ashford would never be capable of such a strenuous feat… While there would certainly be memory of the lady, her dexterity and the elvish features she garnered, it wouldn’t be at the reminder imperfections riddled along her internal or external being. The omnipresent’s heart had belonged with her other half, whether it had been beating or not. Even if the very thing had been in the clutches of someone other than him. If it was that objection would arise from this truth, withdrawal would be immediate… No matter the circumstances.
“Yes. This evening.” He replied with little sympathy, “I’m certain you’re terribly busy, as am I. But this is a matter worthy of the utmost precedence” Comstock allows the hand carrying the discarded book to fall to his side, moving to place it on a nearby stand. An eyebrow raising at her admission of comfort, something he- in all his years knowing her had himself rarely heard, but that wasn’t to say the same couldn’t be said of the ever stern statesman. The two of them held a likeness in their stoicism, Comstock himself only showing the slightest glimmer of emotion when speaking of his country. Perhaps this was a key factor in his initial contributions to her research, a sort of kinship held between the two of them.
“Oh no, if anyone might sympathize it would be me. I know all too well the advantages and amenities that come with working out of the home, nowadays it would seem I can’t write a speech outside of my own study… I was merely offering what I suppose you might call a bit of ‘friendly’ insight.” A clearing of the throat and Comstock approached her, a pocket watch drawn from his coat. “Gather what paperwork you must madam, I’ve arranged to have a hovercraft pick us up in port prosperity.”
Explanation hadn’t been necessary, for she could only begin to conclude that whatever impasse he might make mention of would take antecedence. The particular volume in his grip ironically alluding toward the technological guidance that had once been vital when beginning to operate the Siphon– one of many objects the Lutece’s had established. It hadn’t been often that a stern woman as she would ever openly discuss what little solace the buoyant city they’d currently occupied. Though, the majority of the while it wasn’t needed since the only sentiments worthy of a soft composure had been solitude, accomplishment, and the sublime– her very sibling. The very though had her neck craning in the opposite direction toward the deeper chambers of the Lutece Laboratories.
Friendly insight perhaps, but no mind is paid to it. Only lightly nodding her head, as though the very notion had reached her, Rosalind inevitably parts her lips. “I suppose I should thank you for considering convenience.” Dull stare following his gestures as her hands floated toward her center, interlocking just in front of her torso, affirmation is stated with a nod before approaching a nearby table surface riddled in articles and notes aplenty.
“I’ve come to request your presence at the monument, the boys in the lab think a new siphon might be necessary for further containment.” Comstock explained as he made entrance into her home, eyes glancing around towards the various scientific equipment scattered throughout. “I would think I needn’t stress the threat that girl poses for our city if left unchecked. No doubt you’ve heard the reports… Citizens merging into themselves or some such nonsense.” Of course he referred to the small spurts of madness that seemed to be rearing it’s head amongst his public, reportedly originating from those brave enough to actually enter the stray tear.
With a straightening of his tie, the Governor leans over to pick a fallen tome from the floor offering it to the physicist. ”Really Rosalind, would it hurt to have a lab separate from your home? I’m not one to talk regarding working out of the house, but this is a tad much.”
Indifference had set in her marble constructed visage, the evidence in this being her unyielding eyes that didn’t glimmer though illumination encouraged it. While folks had often spoke with the Madam, their gaze being shared and presence acknowledged, it had almost as well been thought they’d held conversation with that of a sculpture. Now, it hadn’t so much been as a means to taunt the other person– Comstock of all folk should perceive this accurately. “This evening?” She began, “I hadn’t anticipated having to leave my paperwork.” It was a sacrifice she would have to make. Lutece had simply been a questionable woman, her motives remaining set while her character had been stern and methodical.
“It is a matter which I have yet to resolve.” Likely every concern had been balanced atop her frail shoulders, though it had never once induced a tumble. Much alike to a house of cards, each predicament had been granted equilibrium.
Stare following his gesture in a far from amused fashion, it have been too long before both lips came to part and for once, sentiments flowed from her being. “I find comfort in my home, Governer. While I do appreciate that I am in your thoughts, I do prefer to perform without prying eyes…” Fingers gently curling against her upper arms as they had come to cross. “I feel that assistance more often than not, tends to hinder my progress.”
…And in walked Roland Russell, “Rapture’s Sweetheart”.
The once timid, terrified young man who had stolen away to Rapture had been groomed and moulded by show-business, able to command the attention of a room almost as soon as he walked in. Either by patrons and citizens marveling at his famed status or by his jovial, flamboyant disposition in general. Roland greeted a few people as he walked through the bar’s threshold.
“Hi there! No, don’t get up, I’ll come to you!” “Good to see you, hi!” “An autograph, why sure! Got a pen? Er…a pen that works?”
After schmoozing with a few people, and declining a few offers to join other tables, Roland scanned the deep red interior of the pub, spotting a woman sitting by herself at the back of the joint. Roland Russell always made it a point to include everyone when it came to parties, galas, get-togethers, and special nights at bars and so took it upon himself to make her night a little less lonely. The little entertainer strode right up, making himself comfortable on the seat across from her.
“Well! The goodest of evenings to you, miss!” giggled Russell. “If I may be so bold…just how is it that a pretty thing like you is alone this night, hm?”
Anyone who hadn’t been aware of the widely recognized ‘Rapture’s Sweetheart’, might have been living under a rock. Despite being a rather obvious hermit of sorts however, even Madame Lutece had been fully informed of the performer. The arts in this city had been greatly appreciated and perceived as opulence itself… With such artists as Roland Russell and Sander Cohen gracing a variety of audiences with laughter and amusement, it was no wonder why they had been accepted as a part of the 'greats’. Men and women alike recognized for their success and dedication toward their subject of study, whether it be engineering or singing… Unfortunately Rosalind had not been apart of this association and for that, she is jaded. It hadn’t so much been the fortune she desired, but instead the fame– but not in the ordinary sense that so many are accustomed toward. This redhead, though seemingly common, had been exceedingly astute in her career field… Much more accustomed toward experimentation, documentation, and all else that has to do with the branches that diverge with physics. Colleagues had been sure to remark upon her brilliance but as of yet, they had been the select few.
The only thing which is ever brought into conversation by men these days is her appearance which had more or less been a drag, if it wasn’t coming as a compliment from a significant individual. Even as of now, she is greeted with the address of 'pretty thing’... And by the very man she’d just been dwelling upon inenvy.
“Could be from an undying obligation toward something that would actually benefit myself.” If it hadn’t been evident enough in her rather indifferent tone of voice, the woman didn’t want any company of any form… Certainly not from some fellow approaching her in a bistro, of all locations. Though the character had indeed been acclaimed, Rosalind had been far from impressed and her visage had made that plain and simple to understand. “I don’t know you personally nor do I wish to, Mr. Russell. Now if you would excuse me.” Gaze shifting back downward to the paperwork, cigarette in one had as eyes fluctuated against the written page for a few moments before inevitably glancing back up. Shooting him a look that had been transparent and readable, she essentially told him to 'get lost’.
Cognitive Dissonance- The feeling of discomfort that results from two conflicting beliefs. Taking one’s reality and set foundation and twisting it entirely. The feeling was one he had never expected, and quite frankly never thought possible for a man like himself. Not until the day came that he heard her first whispers, her dots and dashes of a far off reality soon coming an actual possibility in which they might come together and be united as one. It was she that gave him hope, and it was she that caused him to drop all of what made him- him. All to be by her side without so much as a second thought or hesitation.
One may call it love, another may call it a means of escape. Either way the action in doing so caused great toll on his body, one that he never took into consideration, but more so learned from the hard way. Sacrifices were to be made, yet it seemed it was he who payed the price. If only she knew, could feel the confusion and emotions that he was to deal with, maybe then would she understand exactly why it was this caused him to bleed. Never did he think that just by altering the reality he once knew, would it cause for his health to deplete as fast as it did. There was no stopping it, and only was it the smallest things that often triggered him into hemorrhaging.
It was a subtle response, eyes flickering just a little wider, jaw tensing as he could feel the sensation that often came before it would begin. Never was the feeling so bad though, so quick that it had him standing still as crimson red began to drip from his chin, staining the tie that hung about his neck and had him gazing back at her.
”Idon’t suppose you have anything?“ Referring to something to stop the bleeding, his brow merely furrowed as he took to pinching the bridge of his nose, head tilting back in hopes it would pass.
It was in time that Madame Lutece may thoroughly find herself aware of these internal clashes between mind and body, her visual study being the one fellow which she had been able to respect and cherish… And therefore hold in mind all hours of the day, no matter how his health may have appeared one moment. By having secured his proper place alongside her, Rosalind had been willing, rather obligated, to ensure his occupancy. For it had been that once getting an earful of her very title, one which hadn’t been obscure since belonging to his person just as well, that the woman found herself decided. Where he was to reside was in her own universe, preservation of his utmost brilliance being established and put to beneficial use.
Only once they acted on this yearning of theirs, did a lack of recognition respecting the influence tears had upon human anatomy and psych. It hadn’t been so much that they had been dazed by whom knew what– it had just been a matter of devaluation. Certainly the affect would not be as sever as it could potentially be, they might have mentioned a good few instances before the procedure’s inauguration… Negligence had been etched along the innermost wall of her mind and it had been clear that the Lutece's hadn’t fairly made up for the blame which prompted with the man’s trauma. Practically all had more or less, belonged to dear Rosalind whom allowed personal sentiments to prevail.
Concern riddling her very composure, it was all too soon that she rush to his aid, providing what little she could offer as of now: a soon to be embellished handkerchief. ”Use this. “ Already allowing her appendages to ever so subtly guarantee her devotion through physical contact.
" …Brother, you would not lie to me in regards to your well being, would you? Do trust me when I say that I intend to mend you– successfully and unconditionally. ”
How could any truly dislike dear Madame Lutece? Granted, twisted jealousy that had bubbled only once, wishing for the same time of day given to Lutece by the Prophet to transfer unto her. Yet he was gone; probably dead and buried. Without him playing her heartstrings like a violin, dear Missus Comstock had grown the courage to spread her wings, flying far and beyond the world he had constructed for her while taking Lutece by the hand. As more and more was learned about the treacherous man she had once worshipped and loved so deeply. Rosalind had provided an antidote of sorts to the once blind woman, removing the stars from her eyes and putting them back into the sky from whence they had came. She was forever grateful, and it showed in every word and movement given to Lutece. Like it or not, President A. Comstock, the Queen of Columbia, respected and rather liked the woman who had given the New Eden her wings.
Ne’er would she use cruelty and injustice to get her own way. Mercy, forgiveness; it was her gospel and her law from which she would build a new life from. As such, dearest Rosalind had a place, and it was at the queen’s right-hand side; hidden in shadows yet plainly visible to all that neared her throne.
One day, she might come to trust Rosalind as she had trusted the Prophet; yet the dear Lady remained distant, hesitant to even throw a smile in the other’s direction. It was a delicate dance, but it could not be avoided.
”Perception. You are telling me that… My husband was able to step through such tears? Yet the drawbacks….
I don’t understand.”
Harmony would soon spring betwixt Columbia’s leading ladies, the result being nothing but utter harmony for all affected. Although, it had been true Lutece hadn’t once conceptualized a scenario as this ever coming about when Zachary had prospered, nor when he first came to pass, in fact. From his dissolution and their presumed dismissal, the pair of siblings found themselves aghast to hear the widow’s appeal. It had not been marked by a grudge, impatience, or anything of the sort... Rather the opposite, in spite of the venom stained insults the Lady had spewed but a while ago. One would have never of known such disdain had once been the foundation of their beginnings, had they taken observation in the distant future. One would lay an appendage so willingly against a shoulder, concerns would be voiced in most tender a manner; both Rosalind and Amelia had been confidants and it had been for the better… Not simply for themselves, but as well as well as the utopia they’ve garnished. Albeit, this had only been the commencement of their alliance and all had to flourish in time.
Satisfaction had been the sole sentiment of this arrangement for both brother and sister though. All that they wished, was that the duration of this this woman’s reign would advance favorably and in turn, she would grant them with but more undertakings, opportunity, and tranquility.
“Yes.” Only did he take it upon himself to do such a thing when wretchedly set on obtaining that which ought to have been unattainable. By executing this request, it meant jeopardizing Robert’s fluctuating health: a concern that Rosalind had etched in mind. “One could assuredly make use of the device in such circumstances, though very infrequently (very little, if I may add). Severing oneself from a reality to endure another induces harsh mental and physical ailments…” If that hadn’t been evident enough through The Prophet.
Most find the Wolf to be inherently dumb, appallingly stupid, but appearances are known to deceive time and time again. Wisdom hides behind his bleeding eyes. Neither a scientist nor a saint, Bigby Wolf waltzed across the graying lines of morality: lawful neutral.
“Makes ya wonder if he’s got this place bugged, what with his ‘see all’ gimmick.”
Such is the cry of a jaded, disillusioned fellow. Rather than his voice brimming with scorn, he utters a scuff which is accompanied by a rueful shake of his head. The smile upon his lips makes his jaw ache from the pain of maintaining such a pathetic ruse.
He, too, fell into a pit of vipers. Neither seemed content to bathe in their misery, cloaked by a profound sense of duty. A fist caressed his chapped lips, his grin chipping away.
“—-Like a house on fire.”
His words were intentionally vague, completely aware that foundation collapsed from rot over time. He needn’t say. One look told him that she already knew.
“Oh, don’t I know it. Makes me wonder why I agreed in the first place. ‘Course I already know the answer. I knew she could never absolve me of sin. She’s not redemption n’ I know you’re not too fond’a her. This is my undoin’.”
And it was passive, the way he went about his demise, sinking lower in his wooden throne. God surely laughed at him now.
The only thing that will restore his faith is a little, tender Lamb.
Aluxury in the eyes of those whom signed off for more than agreed upon. Intelligence had been a reoccurring characteristic to her person and virtually everyone whom ever associated with her, or even let alone been in her presence, had understood this… But from interminable inspection upon folk with distinctive tiers in both traditional and modern savvy, it had been apparent as to why the most productive borne tribulations.
“Certain areas of importance.” Rosalind affirms, “I have high doubt he would heed the tongue of drunken citizens. They pose as no threat, only irritation.”
It undoubtedly brought them momentary solace, to express their minds so frankly. God knew that even in her very residence, there erratically lurked either The Prophet or one of his various, overly devoted aids. There had been very little sanctuaries here, including the one they had been occupying…
So here they sat on saloon stools, riddled in contrition and grievance, alike to many of the bar’s visitors before them.
“With no apparent doors.” At least, there hadn’t been for the Lutece’s as of yet. Only in the distant future would an ever so blatant solution to this crisis come about. Lamentably for this tame predator of sorts, the physicist had not been all to knowing of his fate. Unlike she, his value to Comstock had been tenuous– much rather an irritant. While the fellow may of appeared to easily manage his partner’s frivolous spending and deeds, this would not been one which could go overlooked.
Confirmation engraved in her expression, a moment of stillness passes over them. “Why had you? She must not have offered much else in return– save for all the atonement Columbia’s maternal figure had been willing to give.”
